main character syndrome

Wrote this one half asleep. Feelings remain the same even if the grammar isn't always accurate. When I was growing up- No, scratch that. Until a few months ago, I believed that suicide was the easy way out. I was told (and convinced) that the ones who did decide to commit suicide were weak. That they weren’t strong enough and chose to go out the easy way. I’m at a point in life where I have been considering this alternative for a while, and I have been told my entire life that I’m strong. What am I meant to believe, then? - I can’t even begin to imagine what my family would go through if they ever read this blog post. I think they would implode, honestly. - Suicide is not easy. Do you know how difficult it is to overcome the fear of hurting yourself? Because of evolution, our brains are naturally wired to make sure that we are always safe. The reason you feel anxious is that your brain perceives said activity as a threat, and is trying to keep you safe, emotionally and / or physica

Album cover of ye by Kanye West ; - used when a writer could have ended a sentence, but chose not to. I just finished watching Selena Gomez: My Mind & Me. I didn’t know that she, too, struggled with bipolar disorder, but watching the documentary made me cry. So many times. We have wildly different lives, but our experiences are almost the same. The things she talked about, wrote about, or went through; I’m 20 but I know that I’ve felt all of those at least once in my life. Today was a hard day for me. An awfully hard day, and I relapsed. I was just going through some of the things I had written over the years, which was a terrible idea. I thought I was strong enough, had gotten better enough to read that without feeling like shit, but I guess not. So I took the knife from the kitchen and, you get the idea. In my defence, it wasn’t that bad. I mean, sure, it’s a little swollen and the wounds are pink and red and a little visible, but nothing that won’t go away in a few days. I can

This was originally written on the 9th of March. I just forgot to publish it. I just came home. I was sitting on the stairs of my apartment building, because I didn’t want to climb up and come home. We have sensors that cause the lights to turn on after hours. When I entered the building, the lights turned on. As I sat there, they turned off. One after the other. Slowly, but surely, until there was just one light remaining right above my head. Without that, I would have been plunged into complete darkness. That picture there? That is representative of my life. I haven’t entered the dark abyss yet, because I’ve got that one light still glowing. But I know that sooner or later, even that’s going to go out. I’m not sure what I’m meant to do after that. I’m tempted to kill myself. - Home is meant to be a safe space. Home is meant to be the place that we return to after a very long, tiring day. Home is meant to be our comfort zone, the one place that de-stresses us. Why, then, is