Originally Posted by MaryElizabeth (Post 384106)

Heather, you aren't a coward because you're afraid of taking your own life. You understand how that could affect other people. Heather, you have a lot to live for, and I hope you know that. You'll be okay.

Originally Posted by cheezemziez (Post 384107)

I think get what you're saying. But please don't commit suicide, Heather.
Suicide is considered the easy way out. Because they don't have to live with the consequences. But other people do. But if what happens after you die doesn't matter, then why are all these people obsessed with saving the earth? It's not going to make a big difference for centuries, according to them. Why do people bother leaving money to their children to support them when they themselves are dead? Why not just spend it all in their final days?
I guess it's because they still think it all matters. Because they care what happens when they're gone, and because they can't go out of this world with a clean conscience without knowing that they've done what they can to help people and causes they care about.
A couple of years ago, I thought about how people would react if I died. I wanted to know what would happen. I could have easily chosen just to commit suicide so that people would notice. Not because I had nothing to live for, or that I was unhappy. I want to make my mark on the world. But I decided not to, and now I know that there are better ways to make my mark. But I could have easily been a piece of news on the television.

Originally Posted by rebecca (Post 383848)

The day they read this will be hilarious....

Originally Posted by HeatherB (Post 384095)

Some famous guy whose name I can't recall for the moment once said something like, "In all my time here, I can sum up life in three words: it goes on."
To me, that's kind of why life absolutely sucks.
But life doesn't have to go on.
Because you can end it.
I can end it.
It doesn't take very much to kill a person. Lives are quite fragile.
But at the same time, I can't end it. Because there is guilt, but there is also cowardice.
It's selfish enough to want to end my life, but it's pathetic that I'm so afraid to hurt myself that I couldn't do it.
Someone else would have to, literally or metaphorically, pull the trigger.
I don't know why I'm talking about suicide. It's not like I'll ever get the guts to commit it.
Suicide is both cowardly and brave.
It's cowardly because you don't feel courageous enough to keep living.
But it's brave, because you put yourself in a position where the only person you want to hurt you is you, and that's stronger than almost anything.
Sometimes, yes, I wish that my life would just end. The apocalypse could've come, and I wouldn't've cared.
But my dad and many others view suicide as selfish. And it is. Because in that moment, you're really only thinking of yourself, or so they say.
I'd be thinking of everyone I ever had the opportunity to love in that moment. And before I could feel so overwhelmingly blinded by guilt and pain as I've felt before... I'd pull the trigger.
So to speak.
It's very difficult to speak out of silence. I've never really done it before, though I've made poor attempts.
Suicide would be a way, for me, to speak out of silence. For me to take that risk and put myself out there.
But it also wouldn't matter.
And I say that a lot of things won't matter, but suicide most definitely wouldn't matter--to me.
How could it? I'd be dead.
And it wouldn't be so bad to be dead. Emotionless truly, as I've described myself before in life. But in death, it really doesn't matter. In death, your life doesn't matter.
Because it's over.
And you don't care because the dead are far, far beyond caring.
It matters that you're dead to the living, but the living and the dead matter not to the dead. Nothing matters to the dead. The dead, assuming they do not travel unconsciously to some otherworldly realm, be it the kingdom of God or an island in the middle of nowhere or a fiery hell, couldn't care less.
The dead don't have an excuse.
And neither do I.

Originally Posted by HeatherB (Post 384123)

I... yeah. Thank you.

I wasn't really planning on it.
Yes, I know what you mean.
I haven't yet met Chris Colfer. I haven't yet published a book. I haven't yet been out of the USA. I haven't done a helluva lot of things I'd like to do before I die. So I made a list.
A bucket list.
It's helping.
Now, off to eat a warm, fresh-baked cookie.

Originally Posted by LaurenM (Post 384126)

If only I had the guts to show them.

Heather, please don't commit suicide. You're right, it's both cowardly and brave, but you shouldn't focus on that. Several years later you'd might something you love, something that makes your life worthwhile. Just don't, please.

Originally Posted by HeatherB (Post 384123)

I... yeah. Thank you.

I wasn't really planning on it.
Yes, I know what you mean.
I haven't yet met Chris Colfer. I haven't yet published a book. I haven't yet been out of the USA. I haven't done a helluva lot of things I'd like to do before I die. So I made a list.
A bucket list.
It's helping.
Now, off to eat a warm, fresh-baked cookie.

Originally Posted by HeatherB (Post 384123)

I... yeah. Thank you.

I wasn't really planning on it.
Yes, I know what you mean.
I haven't yet met Chris Colfer. I haven't yet published a book. I haven't yet been out of the USA. I haven't done a helluva lot of things I'd like to do before I die. So I made a list.
A bucket list.
It's helping.
Now, off to eat a warm, fresh-baked cookie.

Originally Posted by HeatherB (Post 384095)

Some famous guy whose name I can't recall for the moment once said something like, "In all my time here, I can sum up life in three words: it goes on."
To me, that's kind of why life absolutely sucks.
But life doesn't have to go on.
Because you can end it.
I can end it.
It doesn't take very much to kill a person. Lives are quite fragile.
But at the same time, I can't end it. Because there is guilt, but there is also cowardice.
It's selfish enough to want to end my life, but it's pathetic that I'm so afraid to hurt myself that I couldn't do it.
Someone else would have to, literally or metaphorically, pull the trigger.
I don't know why I'm talking about suicide. It's not like I'll ever get the guts to commit it.
Suicide is both cowardly and brave.
It's cowardly because you don't feel courageous enough to keep living.
But it's brave, because you put yourself in a position where the only person you want to hurt you is you, and that's stronger than almost anything.
Sometimes, yes, I wish that my life would just end. The apocalypse could've come, and I wouldn't've cared.
But my dad and many others view suicide as selfish. And it is. Because in that moment, you're really only thinking of yourself, or so they say.
I'd be thinking of everyone I ever had the opportunity to love in that moment. And before I could feel so overwhelmingly blinded by guilt and pain as I've felt before... I'd pull the trigger.
So to speak.
It's very difficult to speak out of silence. I've never really done it before, though I've made poor attempts.
Suicide would be a way, for me, to speak out of silence. For me to take that risk and put myself out there.
But it also wouldn't matter.
And I say that a lot of things won't matter, but suicide most definitely wouldn't matter--to me.
How could it? I'd be dead.
And it wouldn't be so bad to be dead. Emotionless truly, as I've described myself before in life. But in death, it really doesn't matter. In death, your life doesn't matter.
Because it's over.
And you don't care because the dead are far, far beyond caring.
It matters that you're dead to the living, but the living and the dead matter not to the dead. Nothing matters to the dead. The dead, assuming they do not travel unconsciously to some otherworldly realm, be it the kingdom of God or an island in the middle of nowhere or a fiery hell, couldn't care less.
The dead don't have an excuse.
And neither do I.

Originally Posted by nngo (Post 384135)

Atta girl. Remember that every time you're hopeless, please.

Originally Posted by L.S.Trendom (Post 384138)

I'm not at all above guilting so I'm gonna say that the risk of someone attempting suicide increases when a loved one commits/attempts suicide.
Don't kill yourself. The world needs amazing people like you. What would Chris Colfer say, if he knew you and knew you were thinking about suicide?

Originally Posted by HeatherB (Post 384141)

I wrote this in my journal last night. salghsadlghdaglhg
It's basically just a really stupid rant about how I need a person. Yeah. You can ignore me bitching. >________________>

I watched Beauty & the Beast with my mom today, and am convinced that I'm a modernized, female version of the Beast.
It's not a perfect analogy, but it fits for the most part.
But no one turned me this way. I'm my own enchantress.
All I need is someone to love me.
No one seems to be doing a very good job of that lately.
The depression was better when [name omitted] liked me.
Because no matter how bad it got, I could always think, well, at least someone likes you like that. Even if no one else does, not even you.
I need someone to be with constantly, who will love me despite all my flaws. To them, my imperfections are wonderful.
But not even my shadow stays by my side this cold season.
It could be different.
Imagine summer life, easy and carefree. Trouble weighing you down flies off the back of your unicycle when you're racing around the icebox gymnasium.
It's not so easy buried under piles of snow in the winter.
Even if we won't get enough snow here to pile.
I am content being here, surely, but I'm not a smalltown girl who intends to stay.
My mother is under the impression that I am a more satisfied Belle, one who doesn't yearn for adventure beyond her books.
And I cannot fault her for it. It's the impression that I intend to give.
But if someone looked past the rose-colored glasses...
I want to be completely exposed and vulnerable with somebody. Because even those whom I've told this to know very little of the actual me. I need someone who is willing to embrace me for ALL of who I am, not just the side I show to them.
I need a different kind of care.
Not a domestic or friendly or concern. More like a big combination plus a hundred dashes of other kinds of care.
But I need SOMETHING. And I'm afraid, that in a state of broken shards and desperation, that I'll confide in exactly the wrong person. The one who preys on, not heals and comforts, weaknesses.
And I am so very weak.
So I must be careful, that's for sure. But romance never did thrive well in the winter--the book I'm reading (Let It Snow) and Beauty & the Beast aside.
I doubt I'll find someone new.
But the old is not appealing; it's what got me here.
So I'm stuck again.

It doesn't really matter.
I'm being stupid.
There are much more important things to worry about.


But still...
I wonder.