No Longer Late on the Rent
I couldn’t name mental health. I couldn’t call my depression by its title when it came creeping up to scare me. Instead, I let it overstay its welcome.
Topic: suicide
I couldn’t name mental health. I couldn’t call my depression by its title when it came creeping up to scare me. Instead, I let it overstay its welcome.
"While I can label the thought all I want with words like negative, dark, disappointing—when I boil it down to the basics, it’s just a thought."
What would happen if instead of telling “negative” or “difficult” kids that their outcries were disruptive and made people feel uncomfortable, we told them they have a right to feel all the complicated emotions and not just the pretty ones?
To keep letting each new day greet you even when you feel like you have nothing to offer it is not insignificant.
I sincerely believed that my living, NOT my dying, was the selfish act.
Today had become the most unfamiliar of days for me.
Suicidal thoughts are insidious. They penetrate and infect you to the core.
Hope. It’s a concept I’ve long rejected. I’ve seen it as only a setup for disappointment, only wishful thinking.
No one told me that I could simultaneously feel guilty for wanting to take my own life yet grateful that I didn’t.
When you said those words, I shattered into a million pieces.
This was not the end of my story, it was only a brief interlude.
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