The Suicide List

Update

2010-10-03T15:53:00.002-05:00

Since people still keep asking if I'm still around or if I'm OK, here's the link to my newest blog:
http://mariahleia.wordpress.com

Not sure if it's going to work out yet, and it is still under construction in any case.

The End (at least for now)

2009-10-19T20:58:00.002-05:00

So, it's been around six weeks, hasn't it?

I'm OK. Shaky sometimes, not always happy, but I'm OK. And I think I'm ready to quit this blog.

There is really only so much I can say on this topic anymore. It's all the same old ever-present shit these days, receding.

I guess it says a good thing about my well-being that I don't feel a need to continue.

Thanks for reading!

Just Another Video

2009-09-06T23:51:00.001-05:00

Three Years and a Day

2009-08-17T16:43:00.002-05:00

It's been three years and a day since Eva died. As another year goes by, I can't help but feel that it's too long to still be hung up on this- almost 1/6 of my entire life so far.

So what did I do yestderday?
Volunteered at the rape crisis center. This was intentional.

Cutting on the Today Show

2009-08-13T10:59:00.002-05:00

Watch a medical analysist talk about SI while Seventeen magazine editor sits awkwardly to the side.

I don't think Dr. Snyderman's analysis is the primary factor in most cases. Almost everyone who cuts that I've met experiences self-loathing to various degrees, but we consist of more than our bodies. Inside our minds, we hate ourselves for not being good enough; for always being wrong; for being useless; for not being able to cope with stuff beyond our control. Our bodies are the physical holders of our minds, and so we cut them, because it's the easiest outlet to ourselves. Looking like a model on the cover of Seventeen is not, nor ever was, a goal of every SI-ing teenage girl. Some girls may feel the say Dr. Snyderman describes, but cutting can't be obliviated with stickers on all Photoshopped pictures (an idea I completely support) or an outright airbrushing ban.

It bothers me that even with this serious topic all girls are typecasted to shallow, pretty, little things.

Another PostSecret

2009-08-09T14:30:00.002-05:00

Maybe

2009-08-09T01:12:00.002-05:00

Maybe someday I'll be able to put all this behind me.

Maybe someday I'll walk into a roomful of strangers confidently wearing an outfit that doesn't cover me ankles to wrists. Maybe I'll approach someone and introduce myself and not feel like I'm being scrutinized for fine flaws which, when pressured, cause me to snap. I won't cower and run away.

Maybe someday I'll visit Eva's mom up in Canada. Maybe I'll bring her Eva's t-shirt and CD I found when I was cleaning out my closet. Maybe I'll take her out to lunch and we'll have a long chat, and most probably cry. If it's been nearly three years of hell for me, I cannot imagine what they've been like for her.

Maybe someday I'll stand up on a podium in front of hundreds of people and say, "My name is Mariah and I live with depression," and not be jeered offstage. I'll look the audience in the eye and drive my points home. Maybe I'll change the life of someone out there who thinks that there is no way to live with their depression. Maybe I'll find the courage to tell everyone that they have it all wrong; that I am, for the most part, a functioning, feeling, human being, and that I deserve to be treated as such.

But, see, the problem with all this is that it's maybe someday and not now. I can't go to a party or visit Ms. Smythe or give a speech any more than I can walk on Mars. Lethargic at the present, I think I can only dream about the future, but I know I can make it happen, if I could find the energy to motivate myself. And, of course, that is precisely what I lack. Sometimes, just wanting it is nowhere near enough.

Maybe I'll try a little harder...

Guilt

2009-07-27T16:26:00.002-05:00

There is a reason I feel so guilty about Eva. I know it's a stupid reason, but it still plagues me.

The summer Eva killed herself, I wasn't there. I left just after school let out for leadership camp program (this was back when I was recommended for this type of thing) and wasn't home a week before she killed herself.

I wasn't there to see the preceding events. I don't know if there were actually warning signs. I should have cherished our last summer together, but I didn't know of the upcoming doom.

And that is why I blame myself for Eva's death.

Self and Safe Spaces

2009-07-24T11:06:00.003-05:00

Is one ever truly 100% free to be his or herself? There are unspoken rules in the communities in which we participate and society at large that specify a limited range of behavior. Of course, it's perfectly fine (by me- someone out there probably disagrees) that burglary and murder are not considered socially acceptable, but I'm more thinking of stuff that is stigmatized rather than downright prohibited, and that people are therefore tempted to hide: mental illness, SI, being a Rick Astley fan, Muslim.

These attitudes of what is good or bad or is something to be embarrassed about are also intimately projected (often subconsciously) by our friends and family. Most people can list off one thing inside their heads that no one else on the planet knows about them. Some people may have more. I do, for one.

In a perfect world everyone would have at least one place where he or she could feel entirely safe. In reality, so long as there are other people involved in that space, someone will always pass judgement. Asking people to not express that judgement is the usual focus of someone trying to make a safe space. So is the only safe space inside one's own mind, because after all, what others see are projections of us, as there are aspects that are always publicly censored?

I try to make my blog a safe space by not accepting derogatory views of mental illness, but at the same time, I cannot be totally honest due to fear that someone may identify me, and, well... stigmatize me. Even with close friends, I withhold mention of thoughts I have or stuff that's happened simply because I know they'll never get it. When I am alone trying to fall asleep, I fear that all these different projections of me, the placeholders, have become so knotted and twisted together with my true self that even I don't know the difference.

And if I don't even know who I am, then what do I know about everything else?

"Cutting Is Fun," Says Teen

2009-07-19T15:15:00.002-05:00

This interviewee would be one of those SIers who perpetuate the myth of "cutting is just a fashion statement" and that "cutters have no real problems." I think she pretty much speaks for herself.

Q: “At what age did you begin to injure yourself?”
A: “I started cutting at around 13 or 14 years old, around beginning of
junior high.”

Q: “What was the reason you began to hurt your body? Was there a
specific “breaking point” moment?”
A: “I began to do it out of fun. I thought it would be cool to start making
marks on my arms, around me there was like this fad of cutting. I don’t know
why, it was kind of entertaining to do it. I guess there wasn’t really a
breaking point, I just felt antsy and thought it would be a good reliever of
sorts.”

Q: “How did it feel when you would hurt yourself?”
A: “It would depend. Sometimes I felt a lot of pain and other times it felt
kind of…good“.

Q: “Why did you decide to cut your arms instead of seeking other means
for emotional relief?”
A: “I felt a kind of desperation and anxiety towards life in general. Once
I started making the marks I couldn’t stop, it turned into an addiction. I
thought “No one really cares, no one notices anyways”.

Q: “In what moments would you feel more compelled to injure
yourself?”
A: “Depended on the situation, if I was with some friends I’d do it for
fun. Other times it was because I felt sad or depressed or felt kind of
frantic.”

Q: “Have you stopped hurting yourself? If so, how long did you
last?”
A: “It’s over now, or at least I’m trying to end it. February was the last
time I did anything.

Q: “Do you still feel the need to injure your body?”
A: “Sometimes I do, it’s addicting, but then I stop myself before I let my
thoughts go any further.”

Q: “How were you able to overcome the problem?”
A: “I realized it was useless to do those things; the fun I thought was in
it is gone. I came to the realization that there was no need to cut my arms, its
pointless really, and it solves nothing.”

Q: “What advice would you give to others in a similar situation as
yourself?”
A: “Try to find other means for your escape, a healthier mean. You don’t
need to hurt yourself. If you feel the problem is too big, then find someone
whom you can trust to express what you’re feeling.”

To be honest, when it all boils down, a cutter is still a cutter, no matter the reasons that provoke him or her. To this particular person, it seems to be mostly a self-esteem/ resisting peer pressure thing, which ARE problems, of course. But I can't imagine how cutting oneself can be "entertaining" at all.

Drowned

2009-07-16T14:14:00.003-05:00

At one point,
I was different.
I was just like you,
Or him,
Or her.
Or anyone else in this room.
At one point,
I could laugh;
I could cry;
I could feel.
And
The rest of you are still like that and
Will never go where I am now.

I know there’s something wrong;
I know this is no way to live.
But
I also know that
I’ve given up.

Why?

Let this grim darkness be a river
And let me be a twig within it.
The current is too strong;
I am powerless.
Why waste energy to even to try
To swim in futile attempts?
I float.
I drift.
I don’t really participate.

And it’s OK by me;
I’m still alive and breathing,
And that’s all
Anyone ever sees.
And
Life when I was different
Is beginning to fade,
Lose its color and poignancy.
I’m beginning to forget.

This is how I know I’ve been swept up
In the twisting current,
Numbed by fridged tempatures,
Never to dry out.

Flawed Love

2009-07-12T17:05:00.002-05:00

That's an icky emo title, but it fits in with the theme of this post.

You probably have, by now, heard of To Write Love On Her Arms, or TWLOHA for short. And maybe you're wondering what the heck it is that they do. I've personally only seen a couple of the T-shirts around, but heard lots of gossip about certain celebrities donning the shirts as well. As the target audience, a teenaged, past and current self-injurer, I would like to think that I'd know about the alleged helpful and life-saving sense of community, but I've never even come close to feeling the love. Poking around the website, all I see are those darned T-shirts.

OK. They sell clothing to raise awareness of self-harm. Using people as moving billboards is a well-known tactic. But surely they do something else as well? Sporting a shirt with "To Write Love On Her Arms" or "Love is the Movement" on it is vague, and doesn't directly reference self-injury at all. A lot of people probably assume it is an indie band and go on their merry way. I would think TWLOHA would make an effort to distribute accurate information about self-harm, depression, and substance abuse, and to provide strong support and assistance to those in need of it.

Um, no. Best I an tell, 25% of the revenue generated from selling this merchandise is donated to other organizations such as Hopeline, Teen Challenge, and Self Abuse Finally Ends (SAFE). If I wanted, I could donate directly to those organizations and they'd get 100%. TWLOHA seems to be less of a mission in its own right than a system to sell teens T-shirts under the impression that they're spreading the love and saving the world, when really, who the heck knows where most of the funds go. It's kind of like the kids at my school who participated in the LGBT Day Of Silence and then went right back to using "gay" as a synonym of "stupid" the next day. Pretending to be concerned about social issues is cool, you know. And buying a T-shirt is not activism.

So anyway, today I ran across a thread on PostSecret Community discussing TWLOHA and whether it's bullshit or not. Sure it's eleven pages, but it's definitely interesting. (xlimepops is a prick- she degrades other users as being too young to understand how a not-for-profit business functions, but she is 17 and apparently knows all. Just had to let that out.)

Basically, almost everyone in the thread agrees that TWLOHA is flawed in some way. However, some people take no issue with there being flaws and are perfectly content to leave them in there because it still managed to help them and the unspecified tons of others.

Why should we not try and get rid of the flaws to result is something that actually works (or works better)? Why should we not strive to make a more perfect situation for the mission? If one really feels that Love is the Movement, then shouldn't they try and make the so-called love beneficial?

I won't be buying T-shirts anytime soon.

Trip

2009-07-08T19:19:00.004-05:00

On the loose to climb a mountain

On the loose where I am free

On the loose to live my life

The way I think my life should be

For I only have a moment

And a world world yet to see

I'll be looking for tomorrow

On the loose

Remembering once-upon-a-time:

Anything is possible;

Life tilts in rhyme.

Spinning, whirling, dancing;

Blurry images fly past;

A multitude of images colliding.

I am melting, pooling,

One with the world.

Liquid existence, slowly cooling,

Space, time, the whole continuum,

Starting, stopping, loosing joint.

Who am I? Where did I come from?

We were all young once.

The human race has yet to

Scratch the sands of time.

Little me, only a fleck of dust

In the great big universe.

Our ancestors were born.

They lived, and they died.

I was born, I live, and

I ultimately will die.

I think I know

Where I am from,

But I do not know

To where I am going.

And I can't find out,

Little helpless me.

It's so easy to give in,

Gentle tugging of a stronger flow

Lapping at your ankles.

Is to live only to drift?

Sometimes I wonder

Amongst rolling hills and starry skies

Why must we all respire in a common way?

I met a little girl once

Very precocious

She could tell you anything

Or at the very least

Tell you what she thought to be true

Self-assuredly right

(Her name was Mariah)

Here I am much older

And I know absolutely nothing

But isn't it

"He who is the wisest knows nothing"?

Can I forget?

dancing through the air

ribbons of steam

rising

like pale whispering spirits

vaporous tendrils twisting

rising

resurrected thoughts

finally escaped for good

rising

Depression Perception

2009-07-08T03:03:00.000-05:00

Dear Insensitive Lady in the Doctor's Waiting Room,

My name is Mariah and I live with depression. But I am not telling you this because it defines me. I define myself; I'm not a definition of a clinical illness.

This depression, although a part of me, is not my most obvious feature under most circumstances. Most people do not accurately label me as depressed, just emo or angsty. Do I prefer this? Not really. But as mental illness has such a negative concoction to it in today's society, it's safer.

I wish I could tell everyone the truth about my struggles. If that were within the scope of logic, though, writings like these would not be necessary. The mentally ill, in many cases, are one of the last groups it's acceptable to ridicule in polite society. Someone you are close to probably lives with a mental illness and have not told you in fear. And so I do my best to hide the depression the best I can.

So what actually do I let define me? I am seventeen years old and female, to begin the list. I love listening to almost all genres of music, and I hate playing sports. I identify as atheist. My favorite books are usually science-fiction, although I'm typically not so thrilled about sci-fi movies. I do a lot of personal writing. I spend a lot of time on the Internet, but not on social-networking sites. Though few, I treasure the friends I have. Of course there's plenty vague and undefined about me as well- over the last few years my identity has constantly been shifting.

Should I define you as a mother, because you are pregnant? Being a mother is only part (quite literally at the moment) of who you are, and mothers come in all shapes and forms. Should I only see you as a mother and not a football fan or chemical engineer in addition? No, that would be very silly of me, in much the same way that it was very silly of you to think that depression is what rules me. It is not, in the slightest.

Hopefully I have led you to realize the fault in this definition thinking.

Sincerely,

Mariah

On Mental Disability

2009-07-03T01:04:00.001-05:00

Road Trip

2009-06-15T15:45:00.000-05:00

I've a long list of things to do "when I get better." Recently, though, I've been doubting the day will ever come.

Though there are many things in which I feel lacking, including energy and motivation, what I do have is time. Lots of it. And I know that if and when I'm feeling better, I probably won't. I also was unable to get a job this summer due to unemployment rates and resulting number of people older than me who will willingly work in the fast food and retail industries, so most days there is nothing planned.

I live in a wide country, that, although it's becoming more homogeneous, still contains a vast number of different experiences. I've barely ever left my home state, and maybe there's nothing that's really left for me here. Maybe choosing my own ground will help me break out of this stupor; I don't know.

So I'm leaving Tuesday for around three weeks.

SI Stuff

2009-06-11T21:22:00.003-05:00

Photo-journalism documenting self-injury in Japan (TIME)

In case you hadn't gathered it already from here, I've started SIing again. Regularly too, close to every day.

I'm refraining from posting too much about it, simply because no one really needs to know the specifics, just that I'm at it again. And I can't bear to even think about that trip to the emergency room right now- they didn't give me any painkiller whatsoever as they stitched me up. I know it's unlawful discrimination, but I was too drained in every way that night but to bite my tongue and cry.

I'll try to stop again, but I don't have the motivation right now. I need the cutting, and don't think I have the strength to give it up.

Please don't worry about me. Although I want to die, I'm not suicidal. I can't stress this enough.

Fictional

2009-06-10T19:27:00.003-05:00

For my final project in English class, I had to create a portfolio of several pieces of writing relating to a topic.

I chose depression, specifically that of teenagers.

I basically took the contents of this blog, rewrote them into the third person, changed everyone's names, and stuck it in Arizona. In this alternate universe, my name is Allie. I also threw in a brochure about depression symptoms for good measure.

I got an A. First time all semester.

My teacher attached a note. To paraphrase: why haven't you done this sort of work all semester, blah, blah, blah.

And then there was this:

While the quality of writing here is exceptional, teen depression is not really
a school-appropriate topic.

I want to kick him. Because depression apparently doesn't exist outside of the realm of fiction, you know.

Less

2009-06-07T20:41:00.003-05:00

humanity
him and her
them and you
people
connecting and sharing
crying and dancing
everyone
everybody
everywhere
every being on the planet
is a minuscule fraction of
humanity
but something is wrong
i am
something slightly less
than human
i am not
him or her
or them or you
i do not connect with them
or share
cry
or dance
i am less
than human
i am not
a part of
humanity

Inner Reality

2009-06-04T21:07:00.003-05:00

Once upon a time there was a girl. She was an unremarkable girl, just like any girl you might meet. But she was a sensitive girl, and the world was harsh and corroded her.

One day, the girl was in a terrible car accident and shards of glass and gravel ground into her face. The skin would heal, the doctors said, but there was nothing they could do to save her eyes.

Of course the girl was very upset at first. But then she realized that blindness was better: she'd never have to deal with seeing the ugly things in the world- abuse, blood, or people constantly giving each other the finger in the streets. Things she couldn't see no longer existed to her.

Only pretty things were in her head. It was calm and serene, except when broken by the noises of the world.

A few years later, the girl was standing near a bunch of fireworks when somehow someone set them all off. The girl was much too close and again had to go to the hospital. Her burns would again heal, but this time her hearing was beyond repair.

As soon as the girl realized that she had become deaf, a small pocket of joy seemed to light her up. Now she couldn't hear the arguing and cussing and put-downs. These things stopped existing to her, too. The only things that were left in her mind were what she put there, and her inner reality was clean and perfect.

Over time, though, the girl began to run out of nice things to put into her head that weren't already there. Her inhumanly sweet friends had become dull. In the creation of an impossibly nice world, she had forgone human contact, as awful as much of it was, and so her only companion was herself.

Events of the Past While (Part 1)

2009-05-23T22:04:00.003-05:00

I was five years old the first time I had pneumonia. Every opening in my body was clogged and oozing. Being only five, I wondered if this was what dying felt like. But it was OK, because I knew that I'd be up and running around again in another week or so.

I guess the reason this time was different is that I know that it might not all turn out OK. My own body was rebelling against me; food, and sometimes even drink, I would vomit back up; walking was out of the question; hacking coughs that felt like I might cough up my very lung tissue shook me; I was lucky to get four hours of sleep in a day.

Something about seeing blood come up from the respiratory tract scared me. Blood was not supposed to be there. It is not natural.

Two weeks into the illness, I'd lost over 10 pounds. All I could do was stare at the ceiling, waiting for the next rib-cracking cough. I began to wonder what I was waiting for- recovery or death. Though I knew many people pull through this, I wanted to give up. There is no reason I should endure this just to have more similar trials in the future. My resolution to live was dimming rapidly.

I think I hallucinated (either that or extremely vivid dreams) a few times in there. I saw Eva, and, although I tried desperately to make contact, she refused to speak with or look at me. I cried, for she was here after so much time, but still so far away.

This went on for about another week before I started to show signs of recovery. Food started to go down; I could wobble short distances.

I see someone I never wanted to see again in the mirror. She's gaunt, well below normal weight. Grey-tinged eyes stare at me, blank and hollow. Welcome back, Mariah, she almost seems to say. I've been waiting silently all this time for you to return.

And then I realize she is me, and I am gone. And I know I won't come back. If I wasn't so weak, I would have smashed the mirror into a million sharp pieces and drove them like nails into my body. Instead, I sit and weep. I don't know why really, for I am numb once again. I am, in all but biology, dead.

This is a state I used to know well, but have grown slightly out of touch with.

Back at Square One

2009-05-22T20:31:00.002-05:00

So much has happened since my last real post. Just a quick one right now- I'll try to put more up over the weekend, but don't count on it.

Actually, I wouldn't be counting on a whole lot because I'm just a few hairbreadths away from total collapse.

I WANT TO DIE. I'd hoped I'd never return to this place, but it's true. I want to delete all the posts off this blog- all has been lost; I'm back at square one. The vaguely optimistic words I wrote no longer seem to hold any truth.

I cut myself and ended up in the emergency room.

I'm ready to just give up on everything.

There's still enough of the conscious me here to know I'm completely fucked, but she's struggling to hold on.

2009-05-15T20:27:00.001-05:00

Still sick.
Life is a mess.
I want to die.

Ick.

2009-04-28T17:26:00.003-05:00

The flu has apparently progressed into pneumonia. Bear with me. Normal posting will resume when I stop coughing up bloody mucus.

In the mean time, please enjoy this video which has been in my YouTube favorites for quite some time:

To without9regret

2009-04-16T20:24:00.006-05:00

1. I have the flu. In spring. It is disgusting. So if you've noticed a lack of me, that's why.

2. Upon making a brief excursion to the Internet, I was greeted with a formidable wall of text in my inbox informing me of a new comment on this post.

There is seriously no way I can respond without dividing it up.

I honestly don't think that you have the first idea of what you are talking
about. I understand that you are feeling pain about your friend, and I
understand that you are having problems yourself coping with her death.

"Problems" seems a bit moderate...

I knew before I posted this piece that many people do not share my views. I'm not that ignorant.

People do not commit suicide to 'escape the pain' or they think that ther eis no
other way out. That is not true. I think that suicide is a cowards way with
dealing with things they are too weak to handle.

I've considered suicide many times. I SAW NO OTHER WAY OUT. I know full well what I think, but maybe I'm just weird. You are free to believe that suicide is an indication of a weak person or whatever you want, but am also free to think at this point that you have no idea what you're talking about.

There are logical, more helpful, more rational ways to deal with how you
are feeling than cutting a hole in your wrist and hoping that you die from it,
or taking too many pills, or drinking that bleach you store under your sink.

Yes, there are better ways, but the suicidal have (or felt like they have) exhausted them all.

Cutting has become a trend these days, a Fashion Statment.

Where'd this come from? I thought the topic was suicide. Self-injury is a coping mechanism, though not an especially healthy one.

I think that you should seriously just forget your argument right now because
you seriouslty have no idea what you are talking about. This is coming from me,
a person who has hurt herself, a person who has attempted suicide through pills
and razors. This is coming from a person who sees this, and hears about this
every day.

How much of this blog have you read? I too have hurt myself and been on the brink of suicide. I've lived under suicide's cloud for almost three years now, and it still affects me everyday. So I say that, from what I'm able to tell, you and I are in about the same situation. Through these long months, I've thought long and hard about life, death, and anguish, and I've come to my own careful conclusions. You just don't happen to agree with them. I must mention again that I know my own thought processes. I've never understood how someone who has attempted suicide in the past can come back and say that suicide is cowardly, selfish, and wrong in everyway- it must just be me again.

Onward.

No person has the right to inflict pain on another person, and everyone is
entitled to the right to be happy.

So enlightened of you to think so. I'd rather like for everyone in the world to be happy, but sometimes we just can't help it.

Medication is not all it is cracked up tp be, nor is it the next big accessory
to any person's day. But, it is helpful. I am on a medication that has helped me
for a long time, so I can be a person to vouch for it. There is no reason to
deny or feel resentful or scared of a medication that can help you.

I suppose I should also take a walk outside and get some fresh air too? I am aware medication exists. I don't know where you got the idea that I'm against it, though...

Check out To Write Love on Her Arms and see what I am talking about.

I've been there. I think it's a lot of cheese and propaganda, but Alex really puts it the best.

And, the brain is NOT a big clump of grey matter. It is water and tissue, and
has every means necessary to mess with the chemicals in your body to create
feelings of sadness, and depression, and anxiety.

And? Is it a higher duty of mine to override these completely natural responses?

Sometimes treatment does not work for you, but you could work in the treatment.

????

Oh, I see... explanation down below.

I have been to a counselor and it didn't work, talking to friends or family
didn't work. I created something myself that helped me. One, I talked to my
doctor. Two, he put me on the medication I am on.

Makes me wonder how much is really self-initiated...

Three, I went to go see another councelor just to talk, but not to talk about my
problems (light conversation).

There are many people who I don't have to pay to talk with.

Four, I got a puppy. This gave me someone to live for, and someone to love me
for me, and not judge me.

The only reason I didn't kill myself that day is because I had someone to live for.

Five, I threw away my razor. Keeping that just brought back bad feelings.

Done it.

Six, I figured out through all of my progress the triggers in my life that set
me off. I hate being at home, I hate spending more time than I need to with my
mother, arguments, crowds, boredom.

I know what saddens me, but it is omnipresent and unavoidable for the most part. What I really want to do to get away from it all is curl up under a blanket for a few weeks, but most people agree that that would be travelling in an entirely wrong direction (See, I'm not presently suicidal!). (Although you could say I've effectively done just that, being sick and all.)

Make the treatment work for you. Suicide doesn't end pain, it creates more.

*sigh*

Please read this and this. At least.

I don't care if you want to arue with me, and I don't care what you say to or
about me. But, I know how you feel, and I don't lie about that.

I've gotten the vibe that you have no idea what makes me tick.

I have lost loved ones, physically, mentally, and emotionally. I've been ripped
to pieces, and I have ripped myself to pieces, thinking I deserved it. Now,
I am spending my life trying to change it.

I want desperately to change, and I try very hard. It is part of the reason I started this blog, in fact. But I am immobilized and unable at times to move forward.

And I don't care if you say this is BS. And I typed this entire thing without
cursing once. That is a good thing for me because I really wanted to say a few
things to you at first, a few, very angry things to you...But, I dind't.

Good for you! Have a cookie.

Really... saying you want to say nasty(ier) things to me is almost the same as actually typing them. And if you don't care, why'd you spend 635 words trying to convince me that I am wrong about my situation? I've probably heard a lot worse directed at me, anyhow.

But that doesn't change that I really do think that most of this comment has been BS.

I hope that you are ok, and I am sorry about your friend. I am not offering pity
in the slightest, because no one wants pity.

FIN.

Closing comments: the only reason I reply to these people is that I know they're sincerely trying to help, but are a tiny bit... misguided in their efforts.

Fragments: December 2006- March 2007

2009-04-04T09:13:00.004-05:00

"I don't even know if you'd [Eva] would recognize me. But the change is all because of you... We could've been different... It didn't have to end this way.

[Eva] why didn't you say something? You could've gotten help... I could've helped you. I thought we trusted each other.... Can't you remember the promise you asked me to keep?"

"I can pretend and go through the motions all I want, but I'm really not living. I feel so hollow inside, empty, except when pain and hate arrive. And most of the time it's better than feeling nothing at all..."

"It seems as if my world, or rather, my life, has been severely divided into two parts: Before and After. I do not need to think of them as anything else. I know what I mean.

Everything about them is different. Nothing is the same. To an outsider, it may be hard to realize that this is one girl's life, not two."

"Cold. Bleak. Miserable. That is my life."

"In the dark I can hide where nothing can find me- that includes reality, the past, the world which shuns me... In the dark there is me and only me."

"I'm unsure what I really want these days. I prefer anonymity sometimes, but it is often impossible as I seem to stick out like a pimple on a model's forehead."

"Sometimes I wonder how I'll end up. Will I go on and achieve great things, or will I sink and become one of those homeless druggies that everyone believes I am destined to be? Or worse yet, will I forever merge into the mass of the pathetic middle class whose lives revolve around the television? Any life would be better than that."

Accountablity, Emo, and So On

2009-03-28T20:02:00.000-05:00

Remember Th1rteen R3asons Why?

I'm glad the book seems to be being quite successful- I've heard it mentioned frequently in discussions of YA literature.

I read a review today that pointed out that, although she enjoyed the book, there are a surprising number of one and two star reviews on Amazon.com.

I'd like to examine these reviews further.

There are three main complaints- that Hannah doesn't assume accountability of her actions; that she has no real problems; and that she is an annoying, whiny bitch on top of that. More that one person (parents, I'm assuming) also claimed the book is not appropriate for teenagers.

Accountability in a suicide is always very tricky, to say the least. We all saw that in the Megan Meier and Hannah Bond cases. The reviewers claim that Hannah forces the blame and guilt of her suicide on others (which she does) but does not take credit for her own actions. The very definition of suicide is the act of taking one's own life. Hannah made a conscious choice to swallow the pills; she didn't have them forced down her throat. There are thirteen reasons that influenced her to make that decision, and she chooses to let people know if they are involved.

In my opinion, a person makes the final choice in regards to his suicide, but there is always an outside event, a trigger, that leads him to consider it. No one is isolated in their own mind and no one commits suicide for no reason.

Which leads us to the next complaint: Hannah's problems do not constitute a suicide. There's plenty of people out there who believe nothing constitutes a suicide, but reviewers say they kept waiting for something even more atrocious to happen to her and one even claims that "[h]alf of all high-school girls will go through most of what Hannah went
through.... [the book] will be extremely confusing to teens that are facing real
problems with depression, as they see a girl that has plenty of reasons, none of
which are anywhere near as bad as theirs, and lose all hope for themselves if
someone with so few real problems wasn't able to find a way to get through
it."

Hannah is clearly depressed. Already in a fragile state, she was RAPED. Severe depression is severe depression, never mind what brought it on.

The whole "good reason to commit suicide" thing has always bugged me. Where do you draw the line? And who is someone to judge another's emotional torment? Individuals respond to situations different ways. The suicidal person is obviously considering suicide, so the reasons seem valid enough to him or her.

And if one half of high school girls go through this, Th1rteen R3asons Why is exactly the kind of book we need to raise awareness of bullying and other hurtful actions.

Finding Hannah's character whiny and annoying probably ties in with her lack of "real" problems or is just personal preference. That said, I thought Hannah's character was realistic, likable, and well done.

There is one review I need to respond to in particular now, or else I may explode, which pretty much sums it all up (WARNING: massive spelling/grammar issues):
the summary of this book is way better than the actual book.i hated it so
much it is just so boring she sends people the tapes for the dumbest reasons
there almost like oh you looked at me so im gonna commit suicide because of it.
its so dumb........i suggest you to not read this book because it will be waste
of youre time....

Boring? Dumb? Personal preference???

It deeply saddens me to realize, once again, that no matter how powerfully depression, mental illness, and suicide are portrayed there are some people who will never get it. In Th1rteen R3asons Why, they are the tormentors of Hannah. In my life, they torment me. One of those people wrote this review. They ignore the reason the book was written and the message it attempts to convey, but prove the reality of it at the same time.

And finally, if this book is such a reality, you can't say it's inappropriate. Before you complain about the sex and suicide, the partying and drinking, the rape and language, visit the halls of the local high school and listen to what the teenagers are actually saying. You can't censor life.

And since this was such a depressing post, I'll leave you with a cute puppy cupcake:

Depressed? I blame the Enlightenment.

2009-03-28T13:10:00.009-05:00

"Happiness is but a dream but sorrow is real."
- Voltaire

Whoever said I should be enjoying life?

We live in an age where we believe that we, as human beings, have a right to be happy. In fact, if someone isn't happy, there's something wrong with him or her. People should seek out enjoyment in life, and do everything within their power to advance their level of enjoyment.

This is a relatively new mindset that first took hold in Europe during the Age of Enlightenment and became a fundamental part of the United States' government and culture. Previously, during the Middle Ages and into the Renaissance, the popular opinion was that life on Earth was just a short trial to be endured before eternal happiness and bliss, so most people stuck it out. During the Enlightenment however, with new ideas about God and the universe developing rapidly, and increased value of the individual, people began to believe that life in and of itself was something that could and should be enjoyed. Religion began to take a secondary role in many people's lives.

Before we know it, a new country is formed based on the "truths" that "all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."

I've definitely a right to be happy. It says so in the Declaration of Independence. But just because I've got that right doesn't mean I have to use it. I mean, I really want to, but I don't exactly have much of a choice. And I'm fine with other people having a good time. It's just that an awful lot of people choose to pursue happiness to a gross extent.

Believe it or not, there was once an age where it was perfectly OK to not be thrilled with life. People say that life was much harsher all around back then, but although we've got antibiotics and refrigerators and entertainment at our disposal, there is one universal thing that transcends time: emotion. Humanity has been sad all throughout history, but suddenly in the 21st century, I'm not allowed to be.

My Suicide

2009-03-21T12:26:00.007-05:00

An American independent film titled "My Suicide" debuted at the Berlin Film festival in February.

Synopsis (taken from IMDb):

"Archie Williams (Gabriel Sunday) is a 17-year old media geek who has suddenly found himself the most talked-about kid in school. He has announced that he's going to kill himself- on camera- for a class project. His classmates, parents, Sierra- the most beautiful girl in school (Brooke Nevin), and a "Shady Bunch" of shrinks, doctors, pill-pushers, and counselors descend on Archie. Some are hoping to save him, some want to imitate him, others try to push him over the brink. Archie films every moment of his high school experience, hiding nothing from his audience: realities of life, death, violence, sex, drugs, and the intense media overload and hypocrisy that bombard all teenagers."

So far, it's received mostly good reviews.

Trailer

So, what do you think? Would you go see this film? Do you think it would accurately depict depression and other mental health issues? What about the tagline: "A Self-Inflicted Comedy"?

I Miss Me- But Who's That?

2009-03-19T20:26:00.005-05:00

I went to the movie theatre with friends last night... the first time in months. Actually, I can't recall the previous time, so it must've been longer than that.

Most people would be happy to know that I enjoyed myself. I found this terrifying.

Throughout this blog, I keep saying I want to act like a normal teenager; I want to be happy again. Then I go and be happy and I scare myself half to death.

I don't know how to respond; it's way too far out of my comfort zone. So is my new "normal" depressive? I guess so.

Which leads me to say that I can't return to what I call my "normal" moods and behaviors from before Eva's suicide.

And that is terrifying too, because I don't know where to go next.

It's not the teenagers that need worrying about...

2009-03-16T21:24:00.007-05:00

Six-year-old boy I was watching: What's a g-string?

Me: ...

The kid: What's a g-string?

Me: It's a part of a guitar.

I haven't a lot to say lately, online or off. It's kind of peaceful, actually.

Elsewhere for a Time

2009-03-07T01:51:00.004-06:00

I'm sorry,

Were you talking to me?

I'm not all here right now;

Apologies;

My head isn't working quite right.

What did you say?

I'm glad I realize you're here at all;

I could've missed you

Easily through the messy lens.

I'm not all here,

You know.

But I already told you that,

Didn't I?

I've drifted over the horizon and

Down the path of lunacy.

If you need me,

I'll be elsewhere for a time.

Screw Politically Correct

2009-03-05T20:37:00.004-06:00

"... and her [Lady Macbeth's] mental instability eventually killed her."
- a summary of Macbeth I had the pleasure of reading in school

No. Fucking. Way.

She killed her own damn self, thank you. Mental illness is not an assassin. Nor is it an affliction that kills you (cancer, pneumonia, diabetes) it just makes you WANT to die. We usually call the method used suicide.

I suppose this handout was put out by the same people who decided that the term "African slaves" is somehow offensive (the correct way to say this is apparently "enslaved Africans"- big difference, no?), but, really? Is the bureaucracy that afraid of mentioning suicide?

Cutter

2009-03-01T12:15:00.006-06:00

For the first time in months, I felt together. Sharp. In hurting myself, I had
at last found a way to release the pressure. But it
was more than that.
I was now different. I felt different. I’d discovered a way
to control my
feelings. Just because self-mutilation wasn’t deemed an acceptable
coping
mechanism didn’t mean I was going to stop doing it.
–Victoria Leatham, Bloodletting: A Memoir of Secrets, Self-Harm, and Survival

I am a cutter.

Though I haven't truly cut in over a year, the unfortunate stigma of self-injury still surrounds me. In this day and age, people see my scars and recognize them for what they are. Some people say that it is a sign of the growing awareness of self-injury. It is, but it's not the right kind of awareness. It's awareness of the existence of self-injury, but it's not awareness of the truth of what it is and why people do it.

If someone has scars from a mechanical accident or burn marks from spilling boiling water, do we judge them as clumsy and absent-minded? No! Of course not! Yet, here I am, weak, immature, and making a mountain out of a molehill.

Once I had joined the ranks of the cutters, I found myself unable to leave. A disenchanted underground society, we understood each other's primal pain and a need for release. A criticism of self-injurers communicating with other self-injurers is that it doesn't promote recovery. In my case at least, that wasn't true at all: while we all felt the same exhilaration of bloodletting, we urged one another to stop, even as we went against our own advice. We formed pacts, daring each other to go the longest without self-injuring. And what was so amazing was that no one got preached at- we were all at the same level, and no one could judge another negatively.

I don't know if my experience was unusually positive, but it made me feel like a human being, not a weak, sub-par alien without coping mechanisms.

People find this blog searching for advice on how to self-harm. I cannot offer that. The need to hurt oneself comes from within, and there's not one way that eases the mind better or faster. I don't want to promote self-injury to those who may find another way to cope. While I don't like risk statistics being shoved under my nose, they still need to acknowledged. Self-injury is sometimes the only thing keeping people from committing suicide, though. And since cutting is A Very Bad Thing, but suicide is A Much Worse Thing, they should probably lay off on the self-injury a little. Also, in a lot of cases it's either self-injury or illegal drugs- which one is the Worse Thing?

Unless these scars smooth over, I will always be seen as a cutter. I can't say I'm proud, but it can't be farther from the truth. I will never preach about the danger and dire need of professional help to cutters and make them feel ashamed of something out of their control, because inside and out, I will always have the vision of one.

Drunk & Crazy

2009-02-28T00:40:00.002-06:00

Suicidal Thoughts Can't Be Cured

2009-02-22T19:55:00.004-06:00

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

2009-02-19T22:37:00.003-06:00

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?

2009-02-10T19:04:00.003-06:00

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

2009-02-04T18:27:00.008-06:00

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

2009-02-01T12:36:00.002-06:00

"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.

What if I'm wrong?

2009-01-31T17:04:00.003-06:00

I can see a broad vista stretched horizon to horizon, and I can only run forward. But I also know that I will have to stop after a few miles, leaving much of the expanse untouched.

It's easy to say that the grass will aways be greener elsewhere from whatever path I choose. One can just as easily say that if I proceed carefully enough, I should be able to find the greenest grass.

Has anyone in history ever made an important decision and felt 100% sure that it was the right choice? Can someone be completely free of small twinges of regret and second-guesses? If it's over and done with, it shouldn't matter, but it is in the nature of humans to wonder, What if?

"That it's now in the past makes no difference."

2009-01-27T19:23:00.004-06:00

Cast:
MARIAH, age 17, author of The Suicide List
MR. NOSE,* Mariah's school counselor
*name has been changed to protect the person's identity

(Scene opens on January 27, 2009. MARIAH and MR. NOSE are sitting in Mr. Nose's tiny, cluttered office. MR. NOSE looks a little flustered, and MARIAH is slouched down in her chair.)

MR. NOSE: But, doesn't it bother you that you don't know where you'll be in two years?

MARIAH: Not really. I had no idea I'd be here two years ago. Besides, I'm working on it.

MR. NOSE: (sighs) There's a lot you should've done to prevent this, Mariah. You could've attended 4-year class planning sessions freshmen year. You should have had a university and major chosen by last year. I know you were fully capable of passing those classes as well.

MARIAH: That's all in the past. And, if I should've had all this figured out three years ago, then why do such a large portion of students change majors?

MR. NOSE: (ignores her question) That it's now in the past makes no difference. You still didn't do those things.

MARIAH: (rolls eyes) Do you have a time machine I can borrow, then?

MR. NOSE: I'd think you are old enough to know that the world doesn't revolve around you.

MARIAH: Indeed, it doesn't. It revolves around the sun. And I am also old enough to realize that a person's success at life can't be measured purely by academic achievements.

MR. NOSE: (raises eyebrow) It can't?

MARIAH: You've obviously never spoken with the football players on this subject. Or teenagers in general, for that matter.

MR. NOSE: Are you trying to get sent to ISS?

MARIAH: Yes.

MR. NOSE: Watch your mouth, young lady.

MARIAH: When you were in high school, did you want to be a high school counselor?

(MR. NOSE becomes very uncomfortable, and sends MARIAH to ISS. Scene closes)

The First Cut

2009-01-23T23:31:00.003-06:00

EXTREMELY graphic/triggering material below!!

I don't remember the date; I don't even remember if there was a specific event that provoked me.

Something was wrong: I was numb when I had become accustomed to feeling anger and pain. It was unsettling, rather than a relief. Maybe I thought that since I wasn't feeling anything, I had to inflict pain to feel "normal" again. I don't know.

For some reason, I always relive this scene in the third person. As I type, there is a comfortable, unfeeling void between me and the me of the past. We are eons away emotionally.

She takes a nail file and rubs it against the delicate skin of her left wrist. The first layer of skin quickly disappears, revealing new, pink, baby skin underneath. She forces the file against her wrist a little harder, and the first drops of blood emerge.

She sees the blood, but she feels no pain. A dim gleam of satisfaction is beginning to grow deep in her stomach, though. It rises, as she takes the point of the file and jabs it into her flesh. She feels exhilarated like she hasn't in months. She is as free as the blood dripping into the white faux-marble sink. She is in control. She can let out her own blood.

Ten minutes later, she cries confused tears.

The next night, she goes at her skin with a razor blade.

She's hooked.

I have a collection of scars on my left wrist. They are the only proof that she and I are one and the same.

And Music Makes Me Cry.... Again

2009-01-17T20:36:00.005-06:00

Reason not to become a rock star #18: regurgitation.

There should be a law against this stuff.

There are music samples on all the pages, in case you or your friend have accidentally ingested poison and need to induce puking.

First up, we have Harptallica! Judging from the name, there really aren't any surprises as to what this is- two girls playing Metallica on harps. The result is something they would play in nursing homes.

Imagine Green Day without guitars, drums, or vocals. Then put it into the background of a cheesy, feel-good Christmas movie. Having trouble? I would've too, until I heard Green Days of Christmas. Yeesh. And why is Jesus of Suburbia only three minutes long?

And then there's one big offender here: Rockabye Baby! They have released "covers" (I use this term very loosely here) of many popular groups, including Green Day (poor, poor Green Day! They've made it twice into this post.); Nirvana, The Rolling Stones (at least the cover on this one's mildly amusing); Led Zeppelin; Pink Floyd (there's something more than a little disturbing about tucking your kid in at night to "Mother"); and many others. It appears that no one has been spared.

Say What?

2009-01-15T18:06:00.002-06:00

From the Daily Mail online: Depression is good for you.

Yes, it's the Daily Mail, but.... Maybe they really mean "an occasional case of the blues."

Wait. They don't.

Quote:
Paul Keedwell, a psychiatrist at Cardiff University, says even full-blown depression may save us from the effects of long-term stress.

Answering Questions from Suicide.org

2009-01-10T20:15:00.005-06:00

First of all, a belated apology to anyone who has arrived here from The-F-Word.org. I have no idea why I am linked there. This blog has very little to do with self-image and eating disorders.

A few nights ago, I was reading some older posts on The View From Hell. One post was a response to Suicide.org's contributor Kevin Caruso on his opinion that suicide can never be morally justified (page here). The Curator answers these questions excellently, but I thought I'd give them a go with my own opinions.

Suicide.org is not a unwholesome website; there's actually some useful information on there. Some of the "articles," though, are written in this awful tone as if the reader is three years old and only has a vague idea of what suicide is.

Do you have the right to devastate your family?

Yes I do. Plenty of young people devastate their families by marrying drug addicts, moving across the country, dropping out of school, and dying by causes other than suicide, for example. They are within their rights to do as they please, and I am no different than they.

Do you have the right to cause intense, almost unbearable pain for all of the loved ones that you leave behind?

See answer to above question.

Do you have the right to take away any possibility that you would get better?

One of the main reasons people have for committing suicide (yes, I use that and I don't find it offensive) is that they need to escape pain and see no other options. The idea is that if you're dead, you cease to exist, and don't feel anything at all. Death effectively terminates any chance of it getting worse too.

Do you have the right to take away all of the wonderful things in life that you have yet to experience?

Depression wouldn't be so unbearable if things could still be wonderful, would it? Again, I have a right to do as I choose. For example, my favorite food is chocolate ice cream. In my opinion, eating it can be described as a pleasing experience. However, no one can stop me if I decide to dump it down the drain, depriving myself of the pleasure of enjoying it.

Do you have the right to take an action that is a permanent solution to a temporary problem?

Who's to say that these feelings will be temporary? And if they are temporary, I'm not ever going to find out that I could've ended differently if I'm dead.

Do you have the right to cause irreversible brain damage to yourself if your suicide is not completed?

Ideally, the suicide will be completed, but as we all know, the world is not perfect. Obviously, I don't care enough for my body as it is to hang myself/shoot myself/slit open my wrists. The brain is a clump of grey matter.

Do you have the right to cause yourself to become disfigured if your suicide is not completed?

People have a right to do this:

Need I say more?

Do you have the right to cause yourself permanent paralysis if your suicide is not completed?
As far as I am concerned, if I for some reason wanted to, I could destroy my spinal cord. But then again, I don't want to. If I were to attempt suicide, I'd rather it be successful.

Do you have the right to end your life instead of focusing on ending your pain? (It is the pain that you want to end, not your life.)
Sometimes, all other available methods of coping with and trying to end pain have been tried unsuccessfully. Suicide ends pain, but it has the ugly side effect of ending life as well. And how do you know what I want to end anyway?

Do you have the right to not receive treatment for the mental illness that you probably have -- the treatment that will make you better?

"Mental illness" are just words. The pain is very real. Let's say I have been in treatment and it hasn't done anything for me, which has been known to happen. This pretty much nullifies the question.

I would also like to answer every question on this page with the same answer: I could, but I wouldn't want to unless I feel that this person, for whatever reason, deserves or he/she/society would benefit from it.

Stages

2009-01-08T20:55:00.003-06:00

The worst thing about depression is knowing that at one point, you were different than this. You know what's it's like to be excited and generally optimistic. You know that life for many people is, no matter how much they complain, better.

You know that you're depressed and that this is no way to live.

But the current is too strong to swim against even if you tried. You see life slip away and fade, leaving only memories of a time before the monster.

Soon, you don't see a reason to go back. We all know depression-free is more habitable, but why take back what you have lost, if you can even find it? And all that effort? Blech.

It is easier to simply float through existence, bleak and gloomy as it may be.

And then you begin to forget what it was like to not only cry, but to laugh. And that is when you have lost yourself in the folds of darkness.

What is this world coming to?

2009-01-04T01:41:00.001-06:00

A cover of The Who's "My Generation" by Hillary Duff

*weeps*

Selfish, Take Three

2009-01-03T00:10:00.000-06:00

This is not quite like attempts one and two.

I created a poem from the opinions of the masses (yes, Yahoo! Answers again).

It is mostly word mash.

the most lonely decision

Suicide

an act of desperation

self murder

what do you think? selfish, or not?

"Suicide" is a self-centered, cowardly act!

it takes a real bravery to live.

to live is not just to exist

Others may start to feel guilty

be devastated

you took your life from them

the most self-centered way possible

type of thing isn't what you think about

severely depressed

mental illness...where their brains are diseased

Drugs can sometimes make it worse too

I don't think depression takes over rational thought.

we don't know how death is

Deliberately taking a bullet for someone is suicide

don't expect pity and sorrow from me

people who commit suicide want to be found

selfish for making them stay

burden on society

suicides as cowardly sins

the need to end it all

emotionally unstable

Ending your life is never about you.

suicidal tendencies are only thinking of themselves

so what makes you special?

the person who does it has his/her brain damaged

it must be hell

one less mouth to feed. one less leech

resources exist to get help

one of the ten commandments is thou shall not kill

giving up on life

most people can't imagine the level of grief or sadness a person can get to

suicide is a justifiable choice

"honorable" exit

people who arent strong enough to make it thru lifes trials

are cowards

Selfish, yes. Stupid, yes.

everybody is selfish

life in any form is better than no life

stigma attached to suicide

associated with shame

a cop out

hopelessness

EXCUSES

why go on?

Would Ebenezer Scrooge, for instance, just off himself one day because he's that selfish?

Life seems to me to be a gift; if I didn't like the gift though, I doubt I'd keep it.

ungrateful...

My fiance shot himself in the head when I was 18. I'm almost 24 now and it still effects every aspect of my life.

Fresh

2009-01-01T00:46:00.004-06:00

The Romans had a god, Janus, who had two faces. One looked forward, and the other peered behind into the past. Sometimes, the forward face is depicted as a youth, and the backward one as an old man. The god of doorways and gates, and of beginnings and endings, it is from his name that the word janitor is derived; and of course the month of January, in which we celebrate the new year.

Not much has changed. Many spend the evening of December 31st reflecting upon the year past, and resolving to make the next year better. The last two years, I resolved to keep on going. It's all I could really ask of myself, I guess. But I'm past that now.

I spent the last two New Years' alone. But tonight I was with friends, laughing and having the best time I've had in, well, ages. It's a shame some of us have to work a 6 AM shift and had to break it up so early. I hope so much that this year will be different.

The new year is fresh, still in its first hour. There's been no disasters to marr it.

Yet.

But for the time being, I can enjoy the sparkling cleanness.

See ya'll in 2009!

2008-12-31T14:31:00.000-06:00

To Anonymous

2008-12-29T11:50:00.005-06:00

I received a comment this morning on an old post buried way back in the archives. I'd like to answer some of the questions posed to me here.

Hey Mariah. I'm going off topic here. As a warning, I've read nothing of your
blog. Well, two posts. But really, nothing. I plan on asking a poorly worded
question, that has been asked many times before. It will be so poorly worded, it
will probably be at least a little offensive.

I know one of the two posts read, but I'm quite curious as to what the other one is. Either way, the first one wasn't exactly a prime sample of what is usually written about on this blog. Thanks for stating that you know the question is probably going to be offensive.

When do you plan on getting past this? Your side bar summery thingy says your
friend died two years ago and you're still searching for answers. Do you plan on
finding them? Two years is a lot of thinking... Will you find them within ten
years? It just seems like you're dwelling on it too much. Especially since you
made an entire blog on it. How can you get past something that you're constantly
updating?

If getting past depression was a choice, I'd choose leaving it in the dust in a second. Some things will never be answered, but I can try to find possible answers. If you read carefully, you will notice that these are questions I frequently pose to myself.

There is a reason a do not often write about the first year after Eva's suicide... Life generated more questions then.

Again, I do not consciously choose to think about depression and suicide- they are the unfortunate realities of my life. But there is much more in my life as well. I have many other interests (music, sci-fi, ethics, paleoanthropology, et al); I just don't write about them here. This blog is one-dimensional, and that's what I intend.

In these two years, I've decided that this "getting over" is a process, not an event. I document the process.

Offtopic from this offtopic post, Have you seen "The Bridge"? Since you like to
dwell on suicide, This is your kind of movie. It's a documentary about how the
Golden Gate Bridge is the most popular place to commit suicide. There are
interviews with the family, and actual footage of them going off. I'd really
look into it. There's no sarcasm here. It's famous enough to find online if you
can't find it in a store somewhere.

No, I have not watched it.

I repeat: I do not LIKE to dwell on suicide. Do you intentionally spend a lot of time thinking about whatever it is that bothers you (complaining teenagers on the Internet, etc.)?

I am not entirely sure what I would gain from watching this film. I am also not sure if you're suggesting that I would benefit from seeing that I am not the only one in turmoil, and after realizing this through a film would shut up.

I am fully aware.

And eeehm, on topic, I would think those people made up a minority.

Yeah. And so did the Nazis.

21

2008-12-21T11:47:00.000-06:00

Eva was born December 21, 1991.

On December 21, 1996, I caught my own hair on fire.

On December 21, 2000, Eva, myself, and fifteen other girls caused general havoc in the Symthes' basement.

On December 21, 2003, the number had been reduced to 6 total.

On December 21, 2005, Eva and I stayed up all night just talking.

December 21, 2006 was one of the worst days of my life. I was alone.

On December 21, 2007, I was a hairbreadth away from cutting.

Today is December 21, 2008 and the first night of Hanukkah, which I really do not feel like participating in.

Eva stays the same in my memories, while I change. One thing that has struck me especially in these last few months is how young Eva died. She'd be turning seventeen now, which is still very young in the grand scale of things, but she didn't even live to see fifteen. She never began the ninth grade. We were just kids. And sometimes I still feel like one.

Top 10 Depression Blogs of 2008

2008-12-19T11:20:00.003-06:00

The Suicide List has been included on Psych Central's Top Ten Depression Blogs of 2008. The others are Postpartum Progress, Depression Marathon, The Splintered Mind, Beyond Blue, Storied Mind, A Beautiful Revolution, Letters from Exile, Avoidance Junkie, and Chunks of Reality. Walking the Black Dog, Fighting the Urge, and His and Hers Depression Blog received honorable mentions. Congrats to all!

Blogs are human documents. A psychology textbook can tell you how a depressed person thinks, but it cannot tell you what it's like living with depression. This is what I think draws me and many others to the medium.

If you want to know what a day in the life of a single mother raising two sons in Ohio is like, chances are there's someone out there writing a blog about it. The Internet, while often painted in a negative light of a sprawling, lawless, intellectual wasteland, I know it can create amazing connections between people living on opposite sides of the planet, and foster greater understanding of different lifestyles and people- especially those that do not get much mainstream media attention.

hides

2008-12-18T16:15:00.004-06:00

...

Someone accessed my blog from a computer at my school.

It was a Google Image search, so I'm hoping they got what they needed and left.

I'm really regretting using my real name. I hope they didn't recognize me.

On Desperation and Bravery: Wisdom From YouTube

2008-12-17T19:26:00.006-06:00

From the comments of this video (I am not any of these people):

this song makes me wanna kill myself im bored as hell no1 likes me and ive always wondered wot happens wen u dye hmmm unless im convinced within the next week cya l8r world ( oh and nice song btw )

you have to be real brave to commit suicide, so it might be a lot harder to do than what you might think

Or really stupid, or really desperate.

desperate for what? your dead...and stupid? nah...smart maybe, if they are considering it they have experienced great pain...something you wouldnt know about, unless you've expieranced it yourself, so to all people who have acually been able to do this, congrats, R.I.P. cuz you deserve it

My brother killed himself, he was not brave and he was far from clever. He drove off a cliff in fear of going to prison, of dissapointing us all - Suicide is not glorious and you should never make it out to be. These people are scared and desperate, just like my brother.

nah your wrong you dont know what your talking about just cuz your brother did it for that reason doesnt mean everyone does it for that reason. Better reasons1. When people hate you, everyone and you just want to get back at them and shoot them, instead of killing 50 ppl you kill yourself (1person)2. Emotional pain is greater than any other, no pain is greater...and something you can only understand if your exp yourself...

When people hate you? People are always going to hate you at some stage, but there are people that love you too, and love is greater than hate. Emotional pain? You don't think I was hurting to see my only brother kill himself? I've been through it, i've come out the other side a better person - suicide is a cry for help, a last resort...even then it cant be justified.

about ur comment about god not loving us he does he gave us free will and choices have u ever heard of miracles retard? god is angry at the world for all the crap we screwd up with do u see him destroying every1? i understand the suicide part ive felt it myself but my god. u have some problems if u think god hates us

yeah you gotta be brave to do it. but if your stupid enough to not think about your friends well then you deserve to have you life taken. no offence to all the people whohave done it. im sorry if it sounds mean. but your stupid if you kill your self and not care about the people around you...

ya but that part that you probably dont know...is that most people do it because either 1. they have no friends. or 2. because their "friends" arent really that good of friends and are the reason why they are so depressed, and sometimes they feel like thats the only way to get out, or sometimes the only way of revenge to their "friends"

Personally, I wonder what the person whose lines I've left the default color's life story is.

I'm Still Alive... Barely

2008-12-14T16:05:00.005-06:00

I come home from school, throw the backpack on the floor and lie down on my bed watching the room slowly darken.

This weekend, I've slept over 24 hours, and yet I'm still so tired.

I've stopped eating again. I know I should, but everything tastes like Styrofoam.

I lack motivation to move, to breathe. At least breathing's semi-automatic.

I pick the scab off my leg (which was originally from an accident) and widen the wound.

I'm neglecting a pile of email and phone calls.

I'm neglecting my life, pushing it away for another day. I think, "Oh, I'll feel up to it tomorrow," but I know tomorrow will be more of the same.

And what for? How much longer will this drag on? Why did this suddenly start? It was much more than seven days until Eva's birthday a week ago...

I'm trapped within myself.

Hopefully I'll be able to come back soon.

Does ANYONE get this?

2008-12-06T19:35:00.002-06:00

http://superbad.com

It starts making sense, and then suddenly doesn't...

WARNING: this website is strangely addicting

When Shopping Is Like A Rock Concert

2008-11-30T14:39:00.004-06:00

It's that time of year again.

Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.

In these short 27 days before Christmas, the American consumerism is at its most rampant. And this year, the season will be exceptionally intense, for its only 27 days as opposed to the 32 of last year.

It's time to listen to the same loop of 10 cheery songs in every public venue.
It's time to hear the mindless debates on what's politically correct for cashiers to say, and what to call that big, decorated fir tree in the center of town.
It's time to smile and be exuberantly happy for no apparent reason.

I am not a Christian; Christmas has never been a holiday I celebrate. Even so, I wonder how much of this is actually religion and not just an excuse to buy more stuff (though I'm sure there's got to be some people out there who see this coming event as the birth of Jesus Christ). Maybe we should just call it ShopFest, the new all-American holiday.

This would eliminate the attempts to make Jews feel included by also commercializing Hanukkah, because it generally falls sometime in December. Hanukkah is not really an especially important holiday in the Jewish religion to begin with. I'd rather more public awareness about Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, for example.

To conclude this lovely rant, here is a New York Times article about a Wal-Mart employee getting stomped to death by frantic shoppers. Remind anyone else of 80's rock concerts? Hopefully there'll be laws to prevent more incidents like this soon.

I think I need to move to Zimbabwe, or else watch my remaining sanity evaporate.

The Eyes Have It

2008-11-25T20:40:00.001-06:00

"Have you ever looked into a mirror and you didn't recognize the person staring back?

I know I've lost a lot of weight, and there's the obvious hair-shearing and face-piercing. Crusts of blood embellish my arms like wounds from a bear attack.

But this girl is still recognizable as me. That is, until I look her in the eyes, lusterless and blank. Suddenly I ask myself, Is this who I have become? Is this who I will live out the rest of my days as?

I know I can't go on like this. I know something, somehow, has to change."

- Written on February 7, 2007

*******

I'm most likely going to be without Internet access for a few days; I've being forced to visit my horrid aunt, uncle, and cousins. Why they even want to see me I don't know, because by the end of my stay last winter they were all convinced I belonged to a Satanic cult. Maybe they just intend to convert me to their extreme Catholicism this time?

Happy Thanksgiving to the Americans in the crowd.

Responsibility to Strangers

2008-11-22T15:10:00.008-06:00

Take what I assumed was the popular opinion that suicide is a Very Bad Thing and should be prevented at all costs and put it in the blender.

This is what comes out. (Thanks to Lexie for finding it first.)

In addition to the BBC, here's the articles from The Times Online and Fox News, which both give more details.

Also, here's the young man's MySpace. Take a look at the comments (these aren't all that bad, for the most part) on the last blog entry.

Here I go again: HOW HARD IS IT TO REALIZE THAT SOMEONE DIED?

It has to be the curiosity, or fear, of death that makes people want to watch that. We, as humans, want to know as much as we can about it, but only from a safe distance. After all, we're all going to have to face it sometime.

This also brings up personal responsibility. It's considered normal to care about the well-being of close friends and family, but almost no one feels obliged to do the same for strangers. So, I'm guessing the Internet has its own philosophy about suicide. It's the "screw him and his fucked up life" motto, or "not like I know/knew him," as opposed to "I should do everything I can to keep someone from committing suicide."

Years ago, when I was still happy and in middle school, personal responsibility to strangers came up as one of the themes of some now-forgotten book we were reading. The teacher purposed this question to the class: Person A walks by Person B who is homeless and begging in the streets. Does Person A have personal responsibility to Person B to help him?

Most of the class, as I recall, said that A was under no obligation whatsoever to give money, food, or some other kind of assistance to B. This was not really all that surprising- it's what all of them usually did when they came across homeless people.

OK. But in that scenario, B isn't dying- yet. What if A saw homeless B with a broken leg or hypothermia? Should he give him emergency treatment and bring him to the hospital?

The teacher didn't ask this question, so I don't know how my classmates would've responded. But something tells me that the answers would've changed. So why is the Internet any different? Is it because people don't know who to contact first? Or something else belonging to this slightly off-kilter culture?

Notoriety Or Oblivion?

2008-11-17T20:04:00.002-06:00

Please don't wish me a happy birthday.

I'm seventeen now, and I feel -feel free to laugh; I am fully aware that compared to most people on the planet I'm not - old. This is very strange to me, because I'm the type of person who doesn't see the point in birthdays, and tends to forget both hers and other peoples'. Why should today, November 17th, be significant? It's only the day after yesterday.

Enough of that.

Awhile back, I don't remember where, I was reading a thread on a online forum and one of the things that came up is how you'd like people to remember you after you're dead: Would you rather be notorious or sink into oblivion? The answers surprised me.

Personally, I'd rather be remembered by a few people who I was close to in life as I am, in whatever way they might describe that, as opposed to being known to everyone for doing something horrendous. I would never want to do perform an act so bad that I am widely known for it. And since the people I am close to are the people who matter in my life right now, why should others matter in death?

But my thoughts were not shared by the majority. The posters seemed afraid of their names slipping into the lists of people no one knows existed. They were afraid that they would live their lives for nothing, and thus be pointless.

The thing is that most people don't make history. Why the terror of normalcy? I mean, I would not like to be remembered like many people do Adolf Hitler. I'd rather simply drop off the map and disappear after those who knew me are gone too.

I guess it comes down to the whole "meaning of life" thing.

Internet Phenomena I Just Don't Get

2008-11-15T13:03:00.003-06:00

In no specific order:
1. Lolcats
2. Fred
3. MySpace
4. Facebook
5. Any social networking site
6. Glitter
7. Star Wars Kid
8. Smilies that look nothing like what they mean and/or are unnecessery (ex. d:-# )
9. TyPiNg LiKe ThIs
10. 0R L!3K TH!5
11. Chain letters/ comments (many, many examples here)
12. Numa Numa

Self-Injury Secrets

2008-11-09T19:38:00.004-06:00

Yep, it's Sunday, and we all know I read PostSecret bordering on religiously.

And today I looked through old secrets as well.

[Brief commercial message: I used a new(er) search engine, SearchMe, to find the secrets today. I especially like this method for image searches- you actually get to see the results, and not just minuscule thumbnails.]

Here's some secrets about SI:

Cheers. For both of these people.

The this last one's my favorite. It rings close to home, I guess. Or it could just be that I am very attracted to the color.

Happy Sunday.

Twice a Victim

2008-11-08T17:46:00.004-06:00

There were the usual rumors flying about the first day of ninth grade- who dated who over the summer, who went on vacation to the Caribbean, who had lost the big V- but as I trudged down the locker-lined corridors, the giggling stopped and was replaced with whispers. Eyes followed me, but no one dared speak.

It was after third hour that the inevitable occurred. Someone tapped me, rather harshly, on the shoulder. It was one of the "perfect" girls, adored by all, angelic in every sense to her wannabes. I had plenty of reasons accumulated through my school career to loathe her.

"So," she said, trying hard not to smirk, "where's that one girl you always follow around?"

I couldn't bear to look into her face. "Elsewhere," was all I could mumble.

"Like, as in, dead?"

I briefly calculated if I were strong enough to slam her into the wall forcibly enough to cause, at the very least, bruising, but the odds were definitely stacked against me. By this time, a mob of all the prissy people had began to develop. Oooh look, let's watch the obviously grieving person get picked on.

And so I bolted. I ran out of the building, clear past the security officer who didn't notice, and I didn't stop until I was off of school grounds, past the groups of smokers skipping class. I didn't stop until I was out of breath and my sides ached. And then I sat down on the curbside and wept. Through it all, the mean girl's face loomed, a smile of sadistic delight on her face. Somehow, I knew she was thinking, One down, one more to go.

Conversation III

2008-11-02T14:01:00.003-06:00

We are told, from the time we are born, that everyone has the right to live. However, in this country at the present time, we do not have a right to die.

Of course. Assisted suicide is unethical.

But is living really a right if we have no other legal choice?

Eh?

Well, to me it's like saying that we have a right to religion, but only the practice of Hinduism is allowed.

Nice paradox.

Exactly.

But if people didn't have the right to life, then homicide would be legal.

Homicide and suicide are close cousins with one vital difference: a homicide victim is not the one who decides upon his death.

So you're saying that a person should have the right to life and death, but only by his own choice?

I guess so.

What about abortion then?

Let's not even go into that. Maybe another day.

Censor Me

2008-10-30T19:20:00.002-05:00

The 100 Most Frequently Challenged Books 1990-2007 (American Library Association)

The 100 Most Frequently Challenged Books 2000-2007 (ALA)

Somehow I ended up looking at these lists today. It's sad that many of what are usually considered staples of children's literature frequently receive ban attempts. If the people who find these books inappropriate in some way all succeeded, what would be left? Nothing but (some) alphabet books and those sickening YA novels that go along the lines of: Once upon a time there was a girl named Cassie who was blond and skinny and smart and good at sports and had tons of friends and was a good, observant Christian*..... ARRAGH!

I've read a little more than half of the books on the two lists combined. Many of them are, or have been, favorites at some point. I understand how some would cause parents and teachers to be concerned, for example Bridge to Terabithia (#9 1990-2000, #20 2000-2007) is intense- an eleven-year-old girl dies, and this might traumatize some less mature kids, because, as we all know, death of a loved one is a terrifying prospect. But, it's not graphic; the protagonist never even sees the corpse of the girl. By age 10 or 11, only the most naive haven't encountered death in some form. I imagine that this book also received some negative criticism for the young protagonist having a crush on one of his teachers, but hey, that happens too, and it's not as if the relationship goes anywhere. Bridge to Terabithia was one of those books I hated right after I read it, but I've come to appreciate it over the years.

Sometimes I wonder if people realize that they're trying to censor life. Drugs happen. Sex happens. There are non-major religions. God fucking knows profanity occurs. Homosexuality is not something made up for literature-land (and why people see it as a problem in literature in the first place mystifies me. You might as well ban heterosexual couples.) In the award-winning Speak (#65 2000-2007), a young teenager deals with the aftermath of being raped, and Cut, a YA novel about self-injury, is ranked #86 on the 2000-2007 list. Some people even try to remove books from libraries because the characters don't use correct grammar (Junie B. Jones, #74 2000-2007). And for the life of me I can't figure out why Where's Waldo? made the 1990-2000 list at #88. What's offending in a search-and-find picture book? (Hm. Just looked at the Wikipedia page. Apparently one page has a woman sunbathing topless.)

As I see it, the reason so many extremely well-written books make the list is because they make people think. If a work of literature doesn't get people talking, then the author hasn't done his or her part. It's just frustrating that some people don't realize that talking about books is not a bad thing and that if the subject is something you'd be horrified at your own daughter doing the book should not be banned. And to be honest, I don't understand why everyone's perfectly OK with teaching Romeo and Juliet to fourteen-year-olds in English class but when a contemporary novel with a similar theme comes up they howl.

As far as I am able to tell, I should not be allowed to talk to other teenagers. No, my life is inappropriate. If someone were to write my story and call it fiction, I'd probably skyrocket to the top of the list. But the thing is, and this is what bothers me, all this happened. So why must we pretend that it couldn't have? I thankfully exist as a breathing person and not as a literary character, so this isn't an issue. But why do people think other teenagers need to be sheltered so? I'm not the only one who has had crap happen in her life.

*I've nothing against Christians, or blonds either for that matter- actually, Eva was both. It's just that it seems that Christians seem to be the ones making the fuss a good percentage of the time (*cough* Harry Potter) and for some strange unknown reason it seems as if almost all the girls at my school dye their hair blond... so they must think it's better somehow.

Also, I've finally gotten around to making a more decent banner. Yay? Nay?

No One Really Seems to Care

2008-10-27T18:25:00.004-05:00

"I read the graffiti in the bathroom stall

Like the holy scriptures of a shopping mall

And so it seemed to confess

It didn't say much but it only confirmed

That the center of the earth is the end of the world

And I could really care less

...

.....

...

City of the dead

At the end of another lost highway

Signs misleading to nowhere

City of the damned

Lost children with dirty faces today

No one really seems to care..."

- from Jesus of Suburbia by Green Day

...

.....

...

Why write what I'm thinking when there's already something out there that sums it up perfectly?

The Coming White

2008-10-26T20:32:00.005-05:00

The first flakes of snow sprinkled down today. It wasn't much at all, not even measurable, and it melted as soon as it touched ground, but it was snow all the same.

I like winter. It's quiet and dead and people don't care that you're not out and about all the time. However, the roads are sometimes next to impossible to navigate; last year the city ran out of salt for the roads (no kidding). And there's something about snow before Halloween that irks me.

My brothers and I used to build snow forts as soon as there was enough snow on the ground. And sometimes we'd try even when there wasn't.

Spring and autumn are very short where I live- most years, they're less of a season in their own right than a transition between winter and summer or summer and winter. There is something exciting about these transitions, be it a foreign breeze or strange smells and tastes. It makes one anticipate what's to come, I guess.

A lot of people complain about how dreary winter is, but I like it. Perhaps that's because the weather suits my mood, for it's only been these last few years that I've especially enjoyed the season.

Concrete Wasteland

2008-10-21T21:50:00.006-05:00

*****

I don't really know what makes me ramble so
Some day I'll find out what it's all about
That keeps me on the go

Some say I'm running from reality's scheme
Trying to find peace of mind
They're faceless people with no distant dreams
I'm just following mine

So if seeking dreams is my trend
Then my travelling days will never end
For it's difficult to find all the wonders of my mind
As I wait for the road's last bend

*****

Is there anybody out there?

*****

Why does cyberspace have to seem so impersonal? Am I the only one left in a sea of clones?

Who is this "I" anyway?

The Suicide List in Review

2008-10-18T10:18:00.006-05:00

As I feared, this blog has become nonsense, especially to those people who have not been reading for a very long time. Since no one has enough time to read a whole blog (and really, who'd want to?) I'd like to present a condensed, summarized, version:

February 2008

I started this blog with two posts, uncreatively titled "Part One" and "Part Two," that are essential to understanding the rest of the blog. They briefly explain Eva's suicide, and what drove me to consider my own. Almost everything I write about elaborates upon something in one of these two posts.

I like to call this the Information part of the blog. There are general encyclopedia-like entries about such topics as suicide myths and self-injury. The misconceptions about suicidal people are also touched upon for the first time, as well as mentions of hate against the emo subculture. Many of these topics will reoccur.

March 2008

Not a whole lot happens here.

April 2008

Nothing all that interesting here either. There's one post when I reflect that I've forgotten certain aspects of Eva, but other than that, nothing of note.

May 2008

Things finally started picking up some speed. I actually consider this the most interesting part of the blog. My bad poetry makes its first appearance, dealing with the repercussions of self-injury. There is more remembering/forgetting Eva, and questioning if there's a point when suicide stops being immoral. This month also contains three (according to my stats) very popular posts following the controversy surrounding the suicide of 13-year-old Hannah Bond and the alleged cause, a band called My Chemical Romance.

June 2008

June begins with a discussion of whether the accusations of selfishness at those who are considering suicide is justified. It has no real conclusion.

I then jump ahead to another post involving music, this time about The Wall by Pink Floyd.

I am also extremely shocked at the extent of hate put forth by a website called Encyclopedia Dramatica. I am so upset, in fact, that I write two posts about it.

Other sights include another bad poem about me feeling chained to the past, a follow-up post to the Hannah Bond thing, and an explanation of why I am an atheist.

July 2008

Here's what I was thinking about in July:
Reminiscing about who I used to be, in the form of a bad poem.

A heart-felt letter to Eva, containing everything I wish I could say to her.

A really good article by New York Times Magazine trying to get to the bottom of why some people succeed in committing suicide and others don't.

Religious morons on YouTube.

Me revisiting the selfish question, and still without a solid conclusion. A bit later, some lady on Yahoo! Answers states that all people with a mental illness are selfish, self-absorbed, and "don't give a crap about self-introspection."

Two debates with myself: Is suicide a waste of life? Will I really miss out on anything?

August 2008

Eva died in an August. So, Augusts are basically not all that pleasant. This was the second anniversary of her death.

If Eva had lived, I wonder where she would be now.

I muse about what this closure I am seeking is, and if I really want it. I explore my lifelong connection to reading and writing, and how it has helped me through the dark times. I also realize that I probably used to be one of those people who think suicide is stupid. However, I can assure you that I was never as insensitive and just plain fucked up as this other lady on Yahoo! Answers, who evoked around the same range of emotions as did Encyclopedia Dramatica.

September 2008

This is two years longer than I ever intended to live. However, suicide persistently stays in the back of my head.

I reflect on the Augusts of the last three years and how I've changed each year. This, of course, is in the form of a bad poem.

I write about a new award-winning book in young adult literature, Th1rteen R3asons Why by Jay Asher, the subject of which is a teen's suicide and my reactions to the novel.

October 2008
I am probably being generally unappreciative of this month. The only things that might be worth reading are a study correlating breast implants and suicide, and a rantish piece about book censorship.

November 2008

The conversation series is continued with a discussion of assisted suicide. I extract some PostSecret postcards about self-injury from the depths of the Internet, and flashback to February 2007. Meanwhile, the Internet generally goes nuts over the suicide of Abe Biggs, which was streamed live on webcam.

December 2008

I sink into another bout of depression, which may or may not have anything to do with Eva's birthday.

The year must be winding down, because PsychCentral has selected the top depression blogs of 2008.

Rest be assured though, some things never change: YouTube still has an unnaturally high population of idiots.

January 2009

Stages, detailing depression, is one of the few posts I actually like. I also write about the first time I self-injured.

I deal with an idiot school counselor (and an idiot singer), and argue with Suicide.org.

February 2009

Life is actually good; what more needs to be said?

March 2009

Self-harm awareness day is March 1st.

I can't make sense of the continued sense of almost-happy- it scares me.

And is depression really so bad? Why do we feel the need to be so darned happy all the time? I blame the Enlightenment.

Updates on Th1rteen R3asons Why- and they're different than you might expect.

April 2009

I get really sick. This is important, but I consequentally don't write much. A concern troll drops by for a visit however.

May 2009

I remain sick. I want to die. I'm back in the hole in which I started. So much for feeling pretty good a few months ago.

June 2009

Feeling of inhumanity abound.

Although depressed and cutting, I embark on a solo road trip.

Also, depression apparently doesn't exist.

July 2009

The road trip concludes.

I want to be safe with my illness, and I don't want to be defined by it either.

TWLOHA sells t-shirts, perhaps to an audience that thinks cutting is cool, trendy, and fun.

I still blame myself for Eva's death. Really.

I will do my best to update this post every few months or so, to keep a nice directory handy.

Don't Get a Boob Job

2008-10-12T15:26:00.004-05:00

In an article published a little over a year ago (I know,VERY old news) women who choose to get breast implants are three times more likely to commit suicide.

As indicated in the article, I imagine this has more than a little to do with alleged low self-esteem. It also makes one wonder why the heck someone decided to study that in the first place.

Apologies for the recent lack of better posts- I haven't been finding inspiration, which, actually, I consider a good thing.

10 Good Things About Today

2008-10-11T17:25:00.002-05:00

1. The three-day migraine headache has finally subsided.
2. Saturday = no school. Enough said.
3. The roof has been fixed so it doesn't leak anymore.
4. I actually have a plan to go out tonight.
5. I have succeeded in cooking an entire meal without burning anything.
6. I went to the library and checked out some interesting-looking books.
7. I did all the homework I've been assigned this weekend.
8. I found a funny Billy Joel parody on YouTube (the Journey parody is very good too).
9. Laughter.
10. I'm alive.

More Than This

2008-10-10T01:11:00.004-05:00

"It needs to be autobiographical, or be about yourself."

Oh no.

"It can include things you've done, things you like, places you've been, places you want to go, or just almost anything else as long as it's about you- it must be representative of your life."

I gather the supplies and stare at them blankly. All the other students start working on ideas- or at least the girls do, sketching out logos of their favorite clothing stores and characters from movies they like. As usual, the boys would rather take double gym than this art class.

"Mariah, why aren't you working?"

"There's more to me."

Not to be vain, but my life is more complex than can be put into five images.

*****

That was then (seventh grade art class); this is now.

You know that there's more to me than what's in this blog, right?

Like, you know that my life isn't quite so awful as it seems, I don't think about this stuff 24/7, I have real hobbies?

Good, I just wanted to make sure.

Meme

2008-10-08T18:59:00.004-05:00

I've considered myself tagged with a meme by la of Letters From Exile.

Instructions:
a) Answer the questions below, do a Google Image search with your answer, take a picture from the first page of results, and do it with minimal words of explanation.
b) Tag 5 other people to do the same once you’ve finished answering every question.

1. The age you’ll be on your next birthday
(Yes, this is what came up. Nothing on the page had the number on it.)

2. A place you’d like to travel to

3. Your favourite place

4. Your favourite food

5. Your favourite pet

6. Your favourite colour combination

7. Your favourite piece of clothing

8. Your favourite TV show

9. First name of your significant other

10. The town in which you live

11. Your first job

12. Your dream job

13. A bad habit you have

14. Your worst fear

15. What you’d like to do before you die

I KNOW some of these make absolutely no sense.

I also don't know who hasn't done this meme already or who'd like to.

So, take it if you want, or just leave it here for the virus to be killed.

The Trinity of the Lost

2008-10-05T19:39:00.004-05:00

Can you miss people you've never met? And is it really right to miss people who you know will never return?

Sometimes I feel as if there's an immense, gaping, hole inside of me. It is not the hole left by Eva, no, that one is distinct. I feel as if there was something I should've done, someone I should've met, but now the opportunity has gone. I grope blindly at vapors of thought, trying to put my finger on who -or what - it is. Maybe it's that I think that I shouldn't still be suspended in this ever-present state of semi-darkness and should be out reclaiming my life.

I know it's completely normal for a person to miss someone close after they've died, or someone not so close, for that matter. After all, a large part of our lives previously consumed by that person is suddenly left stripped naked, freezing to death. But, I ask myself, if we know it's never going to change, why must we put up with ourselves like this? Evolution sure isn't all that brilliant sometimes. It's like a child who keeps wishing he could fly to Neverland.

Today is one of those days that I find myself missing so many people: Eva, myself, and that person I never met. The trinity of the lost.

Institutionalized Education 101; or, Mariah Flips Out

2008-10-04T14:50:00.008-05:00

Cast of Characters:

MARIAH- sixteen years old, author of The Suicide List

MR. TRESSEL*- an English teacher

CARLY*- a student

AIMEE*- a student

OTHER STUDENTS- a mass of nameless classmates

(*name has been changed to protect the person's identity. I may be mean, but I'm not that mean.)

Setting: Friday, October 3, 2008, a dank classroom, third hour English

(Scene opens. MR. TRESSEL is standing at the front of the room. The STUDENTS are sitting at their desks. The bell rings, and MARIAH slides into her seat just in time.)

MR. TRESSEL: Good morning class. Today we will continue our discussion of Hamlet to prepare you for writing your paper. I hope all of you have read the assigned pages.

(STUDENTS groan- many of them have not done the homework.)

MR. TRESSEL: Turn to page 217 in your books.

(There is more general complaining from the STUDENTS.)

CARLY: (raises hand) Mr. Tressel, this book is too hard.

MR. TRESSEL: What do you mean by that, Carly?

CARLY: Well, like, who ever talks like that? I know it's a play but... it's too hard to understand, like, there's not enough description. And, it's like I don't get all the, the, (she flips through notes to find the right word) metaphors. Why can't Shakespeare just tell us what's going on like normal people?

MARIAH: (under her breath) He does.

MR. TRESSEL: (glares at MARIAH, then answers Carly's question) Shakespeare lived during the fifteenth century- the writing style was much different then. Hamlet does include a lot of figurative language, which is why it has been chosen for this course. So, on page 217 there is a very famous monologue, or soliloquy- (AIMEE raises her hand)- yes, Aimee?

AIMEE: Can you explain what that whole big blathering about arrows and slings and a sea and sleep and dreams is about?

MR. TRESSEL: We're going to dig through it together. Who thinks they can explain the first line? (He searches around the room) .... Mariah?

MARIAH: (reads) To be or not to be, that is the question. (shuts book; she has memorized the speech years ago) To exist or not to exist. Hamlet is pondering if it would be better to have never have existed at all, and the pros and cons of life. 'Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer/ The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,/ Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,/ And by opposing, end them' weighs whether it is morally better to suffer and hope that suddenly things will get better, or if it is easier to try to tackle the consuming issues that are too much for one person to handle and therefore.... die.

CARLY: That was more than one line.

MARIAH: And?

MR. TRESSEL: Mariah, is there a suggestion of a particular manner of death?

MARIAH: Well, obviously, there's the implication of... (she trails off)

AIMEE: Stop, I'm still writing this down. (She scribbles frantically)

MR. TRESSEL: (somberly) There is an implication of what, Mariah?

MARIAH: I.... I.... I can't talk about this right now.

CARLY: (suddenly has an enlightenment as to what the soliloquy is about. She gets an evilish gleam in her eye) What's the matter, hmmm, Mariah? Are you too emo to say suicide?

MARIAH: (softly) I said... I can't talk about it...

AIMEE: Psh. It's not like anything has ever happened to anyone in here.

MARIAH: (jumps out of desk and stands glaring over AIMEE) HOW DO YOU KNOW? YOU THINK YOU KNOW EVERY FUCKING DETAIL OF EVERYONE'S LIFE. BUT GUESS WHAT? I GUESS YOU DON'T KNOW EVERTHING ABOUT ME! MAYBE, JUST MAYBE SOMETHING HAS HAPPENED.

(The STUDENTS stare in shock.)

MR. TRESSEL: (rubs forehead) Mariah, please calm down. It is not worth getting upset over.

MARIAH: (resolutely, as she gazes around the class) You're all clueless, aren't you? (to MR. TRESSEL) Too late. I'm already upset.

MR. TRESSEL: Consider this your second warning.

MARIAH: And Carly and Aimee get none? 'The law's delay, the insolence of office' that Shakespeare wrote of is still going strong, I see.

MR. TRESSEL: (feeblely) Mariah... ISS- now.

MARIAH: That's it- I'm DONE. FUCK YOU, (She shoves the book into her bag) FUCK THIS SCHOOL, (kicks the desk aside) AND FUCK EVERYONE WHO THINKS SUICIDE IS A SUPERFICIAL MATTER! (She storms out of the room, slamming the door loudly behind her.)

(End scene)

Warning: This article contains a lot of numbers

2008-09-24T06:21:00.005-05:00

I'd feel like an idiot writing up comments and analysis of this scientific paper about the types of websites that turn up when people seach suicide-related keywords (I felt sort of icky when I realized that I get some of those searches often.)

Here, you can read very intelligent-sounding responses.

I am just not in that league. Dare I say I've been intimidated?

Today on PostSecret

2008-09-21T10:14:00.003-05:00

OK, I admit it, I am a huge PostSecret junkie.

So, here's what resonated with me this morning:

Gee, that's awfully considerate of you, but I don't think you realize that I (and presumably other atheists) take this about the same way as you would if I said that I prayed for your protection through Zeus. You disbelieve in many gods; I just disbelieve in one more. Personally, I can't believe this one was chosen to be put up online- that's just what every religious person says when you say you don't believe in a higher power: "I'll pray for you."

The friends we create in our minds are often so much more understanding and seem more real than our living ones.

At this point, whoever's reading this is probably wondering where the secret that you'd most expect to find here is. So, with no further ado...

I did not send this secret in, but I could have awhile back. Summarized in a few words, this was me September 2oo6- March 2oo7. Making the effort to die would be too much. Whether I lived or died it didn't matter to me. The depression of this period is very difficult for me to write about- which is why I probably haven't mentioned it much. I drifted through life and decent judgement was... nonexistent. I didn't care if I broke every bone in my body; I didn't care if I was arrested.

And that was what I've come to believe screwed me up even more deeply.

A Living Miracle

2008-09-14T17:44:00.005-05:00

Two years ago today I composed a suicide note.

Two years ago today I prepared to tie a noose.

And yet, I'm still alive.

Sometimes when I begin to loose faith in humankind and the world in general, which is more frequently than I would like, I look back and realize that I should consider the fact that I can feel my heart beating to be a miracle. I see life differently- I don't take it for granted, but that doesn't mean I'm not allowed to slog through it anyway.

I wish there was some way to find out if I would've carried out my plan if Martin wasn't there to intervene. Of course, that's about the most impossible thing on the planet, but it has been weighing heavily on my mind lately.

Martin. I don't know what I could ever do to repay him. I don't know if he knows how truly grateful I am (at the moment).

730 days I've lived into this new life, and I don't remember two thirds of them. Or I probably do, but I've shut them out.

And today is just another one. For all the spiralling emotions I felt on August 16, today is nothing. Another day to live.

I AM ALIVE, GODDAMMIT!

But Eva... she isn't. And that's what affects me every single day.

Childhood Innocence Confused

2008-09-11T06:03:00.003-05:00

The pre- 9/11 world fades rapidly from memory. What was airline security like? What did they cover on the evening news? Did we live less careful of every moment, not imagining that our blissful sense of safety could be changed in the blink of an eye? For the seventh time today, people relived the awful day that affected millions.

September 11, 2001, was the day I understood that when certain groups don't like each other, sometimes they will take drastic measures that not only hurt the target, but all of the bystanders. I had been introduced to terrorism.

In my childhood innocence, confused, could barely grapple with the huge death toll and all the politics involved.

I still can't.

In My Hands

2008-09-07T11:28:00.004-05:00

Suicide, as an option, always stays in the back of my head.

There's at least one way out.

I hope I am never at the point of really considering it again, but the option is still there. I know it's sick and twisted of me to think, I could end my life any second; I could even end it now. The knowledge that I think these things scares me, as I am for the most part happier now than I've been in a long while. Why does it even come up?

Sometimes, I see a bottle of pills and in my mind they become a tool of destruction. It's dizzying to realize that all I could do is force them all down, and it would be over. Other times, there is a tiny, fleeting urge, only a millisecond long, to jump as I walk across a bridge.

Am I really so insecure that I need to feel this terrible sense of control over my life?

In response to everyone who wished me luck on starting the school year:
I'll live. I just don't find it enjoyable and feel that there are better things I could be doing with my time. I was quite baffled and touched by your concern.

Blogging Confession #1:

2008-09-06T13:51:00.002-05:00

I'd never really liked that orangish background color.

Song That Annoys The Hell Out Of Me

2008-09-05T21:06:00.004-05:00

Welcome to My Life

-- Simple Plan

Every time I hear this song, the same thoughts run through my head. Since it was just on the radio, I decided to treat you to a slice of my thinking process.

Do you ever feel like breaking down? I don't want to, but it happens.

Do you ever feel out of place? Yep.

Like somehow you just don't belong

And no one understands you? Sure. That describes recent social experiences rather well.

Do you ever wanna runaway? Doesn't everyone have the urge after disagreements with parental units?

Do you lock yourself in your room? No lock, sorry.

With the radio on turned up so loud

That no one hears you screaming? Yeah, on occasion.

No, you don't know what it's like I don't?

When nothing feels all right Again, you don't know me, don't judge. I've been there, thank you.

You don't know what it's like

To be like me Granted, I've never been you, so no I don't...

To be hurt Check.

To feel lost Check.

To be left out in the dark Check.

To be kicked when you're down Check.

To feel like you've been pushed around I haven't just felt like it, I've been.

To be on the edge of breaking down Yeah, I've been there...

And no one's there to save you Thankfully, someone was...

No, you don't know what it's like I suggest you count the checks.

Welcome to my life

Do you wanna be somebody else? That'd be great.

Are you sick of feeling so left out? Not really, I've decided hanging out with those sort of people is pointless.

Are you desperate to find something more

Before your life is over? There fucking better be more to this monstrosity.

Are you stuck inside a world you hate? Sometimes I hate it. Other times it's better.

Are you sick of everyone around? Most people.

With their big fake smiles and stupid lies

While deep inside you're bleeding AHHH! TOO MANY CLICHES IN A ROW!

No, you don't know what it's like

When nothing feels all right ORLY?

You don't know what it's like

To be like me Gee, your life sucks. In pretty much the same ways as the average teenager.

To be hurt I am not commenting on this section again.

To feel lost

To be left out in the dark

To be kicked when you're down

To feel like you've been pushed around

To be on the edge of breaking down

And no one's there to save you

No you don't know what it's like

Welcome to my life

No one ever lied straight to your face Oh yes they did.

No one ever stabbed you in the back Oh yes they did.

You might think I'm happy but I'm not gonna be okay Please, dude, if you really think that, you might want to look into therapy.

Everybody always gave you what you wanted

Never had to work it was always there You've obviously never met me and my family.

You don't know what it's like, what it's like

To be hurt *mental screams of agony*

To feel lost

To be left out in the dark

To be kicked when you're down

To feel like you've been pushed around

To be on the edge of breaking down

And no one's there to save you

No, you don't know what it's like (what it's like)

To be hurt

To feel lost

To be left out in the dark

To be kicked when you're down

To feel like you've been pushed around

To be on the edge of breaking down

And no one's there to save you

No, you don't know what it's like

Welcome to my life

Great. Now that you're done whining and sympathizing with every teenager in America (and dubs it their theme song), why don't you try and figure out WHY it is you feel like this?

And when did this band get classified into the punk genre? *scratches head confusedly*

Still around, but...

2008-09-03T05:26:00.004-05:00

I may not be able to post often, as the time has arrived for me to go back to being stuffed into prison cells- sorry, I should say classrooms*- and force-fed whatever information and politically correct views the government decided on.

Yeah, I don't enjoy school, but I promised myself I'd actually try to have half a heart this year. It'll probably only last until sometime in November, though.

*I am not kidding about this. The school is constructed out of cement blocks, and most of the classrooms don't have widows, which would make it slightly more bearable.

The Snowball Effect

2008-09-02T03:35:00.007-05:00

Things I have learnt this week: Do not read a book unless you have at least a general idea what it is about. Otherwise, you might be risking a mental breakdown.

The book in question is Th1rteen R3asons Why by Jay Asher.

Three weeks after his former classmate and crush, Hannah Baker, committed suicide, Clay Jensen discovers a box of tapes sent to him containing Hannah's heart-breaking tale, which is to be eventually passed along to everyone who, in her opinion, had a major role in driving her to kill herself. It should be obvious why I identify with this on the most basic levels.

The story represents only a small fraction of teen suicides. Hannah planned the act extensively, and took a drug overdose. Her depression seems to have developed out of betrayal by friends and untrue rumors spread about her at school.

Hannah displayed nearly all of the classic warning signs, and even asks for help from a teacher, but they are ignored, not taken seriously, or sometimes even used to ridicule her. Clay realizes this as time goes on. Reading the novel, I felt a sense of deep dread; I knew how it was going to end. I really shouldn't have read it, but once I got going, it was nearly impossible to stop, much like the snowball effect mentioned in the book.

Hannah's final words on the recording are:

A lot of you cared, just not enough. And that... that is what I
needed to find out.

And I did find
out.

And I'm sorry.

The final tape is the most awful to me, and I imagine it is to everyone. She tells a teacher what's on her mind, but he misinterprets it as something less dire. But I knew that she was so far gone that almost nothing would do anything at that point.

I don't even want to think about what I would do if I received or found something similar. It's been too long for me, deluded in my own fantasies.

I suspect Th1rteen R3asons Why is going to be on my brain for quite a while. The message that is supposed to be taken from this novel, or the one that I took anyway, is that actions that you may think are insignificant can have a massive effect on someone's life. However, it is just as easy to stop the snowball from gaining speed, or to destroy it all together. Anyone can make the snowball start rolling, but anyone can also stop it. I'm not going to say that the novel traumatized me or anything, but I was shaken and triggered.

It is my hope that Th1rteen R3asons is interpreted well. I hope that other readers sympathize with Hannah and Clay rather than Hannah's tormentors. I hope that students read this in school, and realize that a Hannah could be sitting in the desk in front of them.

A Tale of Three Augusts

2008-09-01T13:56:00.008-05:00

I can't forget;
I never will.

Memories won't fade;

Scars don't heal.

A cycle of seasons,

Another year,

Eventually wind down

Into the month of August.

A summertime conclusion,

A path divided,

Furious goodbyes,

A girl left blindsided,

Endless questions,

Relentless tears:

And there concludes

The first August.

A sudden realization,

More tears shed,

A new voice emerges,

And better understanding of "dead."

A long journey awaits.

As September nears,

She realizes it's the end

Of the second August.

Another lip piercing,

The same blue sky.

The crippled bird

Has remembered how to fly.

Pain still lingers,

But hope grows strong,

As the curtain closes

On the third August.

(And now for something completely different. Since I feel like this ought to be put on this blog somewhere, but doesn't require it's own post, I'm adding it along the bottom here. It's about misconceptions about the emo subculture. Only click the link if you're willing to wade through horrendous spelling and grammar- the worst being at the top of page two.)

The Dread of Something After Death

2008-08-30T04:55:00.006-05:00

Maybe Shakespeare understood it the best when he wrote:

[.....]To dye to sleepe,
To sleepe, perchance to Dreame; I, there's the rub,
For in that sleepe of death, what dreames may come,
When we haue shuffel'd off this mortall coile,
Must giue vs pawse. There's the respect
That makes Calamity of so long life [....]
To grunt and sweat vnder a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The vndiscouered Countrey, from whose Borne
No Traueller returnes, Puzels the will,
And makes vs rather beare those illes we haue,
Then flye to others that we know not of.
Thus Conscience does make Cowards of vs all [....]

(Hamlet, Act III, Scene I)

After all, don't we mummify people, stick them in cement-lined holes, and/or believe in some mystical afterlife?

Still Untitled

2008-08-27T11:24:00.004-05:00

My relationship with letters and words has always been strong. As an infant, I loved to be read to, and I taught myself to read when I was three. My sister, then aged six, was learning, and I listened in to the exercises she did with our parents. Of course, there were some problems to be sorted when I finally went to kindergarten; I didn't realize that there was a difference between a comma and a period, for example.

The children's librarian didn't know what to do with me. I devoured every halfway-decent chapter book for grade-schoolers she knew of.

Eva was a passionate reader too. We'd race each other to finish the latest instalment in the Harry Potter series. Then we'd argue about what we thought would happen in the next one.

As for writing, I wasn't so keen on it to begin with, mostly because I couldn't write fast enough to put my thoughts down on paper. Why should I write it down when I could simply tell you instead? I warmed up to it though, and by the time I was eight and nine I loved writing short stories, which, sadly, mostly consisted of Harry Potter fanfiction. Thankfully, I eventually branched out to create my own characters and strange new worlds. But I still absolutely hated essays, especially the ones they make you write in school about pointless topics like which color is the best. Ask me about cosmetic testing on animals or smoking bans in restaurants and I might oblige.

And then suddenly I found my life as I knew it in pieces. My stories became disturbing tragedies starring young women feeling much of the same confusion and anger as I did. More than one ended in the protagonist's suicide.

To keep this straight: I do not keep a journal in the regular sense of the word. I never have felt the urge to. Rarely, I might write my thoughts down on random sheets of paper, then chuck them in the back of the closet and never see them again, but, as I said, that is only very rarely- the exception is something like this post.

For me, these fictions I write are my journal. They reflect, almost exactly sometimes, my mood and thoughts at the time of writing.

I didn't consider it introspective writing at the time, but it helped to support me during the time of insufferable depression. When writing, every character, even the coldest, most heartless ones contain a tiny piece of yourself. The characters I wrote about- they were me. I led them through their own troubles, sometimes resolving them, sometimes not. Writing these stories, often science-fiction, let me work through my pain many people say journal work does.

If these characters I write about reflect me, that would lead one to assume that I reflect them as well. If I made them happier and more optimistic, would I become so? Naturally, there's the argument that I have to be happier and optimistic to write about them like that, which I suspect is true. Maybe if I try to view myself writing my own book, my own story, I will find an easier way to pull through.

Who's to say?

The rest is still unwritten.

There we go- a drop of optimism.

Who really needs to know this stuff?

2008-08-26T19:35:00.004-05:00

I was planning on putting up something more serious today, but I accidentally spent way too much time reading bizarre articles on WikiHow. It's easy to get lost in there.

So, I have assembled a list of five interesting pages that you might enjoy, in no particular order:

1. How To Cope With Your Fear Of Eating Fruit There's enough people with that phobia that it designates an article?

2. How To Get A Man To Marry You I'm sure this was meant in all seriousness, but it sure is ridiculously funny- especially the tips section.

3. How To Cosplay As The Queen Of Hearts In Alice In Wonderland Really, now.

4. How To Not Be Afraid Of Hot Topic Why do people feel the urge to post common sense up on the Internet?

5. How To Become A Star Wars Fan I think this article should be changed to "How to Identify a Star Wars Obsession."

Why So Serious?

2008-08-24T16:45:00.003-05:00

Things people have said/typed in the past week directed toward me:
"Lighten up."
"Seriously, what is the last thing that made you laugh?"
"Smile. Please."
"At least pretend to be cheerful."
"Do you even have a sense of humor?"

Yes, I do. Have a sense of humor, that is. Let's just say that it's somewhat unconventional for someone my age, and occasionally slightly sadistic. (REVENGE! BUHAHAHA!)

But it's all true, sadly. I don't laugh nearly as often as other people seem to; after telling a joke, you're lucky if you get a weakish smile. I'm not amused by overused puns and groin-kicking acts, and I don't see how a lot of teenagers think putting someone down is funny. Overused puns are, well, overused, my brothers tell me getting kicked in the balls is extremely painful, and put-downs are plain insulting.

Well, they try to explain to me, you don't find put-downs funny because you're always too serious. Can't you take a joke?

Um, no, I guess I can't. I don't think I'd like to be the guy you pointed at through the car window and said that he looks like a gorilla.

And why should I walk around with a grin on my face? If there's something wonderful that makes me do that, so be it, but otherwise I'd think it'd be creepy.

Furthermore, they say I try too hard to be politically correct. If that's so, why did I find this halarious? Yes, it's wrong, but it does basically sum up every "debate" I've ever had...

Suspended Animation

2008-08-20T16:26:00.005-05:00

breathe
sleep
speak

the mind is still

sigh
awaken
talk

without awareness

groan
doze
whisper

the mind is still

gasp
collapse
scream

in suspended animation

The Woman She Dreamed To Be

2008-08-18T12:58:00.009-05:00

I know Eva used to dream. She used to look forward to the future as much as, if not more than, any young teenager. She had a solid direction in life she was aiming for.

Eva wanted to go into interior design. She'd watch those home makeover shows whenever she had the chance, and always have a new idea for decorating her bedroom. Of the time I remember, she painted her walls five different colors: orange, lavender, bright green, turquoise, and yellowish green.

Of course, she'd only be an interior designer only if she had enough time away from her sports career. Eva was a great athlete (I never told her that I always thought I was better, ha ha), and hoped to play soccer or lacrosse in college.

Eva liked dogs. Since she was 5, she desperately wanted one as a pet. But her mother always said no, since she was allergic. For years she had to make do with playing with the canines she met at the city park. I don't remember what breed she said she'd get when she moved out- it might've been a Labrador.

Sometimes Eva would start to plan her wedding, even though she obviously had no idea who the groom would be. "It has to be outside," she'd say. "And in the springtime. And with lots of flowers." I thought she was very silly for planning so far ahead, especially as the idea of kissing a boy was only starting to become slightly less icky to me at this point. She was always on another planet compared to me about those things.

I guess at some point she stopped reaching for those goals. They must not have held much allure anymore.

Hanging in the Mist

2008-08-16T14:50:00.005-05:00

It's been two years.

Something still tells me it can't be true. Is it because the time felt shorter to me, or longer?

Two years ago, the telephone rang as I reached to put an I ♥ NY mug into the cabinet. It's strange to think that there's nothing that defines that moment besides the hours that followed, and the overwhelming question of WHY that still persists.

I feel like I've gotten lost while teleporting to the past. My mind is in one place, and my body is in another. I'm hanging in the mist between, cold and exhausted. No pain, not anymore, or is it that it hasn't arrived yet?

Again, ignorance leaves me speechless...

2008-08-11T10:07:00.009-05:00

http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index;_ylt=Algdo2XOpKB_xpgZTGTCEBITxgt.;_ylv=3?qid=20080811075448AAGgdGG

I can't even answer this one, there's so much fucked up with it... It makes me want to scream- or cry.

When does some chick's reputation become more important that someone's life? Why would she just stop caring? If you don't know how to handle someone who has suicidal thoughts, don't just ignore them, FREAKING LEARN ALREADY. And also, it doesn't take a degree to have friends with mental disorders.

Somehow I know that this girl is going to be next to impossible to change. In my opinion, she's the selfish one.

I just can't confront these people. It's too hard for me just to read...

The Strange and Wonderful Keywords

2008-08-06T21:55:00.004-05:00

Today I would like to present some of the stranger ways people found this blog through Internet searches.

examples od sucide notes from canadians
Not any here, but there's one American one. And please spell a bit better next time.

suicide is selfish
There's some argument about that.

suicide survivor poems their choice
There's some argument about that too.

eva marisah
Either I have a stalker, or this wasn't what they had in mind.

girlvinyl dyke
I can agree.

exploding person cartoon
and
pig exploding
and
cartoons of exploding people
Now that's just gross.

Then there's everything else related to emo cults, Ruslana Korshunova, and a silly video about a chalk-throwing professor. And a few searches pertaining to the actual topic of this blog sprinkled in.

Changed Perceptions

2008-08-04T15:03:00.004-05:00

I never used to understand why someone would kill themself, if something suicide-related ever crossed my mind at all. But then again, why should it have? I was a bright-eyed kid who viewed the world as an endless opportunity.

I'd like to say that I wasn't one of the ignorant people who go around proclaiming that suicide is completely selfish and anyone who even considers it is a complete loser, but I'm not entirely sure.

I remember once when a guy my older sister's friend went to school with committed suicide. I never knew him, and I don't think my sister's friend really did either. They were just in the same grade and had one class together or something. I think that was the first time it really hit me that suicide does actually happen everywhere, and not just places you hear about in the news. If I remember correctly, I think I figured that he probably had good reason- maybe his parents abused him or something equally unfathomable as suicide to me at the time- and it wasn't really my business anyway.

I try not to judge people until, as the saying goes, I have walked a mile in their shoes. Because then, of course, I'm a mile away when I criticize them and I have some new shoes! But, seriously, especially if it's something that there's not somthing reasonably like it, I make a best effort not to judge. Seeing how depression and suicidal intentions have changed my perceptions of life in general, makes me wonder how people can believe so feverantly that suicide is A Very Bad Thing (or not) without a perspective of what it really is and what suicide really means to everyone involved. I still cannot judge past a certain point because I have only been a friend of a person who committed suicide, and the suicidal, and I very much hope it will stay that way. Or maybe they do know, and they're still insensitive jerks.

Without Closure

2008-08-03T03:32:00.005-05:00

clo·sure (klō'zhər), n.

1. The act of closing or the state of being closed: closure of an incision.
2. Something that closes or shuts.
3.
a. A bringing to an end; a conclusion: finally brought the project to closure.
b. A feeling of finality or resolution, especially after a traumatic experience.
4. See cloture.
5. The property of being mathematically closed.

Who would really want closure? If we were to accept closure as a part of grief, would that mean an end to memories and feelings? Would it mean that we agree they are gone forever rather than keeping them alive through
memories? I have yet to hear a grieving person tell me they could finalize their grief because the person responsible for the death had been caught or the cause of an accident had been understood. Many times they thought it would bring an end to the pain but in reality it did not.

I Hate Augusts

2008-08-02T10:47:00.004-05:00

Sometimes I wonder if I have some sort of underlying problem. It's been almost two years now, and it still affects me every day. Does it take this long for other people to heal? Or am I just using Eva's suicide as an excuse to cover something else?

I dread what lies ahead during this month. I know, I'm resigning myself to it if I keep thinking it'll happen, but treating the days like any other just isn't going to seem possible. Yep, I'm planning how I will react, but I don't know how to stop doing that. I can't.

I hate Augusts. And not just because of the insane heat. See? There I go. I've only hated the last two, and only what they've been associated with for me, so why can't this one be like the other fourteen in my life- a frantic attempt to enjoy the last of summer to the extreme?

Suicide Vs. Free Speech

2008-07-31T20:38:00.003-05:00

The Independent: Ministers Seek Curbs on Internet Suicide Sites for Teenagers

suicide = Very Bad Thing in the eyes of the general population
Everyone knows that.
I know where they're coming from.

But is it really OK to only allow one perspective on the Internet?

And what about this blog, or possibly mine- would they be deemed unsuitable because they're not specifically anti-suicide? I do not see the harm in these types of sites. And yet, something tells me Encyclopedia Dramatica would squirm around it, being a so-called satirical encyclopedia.

I guess what bothers me the most is that the Internet is one of the few places left to talk and write about issues that are normally taboo, and soon it may not be an option.

I also can't see it working reasonably well- they will find a way. Maybe the chat room or forum isn't specifically about suicide. Maybe it'll happen on sites like MySpace or Bebo, on which most of the users mean no harm. Maybe the people will converse through PM's on YouTube. It will happen as long as there's people online.

And my guess as to why some of those people signed into chat rooms? They wanted to ask for help. They wanted to know how to get out of mind-numbing depression. And what was the answer they got? They were told to kill themselves.

The Suicide List

Update

The End (at least for now)

Just Another Video

Three Years and a Day

Cutting on the Today Show

Another PostSecret

Maybe

Guilt

Self and Safe Spaces

"Cutting Is Fun," Says Teen

Drowned

Flawed Love

Trip

Depression Perception

On Mental Disability

Road Trip

SI Stuff

Fictional

Less

Inner Reality

Events of the Past While (Part 1)

Back at Square One

Ick.

To without9regret

Fragments: December 2006- March 2007

Accountablity, Emo, and So On

Depressed? I blame the Enlightenment.

My Suicide

I Miss Me- But Who's That?

It's not the teenagers that need worrying about...

Elsewhere for a Time

Screw Politically Correct

Cutter

Drunk & Crazy

Suicidal Thoughts Can't Be Cured

Holding My Breath

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

Just Another Statistic

This Does Not Require a Title

What if I'm wrong?

"That it's now in the past makes no difference."

The First Cut

And Music Makes Me Cry.... Again

Say What?

Answering Questions from Suicide.org

Stages

What is this world coming to?

Selfish, Take Three

Fresh

See ya'll in 2009!

To Anonymous

21

Top 10 Depression Blogs of 2008

*hides*

On Desperation and Bravery: Wisdom From YouTube

I'm Still Alive... Barely

Does ANYONE get this?

When Shopping Is Like A Rock Concert

The Eyes Have It

Responsibility to Strangers

Notoriety Or Oblivion?

Internet Phenomena I Just Don't Get

Self-Injury Secrets

Twice a Victim

Conversation III

Censor Me

No One Really Seems to Care

The Coming White

Concrete Wasteland

The Suicide List in Review

Don't Get a Boob Job

10 Good Things About Today

More Than This

Meme

The Trinity of the Lost

Institutionalized Education 101; or, Mariah Flips Out

Warning: This article contains a lot of numbers

Today on PostSecret

A Living Miracle

hides