Drunk & Crazy

Suicidal Thoughts Can't Be Cured

I've these thoughts;

They are a part of me

Inside my head

And

They cannot be changed;

I cannot be "cured."

I can't choose to ignore myself

To shut my own thoughts

Out of my head.

It just can't be done.

Fuck all you "experts"

Who say that there's only one method

To this madness.

Well, there's one method for me,

But it's not yours.

I am Mariah,

Simply Mariah.

Mariah who cut herself;

Mariah who thinks about suicide;

Mariah who obsesses over the past.

And

You can't change me.

You can't take my brain and

Mold it like clay.

I'll come around in my own time,

Thank you.

Holding My Breath

No news from me is good news, right?

Dare I say that I've actually been normal-happy for the last few days?

This is strange. I've surpassed being just OK.

It's always about me, isn't it?

A student at my school died last Friday in a car accident.

I didn't know him. I didn't even recognize the name. I feel like an awful person for not caring that much.

Even though he went to my school, he might as well as been on the other side of the world. I'm sure he had plans and dreams for the future; and it's always sad when someone dies, especially when the someone is young and the death completely unexpected, but as a person he means nothing to me. The few people I am friendly with at school hadn't ever heard of him either.

On Monday morning an announcement went over the PA saying that the guy had died and school counselling services were available to anyone who wanted them. Also, we will have classroom visits from the counselors to discuss traffic safety.

On Monday evening, there was a schoolwide memorial service. Over two thirds of the school reportedly showed up. I didn't go. I don't share the memories.

This morning, I witnessed the guy's girlfriend (now transformed into a local celebrity) being followed by a shroud of weepy girls telling her how sorry they are. As I watched, I thought horrible, selfish thoughts.

Can you guess what they are?

Eva died during the summer, not in the middle of the school year. It's pretty understandable that the school wouldn't make a huge hullabaloo once we all got back, and it would've been Eva's first year of high school, so it's questionable that the administrators even knew she once had existed.

But it's the behavior of the students that bothers me. No one ever once offered even an ounce of comfort. Instead I got bullied. And after a few weeks, when they had found someone else to pick on, Eva disappeared. I've not heard her name mentioned out loud in public for over two years.

I became invisible too.

Is there really that much of a difference between someone killing themself and something killing them when it comes to the survivors?

Just Another Statistic

Did you know that in 2001, 30622 people committed suicide in the United States?

And that suicide is the third leading cause of death for people aged 15-24?

And that the numbers are only rising?

Statistics are great. They get the point across. They're not hard to understand; they're clean-cut.

But who were these people? What made them tick?

I knew one of them. But it bothers me that I have no idea who the rest were. They have no identity aside from a number. And to most people out there, Eva is just like the others- just another statistic of teenage suicide.

People are not tidy numbers. They are messy.

Suicides aren't just suicides; at one point they were people.

This Does Not Require a Title

"I wish my mother would die so I could kill myself without hurting anyone."

I've always been told be careful what I wish for; it just might happen. But in the mind of the suicidal, what happens soon won't matter anymore, except to those still living. But if they're dead too, then no one will care, and no one will call you selfish and no one will have to deal with the consequences of your choice.