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you'll start hating life if you do what you hate.
Anonymous asked: I am strongly contemplating suicide. I'll just stay home tomorrow and do it. I've tied up the noose and everything already.

ninjakato:

stardroid:

Anon. I’m going to share something personal with you today. And with all of tumblr, too.

Do you see this photo?

image

This is one of the few photos I have left of my mother and I. And the only one that’s digital, too.

I was about four years old in that photo. Shortly after that photo was taken, I was placed into foster care because of my mother’s mental conditions and her inability to care for me. Which was fine, it was the right thing to do.

She was taken overseas to a very good mental health clinic in Paris, which is where we came from. 

My mother had a lot of problems. Among them were her multiple personality disorder and her bipolar. She stayed in hospital for most of my life, and battled depression and her suicidal tendencies. She went through a lot, including electro-shock therapy. Nothing seemed to help. She was a very lost and very hurt woman.

And one day, on Mother’s Day of 2008, my foster parents received a phone call at about 1am from the mental hospital my mother was staying in.

My mother had hung herself in the shower of her bathroom. Her mental illnesses, her lack of access to me and the things she’d suffered through her life had snapped her. And she was gone.

I was thirteen years old. Nobody told me until the sun had risen. I left my room, ready for school. And then I was sat down, and I was told.

And I was numb.

I felt nothing, for months. Months, and months, and months.

I was a very good student at school. I got distinctions, and straight A’s. And all of that kind of just… stopped. 

The full extent of my loss didn’t hit me until years later, when I was sixteen.

And it hasn’t stopped hurting since.

I miss my mother every day. I barely got to know her, but I knew she loved me. And I ache every time I see someone walk by with their parents, or a little girl with her mother. It’s even cost me several relationships. It hurts. I can’t take it. Can’t do it.

You know the kind of woman my mother was? Kind. Smart. Thoughtful. She was a painter, and a lover of music. We lived in Australia when I was growing up, but she always loved France. In fact, it was her name. I recall my foster mother’s comment when she met her for the first time when she came back to Australia to visit me. She said how talking to my mother was like talking to your best friend. One you hadn’t seen in years. The joy in her voice, her smile.

I can’t even remember what she sounds like anymore.

Suicide? I’ve wanted to do it. Several times. It’s been tempting. Pressure builds inside your chest, and you can’t cry anymore. You feel nothing and it’s clearly just logical to end it because there’s no point living in a void anymore.

You feel like there’s no one else out there for you. You’re alone, and nobody understands.

Anon, let me tell you.

I understand. I’ve seen both sides of this coin. Nobody wins.

I know what it’s like to want to not exist. I spend half my days pretending to be mechanical because being human and alive is just too much of  a burden sometimes. But I also know what it feels like to be left behind.

It’s searing.

After the loss of my mother, I lost three more people to suicide. One was my uncle, and two others were good friends. One of them was one of my best friend.

I don’t know who you are, Anon. But I’d like to.

I’d like to know who you are so I can stop you from feeling this way. You’re not alone. And if you are? I’ll be the first to open my arms to you.

Death is not an answer, nor by any means a door to something greater.

Death is for those who have finished in this life. We are not meant to go before our time, and especially not alone.

I’m nineteen now. If my mother were still alive, she’d be thirty-eight.

It’s too young.

You’re too young.

To you, anon, and to everyone else out there who’s ever felt this way.

Stop. Breathe. Think.

Come to me, if you have to.

Go to someone. Anyone. Please.

You’re so much more than a statistic.

You’re worth so much more than tears.

You mean so much more than every person who has ever stamped you into the ground. Called you names. Failed to accept you because you don’t fit into their criteria of human. Spurned you, or ignored you. 

I know this pain. And I know what happens when that pain consumes you.

Please. Don’t go.

I don’t know you. But your life means something. 

I promise it means something.

I am legitimately crying… 

Please, Anon. LISTEN TO THIS. 
SERIOUSLY. 

Listen. 

colourchemist:

thank goodness for tumblr, i would have been doing both wrong 

dontforgetthatiloveyousweetie asked: Well in that case I'm truly sorry! I had only seen the other questions, and I was confused. Anyway, I read your answers now, and if you ever need to talk to someone, when you have a breakdown or something, you can always message me :) Love you!x

Aww thank you(:

peachyxx:

rancidrnilk:

peachyxx:

peachyxx:

The intent of this group of photos is to illustrate the countless comments fat women are told by their peers, elders and countless random people on how exactly they should dress. We’re told our bodies are offensive. That the only way to resolve the suggested “problem” is to cover up, to make ourselves more appealing by putting clothes over our stretch marks, our cellulite, our so-called “imperfections”. We see magazines with How to Get Your (Very Unattainable) Perfect Bikini Body as highlights and heaven forbid a fat woman with a stomach be seen in a bikini. We are encouraged to buy cover ups to go over our sad one piece because “no one wants to see that big of a stomach”.

People have told me my shirt is too low-cut “for a fat girl to be wearing”. People have told me “those horizontal stripes make you look even worse”.
People have told me that I need to wear pants instead of shorts in 100+ degree Texas weather because my cellulite is showing.

People think they have the right to dress you as a mannequin because they feel better when you aren’t visible under the clothes they drape over you. 

You do you, you dress you, you do whatever the hell you want and what makes you happy.

And for all the people who have contributed to this ridiculous notion that we can’t seem to dress ourselves, this is a not so subtle FUCK YOU.

DO BOT REBLOG THIS SET TO PORN BLOGS OR I WILL FIND YOU AND KICK YOU IN YOUR FACE MULTIPLE TIMES IN A ROW

Oh my god crystal these turned out so good oh god

thanks myki bb!
thanks for helping me pile a mountain of clothes on top of me lol

Track: ♫it’s okaaaaaaay mister niall♫ [niall sobbing]

Artist:

Album:

Plays: 17,650

thetindog:

theladthatlived:

georgesus:

"He’s a little fighter. He kind of, he wriggles around quite a lot.” - Prince William

its like when you take dogs out of water and they carry on swimming

MOTHER, UNHAND ME, I HAVE A COUNTRY TO GOVERN

intensional:

i use the word fuck so excessively i sometimes forget it’s a swear word

tyleroakley:

troylered:

Please watch it.

So disgusting.

kardashy:

my friends grandma got her something from hollister as a gift but apparently she didnt like the shirtless guy on the bag so she sewed a shirt on it

image

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