'I am not afraid to keep on living'

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oh my fucking god im like crying


(Source: animicida, via ameaganproduction)

Credit: I made Patlaurie’s gifs b&w


Painless ways to kill yourself.

i. There is no painless way to kill yourself, someone, somewhere, will feel the pain.

ii. The internet says, “sleeping pills, you will fall asleep and never wake up! You won’t feel a thing!” When that is a lie, your stomach will turn to fire and your throat will fill with the taste of your own stomach acid. You will drown in your own spit. That isn’t even the worst party, it’s when your mother comes home from work. She will walk through the door, and call out your name. She will call and call and there will be no response, maybe you’re in the shower? Maybe you’re asleep? She will walk up the stairs, knock on your door to receive no answer. When she walks in she will see the lifeless body of her baby girl, lying on the floor. Her heart will stop but she will run to you with shaky knees, touching your face that is now still and cold. Her body will be on fire, and her throat will begin to tighten, the sharp pains in her chest will feel like knives in the heart. That image will kill her more than her own death, it will haunt her living years each night. She will no longer be alive, but just as dead as you are now.

iii. Years ago, your father showed you the gun safe he kept in the house in case of emergencies, you knew the pass code, you knew how to shoot and loud, at least you had an idea. They say a bullet to the brain will do the job.. So one night, when your father is fast asleep, you will be down the hallway staring down the mouth of a gun.
One, two, three..
Your father’s heart will jump and his body will follow, the first thing he thinks of is you. He will scream your name and run down the hallway and bang on your door. It’s locked. His knees begin to feel weak as he bruises his body trying to knock down the door, the first sight he see’s in blood splattered on the wall. At that moment his breath began to stop, and his eyes wandered to yours. Still open, but no more life inside your shell. He will drop to his hands and knees and scream why, why, why. There will never be a day he won’t hate himself, for keeping a gun in the house, for not making you happy, for not knowing. He will live a life without a son, live a life with an empty space. Live a life of hurt, and hatred for himself.

iv. You may think that when you’re dead and gone you will not be hurting anyone. You may think when you slide a blade across your wrist, you’re only hurting yourself. Yet I have learned that is not true, it’s not. The person who will find your body, the one who see’s the cuts, their chest will feel tight and they will feel like it was their fault for letting it get this far. The only mark you will be leaving on them is pain, hurt, and the question why? So please note this, there is pain in every suicide attempt, every death, every cut. You are not only hurting your life, but others too. Because you are cared for.


- i.c. // “There is always pain in death, maybe not felt by the one dying, but felt by the lovers of the deceased.” (via delicatepoetry)

This made me cry holy shit

(via ihaveablackandwhiteblog)

(via intoxicated-by-darkness)



okay, so I’m not sure if this is common knowledge or not so I’m making a post about it anyways. Tumblr has a list of counseling and prevention resources to use if you are struggling with self harm, an eating disorder, suicidal thoughts, or if you need someone to talk to so if you are struggling with any of these things I encourage you to check it out



What really sold me on The Hunger Games books was how Suzanne Collins went into detail about how Katniss never shaved her legs or really did anything except bathe appearance-wise until they waxed her and primped and prodded her for the games.

Like that was so…

I don’t know how to feel anymore

Most days it feels like I have to be sad, like I have to be suicidal. It’s hard to stop feeling like I did for the last couple of years, it’s hard to get out of the bubble full of sadness I created because I lived in there almost as long as I can remember. 

What do you think about Belgium?

I’m wondering about how the rest of the world thinks about my country and the people in it