#TW // suicidal thoughts

[support]

Everything okay?

If you or someone you know is struggling, you are not alone. There are many support services that are here to help. For 24/7 peer support and other resources, message KokoBot on Tumblr.

If you are in the United States, please try:

National Suicide and Crisis Lifeline or dial 988 or (en Español)

The Trevor Project (LGBT crisis intervention) or dial 1-866-488-7386

Trans Lifeline or dial 1-877-565-8860 (en Español)

The National Domestic Violence Hotline or 1-800-799-SAFE (7233)

Rape Abuse & Incest National Network or 1-800-656-HOPE (4673)

S.A.F.E. Alternatives for Stopping Self Abuse or 1–800-DONT-CUT (366–8288)

National Eating Disorders Association

If you are outside the United States, visit IASP to find resources for your country.

For more resources, please visit our Counseling & Prevention Resources page for a list of services that may be able to help.

[snuffysbox]

The canon heart event that made me want to do these comics to begin with 🌧️

← previous | next ->

Comic Masterlist

[winte-ry]

I'm sorry

Masterpost

Next

Previous

[skelekerrry]

I take you where you want to go

I give you all you need to know

I drag you down, I use you up

Mr. Self Destruct

Nine Inch Nails - Mr. Self Destruct

[soranatus]

INVINCIBLE 2x04: It's Been a While

[obscurix]

what kind of defense mechanism is “i’m going to fucking kill myself” like please grow up babe

(i’m babe)

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

give yourself a reason | m. murdock

a/n: hi guys. this is much different than what I promised you last time I posted and it's a lot different than what i usually post but i've been struggling so intensely with my depression and anxiety and genuinely the only thing that's gotten through it is "you can't kill yourself yet, you haven't seen daredevil born again" so i guess this is a fic about that lmao warnings: massive trigger warning for depression and suicidal thoughts, like just. pretty much the entire fic is the reader wanting to die and having bad mental health. besides maybe some cursing (but i cant recall) that's pretty much it. word count: 2.1k summary: the devil of hell's kitchen talks you off a ledge (literally) pairing: matt murdock x gn!reader now playing: call your mom - noah kahan "medicate, meditate, save your soul for jesus/throw a punch, fall in love, give yourself a reason/don't wanna drive another mile without knowin' you're breathin'"

You are the light in a dark room for so many people.

You are the glue of your friend group—Constantly planning hangouts, constantly responding to text messages, you’re always there for people.

You visit the bodega at the corner every morning for a large coffee and to pet the bodega cat.

You bring donuts in to work every Friday, for no reason other to bring joy to people’s lives.

You have every reason to live.

You…

Are standing on the ledge of your building, wondering if you’d pass out before you hit the ground.

You’ve dealt with depression for years. It’s been an uphill battle since you were eleven, maybe even earlier. And it goes through phases—Sometimes, you just coexist with it. It lives in the corner of your brain, where a lamp or a soulmate should be. You know it’s with you, but sometimes it just sits on your shoulder, observing.

Other times, it shackles you. It weighs you down, pulling you down under the crashing waves, and every time you pull yourself up to breath, it drags you down faster, more relentlessly.

It’s an intense unfortune that you could blame on any number of things, and you have tried.

But things have been bad recently.

And it’s not that your life is particularly hard right now—There’s no looming deadlines, your relationships are all fine, you thought you were happy, really, but one day you woke up.. unable to come up with a reason.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve found a reason. For a long time you thought, no, I couldn’t do that to my mom. Then, you said if you could just make it to college, everything would be easier. And then, you figured if you could make it to New York City, you’d be able to cope with things.

And it worked for a while, but—

“Hey,” A voice says from behind you, “hey, just—take a step back.” The voice says, and you tilt your head back, trying to look at who has interrupted you in this vulnerable moment.

“Go away,” You demand, your voice harsh as you realize you are not dealing with just any old witness- The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen stands behind you.

You know all about him. He popped up a year or two before you moved to the city, and you’ve always kind of daydreamed about him saving you—You’ve seen pictures and videos of him, glimpses of him.. But they’re just fleeting moments of a silly crush.

“You know I can’t do that,” He says, his voice getting closer. “I won’t do that.”

Then you feel tears in your eyes. Nothing can be easy, can it?

“Please,” You beg, “I’m not hurting anyone, I just.. want it to stop.”

“You are hurting someone. You’re about to hurt yourself and I won’t let that happen.” But he knows you won’t step away. And he doesn’t want to tackle you off the ledge.

“Please,” You say again, a shaky hand wiping your cheek, your heartbeat thumping out of your chest. You don’t want to die. You just don’t want to be in pain anymore.

“Let’s just sit,” he offers, his voice much closer to you now. “You don’t have to get off the ledge, just sit.” He requests.

“Look, devil man, I really don’t want you to give me some speech about how life is worth living, okay? Just—”

“We don’t have to talk about why you’re up here,” he says, “We can just sit.” From the corner of your eye, you see him sitting next to where you stand, his legs dangling over the edge.

He offers you a hand to help you sit down.

You take it.

And you’re not even sure why, because you don’t want to talk to this man, no matter how you admire what he does to other people. You sit next to him, and you feel yourself getting pulled down again, unable to breathe. Static fills your brain, repeating horrible things, telling you that everything for everyone would be easier if you just—

“Have you ever considered that Dr. Pepper could be a woman?”

“What?” You blink, now looking at him. What a ridiculous thing to say to a person who was about to kill themselves?

“Well, have you?”

“Uh.. No.” You answer, your face still twisted in confusion. “No, I’ve never considered that.”

“I always hear about people talking about this hypothetical doctor behind the soda, and they always refer to them as a man. Kind of messed up,” He shrugs.

“I don’t understand,” You respond honestly.

“I told you we didn’t have to talk about why you were up here, but I never said anything about not talking at all.”

You suppose he has a point.

“Okay.” You answer, feeling awkward now.

“Have you lived in the City long?” He wonders aloud.

“No,” You find yourself echoing the same story you’ve told a thousand times. “No, I moved here about a year ago.”

“Do you like it?”

Your stomach churns.

“Yeah.” You’re having a hard time being more descriptive than that.

“Have you been to see any good shows?” he asks, “Oh, have you seen Wicked?”

You’re confused again. You glance back at him. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is asking you if you’ve seen a Broadway musical about The Wicked Witch of the West. Much like the question about Dr. Pepper, you’re just extremely caught off guard, because it seems so out of character.

“Not in years.” You answer, “I saw it with my mom when I was younger.”

“Well you should see it again.” He said, “It’s really good, even better than you remember.” He promises.

“Why are you talking about this?” You answer, and he sighs.

“The confusion is on purpose,” He confesses, “I heard somewhere that if you can just distract someone having an episode, it might pull them out of it.”

You do feel.. better.. You suppose. You’ve been pulled above water, able to breathe, because in your confusion, there was no room for any static or bad thoughts to get in. Maybe better is a strong word, but there’s an absence of all of the intense thoughts that distracted you.

“Oh.. Thank you.” Is all you find yourself saying.

“I’m gonna go back on my promise,” he starts, “I need to ask you why you feel like this is your only option.”

Your shoulders fall a bit, remembering everything.

“You’re a liar.”

“Just try.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Have you ever tried it?”

“Tried what?”

“Verbalizing it, saying it all out loud?”

Well, now you feel silly. Very silly. You know a therapist might help, but you’ve been busy. And—

“You have your own problems,” You start, “I can’t ask you to take on my problems, too.”

“I asked you to talk about it,” he responds, “Besides, we don’t even know each other. You’re not burdening me, I promise.” And you’re inclined to believe him.

So, you take a deep breath and search for your words.

“I just can’t find a reason.” You start. “I’ve always been able to find a reason before, a reason to keep going, to push ahead, but..” You blink. “I just can’t find it. I’ve gone through all my usuals.”

“What about your mom?” he asks, recalling your earlier comment about him.

“She was the reason for a long time.” You confess, “But she has my stepdad now. Everyone’s taken care of. My friends, my siblings, my mom.. The only one who’s alone is me.”

The Devil doesn’t say it, but his heart aches for you.

“People would miss you,” he recalls his own depression, “They’d grieve you as intensely as they love you.” He reminds, and you know that.

“They’d find a way to move on.” You reason, “They’d have to figure it out.”

“How long have you been dealing with these feelings?”

“As long as I can remember.” You respond, “I thought if I could survive my childhood, it would stop. Moving here, that was supposed to be the end, but..” You frown. “After the honeymoon phase, I’m just back in that hole.”

“There’s ways to get you out of that hole,” He promises.

“How?” You demand, tears filling your eyes, “Tell me a reason I should keep going that I haven’t heard, that I haven’t thought, that actually gets through to me,” You ask.

He pauses. It’s a tall order.

“You know there’s no magical cure.” He starts, “But you find the little things. You can’t find any big reason to live? Fine. Find the small reasons,” He reasons, “The way sun feels on your skin, your favorite team winning a game, a homecooked meal.”

“Give me a big reason.” You request.

“I can hear heartbeats,” he says, and when you scoff, he shakes his head, “No, seriously. So, here’s your big reason: Don’t make me listen to your heart stop beating.”

It’s a low blow. A hit to your core, right to the part of you that feels guilty you even have these feelings.

“Let me walk you home.” He says after a moment.

“I live in this building,” You say, and for a moment, you almost think that the Devil tenses, like he hadn’t realized that.

“Then let me walk you to your apartment. It’s cold out here, c’mon.” He offers.

“How do you know I won’t just do it tomorrow? Or after you leave?”

“I trust you,” And somehow you don’t believe him. But he swings his legs around and stands on the solid ground of the roof. He offers his hand to you again. “Let’s go inside.”

You take his hand and let him guide you off the ledge, and it only takes a few steps for you to start crying—truly sobbing at the idea of what you were about to do. The Devil is right; tonight won’t be the night.

And as soon as he listens to you start sobbing, his arms are around you like he’s known you your entire life. He’s warm, safe. His hand gently rubs your back, his pointer finger running up and down your spine. The Devil gives wonderful hugs, it reminds you of hot soup on a winter day, the first hot day of spring after a long winter, and a memory from before depression reared it’s ugly head at you, of being three, maybe four years old on Christmas Eve, wrapped in blankets, safe and loved, with a full stomach of food.

You don’t know him, but you know right then and there that you’ll be grateful to him forever.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, his voice like a lullaby, “You’re okay. I’ve got you, sweetheart.” You can tell he means the words, that they aren’t obligatory, but genuine. He’ll look after you. He lets you cry into his shoulder for a long time, reminding you to breath.

When there’s no tears left to cry, The Devil gently pulls away, his hand now on your cheek as he wipes away the tears that run down your face.

And there’s only one thing left to say,

“Let me take you home.” He says gently. And you nod, words escaping you. You walk with him down to your apartment, letting him tuck you into bed after drinking some water. As you wait for sleep to find you, he gently brushes hair from your face as he asks, “Promise me you’ll call someone tomorrow. A therapist, a help line, your mom. Promise me you’ll find the help you need. Promise me you’ll find a reason.”

Studying his features, since, you don’t know when you’ll see him again, you nod.

“I promise.”

He leans forward and kisses your forehead. It’s foreign. Welcomed. Paternal.

“Good. Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” You request, and you see the corners of his lips twitch up.

“I’ll tell you what,” He starts, “I’ll come visit you tomorrow night, too. Okay?”

“Okay.”

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen saves people—but not everyone needs to be saved in the same way.

He waits for you to fall asleep before he leaves, breaking the lock on the door up to the roof so you can’t get up there, not until they fix it. Then, he makes his way to the window on the other side of your floor, to the apartment down the hall from yours.

He crawls into the window and pulls off his cowl, before showering, and then crawling into bed. He hopes you’ll find a reason, but he knows he’ll show up again if you can’t. That’s just the type of person he is.

[justbreakonme]

A casually suicidal whumpee constantly mouthing off to who they think is their new whumper but who is, in actuality, a very exasperated, reluctant caretaker.

[borderlinereminders]

Sometimes I deal with suicidal thoughts and get urges. My lack of emotional permanence makes it extra hard because I’m convinced that feeling suicidal is the only feeling and it’ll never pass. Something that helps me get through the moment is “I always have the power to end everything but I don’t have to do it right now.”

Reminding myself of that can help me get through the feelings. It makes the urges less strong. Telling myself “no” instead of “maybe later” makes them harder to ignore and makes my emotional situation worse.

[incorrectly-quoting-mxtx]

Xie Lian: I don’t know what’s scarier. That everyone wants to run a sword through my heart or that, sometimes...I just wanna let them.

[borderline-culture-is]

BPD culture is give me attention now I'm going to fucking kill myself talk to me why won't you fucking talk to me just TALK TO ME. and then someone asks if you're okay and you blow them off saying you're fine and they're ridiculous for even asking.

.

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

what it's like to fuck re4 leon (angsty)

pairing: leon/reader

cw: ANGST, smut, rough sex, mentions of suicidal ideation, mentions of death, low self-esteem

summary: i wanted to write headcanons/a similar post to the vendetta!leon post and give my 'realistic'/pessimistic take on re4 leon's sex life, (as opposed to the cute/sexy idealistic version), but i let my mind off it's leash and went full-blown depressing

wc: 977

Leon’s a certified cynic and doesn’t do much to hide it. If you found him out somewhere, maybe a bar - a place he’d one day frequent, he’d seem unapproachable. Not only due to his obvious physical attractiveness, but also to his disinterested expression, which wasn’t directed at anything or anyone in particular. He probably got dragged out of his house by friends who were chatting and laughing, or had already gone home with someone else, so he was just biding time until he’d decide to call a cab home. 

If you struck up a conversation with him, he’d smile politely because behind it all, he’s still kind. The stoic facade is just a new manifestation of depression because he’s not allowed to cry or rot away in bed. That’s not what a good government agent does. He’s charming when you finally get him to open up a bit. He compliments you, sincerely, despite the awkward manner in which the words fall out of his mouth. 

As the night drags on you can’t stop yourself from thinking about how badly you want to take him home or vice versa. You’re hoping he’ll kiss you, but he’s not into PDA, so he won’t, in a crowded bar. But, when you’re standing outside about to call a cab, you think he’s going to offer you his jacket because it’s cold during the winter in D.C., but when he wraps one arm around you, his other hand lifts your chin, so he can kiss you. Soon, that same hand is cradling the back of your head, so you don’t hit your head on the brick wall behind you when you’re pressed up against it. The kiss is hot. It’s not all tongue-and-teeth sloppy, but it’s far from chaste, especially once he has one of your legs wrapped around one of his hips. 

Eventually, he’s holding you up entirely and it takes no energy for him, you can tell by his arms. Still, you can feel his biceps flex under your touch, and you can’t help but think about the possibility of reaching down and feeling a similar firm sensation at the front of his jeans. 

If you’re lucky, if he’s too drunk and can’t walk without stumbling, thus incapable of any sort of wild sex, or if he’s too sober and still has a grasp on the consequences of getting caught with his pants down in public, he might take you home. The sex wouldn’t be rough - unless you ask for it - because he doesn’t know you like that and would never want to cross a boundary. He understands what those are. If you asked for it hard, he’d happily grant that wish because he’s constantly pent up with frustration and has very few outlets to get his emotions out. It’s not like he can talk this shit out, so sex is a cheap bandaid solution, but it feels better than nothing. He’d like it from behind - he wouldn’t want to see your face, but not because he doesn’t think you’re beautiful. He does. But sometimes pleasure looks like pain and he hates to watch people cry even no matter the circumstance. 

On the other hand, he’s quite the masochist. He wants to get his hair pulled while he’s on his knees with his face shoved between your legs. His perfect, precious hair that he fought so hard to keep, but this is the only time it’s not for show. It’s useful when it comes to sex, it’s another vulnerability, one that he allows himself to have. He likes scratches down his back, too, ones that cover up old scars like a new paint job. In the shower the next morning, he doesn’t have to relive every knife and bullet that’s ever grazed his skin. Nails down his back or his chest let him link pain to pleasure, he only deserves the former in his opinion, though, the second is just collateral. 

Sex is just a chase to death, really, Leon thinks. It’s the kind he’s man enough to suffer. The ten seconds of oblivion are so good, especially since he doesn’t have to think anymore. He can’t off himself just yet, so it’s the best he can do. The only other options are morphine, lobotomy and a bullet to the head, or at least, that’s what he thinks. He’d never say it out loud, though. 

When he fucks you, he doesn’t have to think. It’s the same adrenaline rush he feels when he’s in fight or flight mode. It’s like killing, you feel the guilt later. It’s not the same as fighting bioterrorism, though, since the government’s the one that’s screwing him in that situation. The animalistic, carnal side of him doesn’t take over his mind when he kills. He’s not voracious like that, there’s nothing thrilling. Because no matter how hard he’s thrusting into you, even if the tip of his dick is hitting your cervix everytime and his iron grip on you leaves bruises, he’s a good man inside. 

If you don’t want it hard and fast, you’ll get it slow and deep and methodical. It’s a memorized routine, he’s just running on instinct, but he’s not bored. It’s more like watching the same TV show over and over, it was good the first time and it’s comfortable, so you keep cycling through the same episodes. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. 

Leon feels guilty when he gets his dick sucked, so you’d have to coax him into it. If you really want to spoil him, though, you’d have to ask him not to pull out when he’s right on the edge. He doesn’t even think he has a breeding kink, but it’s like you’ve put malware in his brain and just fucked up the code, he can’t help the fact that he blows his load inside you. He’ll buy you Plan B tomorrow and leave it on the counter alongside a sticky note with an apology on it, short and sincere.  

Leon will let you stay the night, let you snuggle up to him while he tries to reciprocate the same gentleness, and he’ll make you coffee in the morning. He won’t plan on romancing you, though. It’s not out of any malice. It’s just that he doesn’t quite believe in love, or at least, he doesn’t believe it’s for him. The government controls his life and he’s learned to submit - they haven’t sent any women to court him yet, so he’s convinced they’d never let him have a girlfriend.

[charlunday]

it's okay to be sad. 💛

[martinifruit]

a reminder for anyone feeling suicidal or in a really bad mental state after this election, please don’t just stay home doomscrolling. either go to work or school or wherever or stay home and turn EVERYTHING off. you should try to be around other people but if you don’t have anyone you can trust at school or work and you need a second for yourself, take it. however, don’t spend the whole day doomscrolling or sitting with your own thoughts. go outside, read a book and seriously take care of yourselves.

remember there are hotlines you can call and people you can talk to

stay safe out there

[cwgl418]

Abuse (?) , suicidal thoughts //

I'm honestly have no idea if I suffered from abuse or being mistreated and that led me to have several mental disorders. I've recently got “diagnosed” with PTSD. But when I say “diagnosed” it means I'm not entirely sure since my doctor is always vague with his diagnosis.

If u happen to know any good resources abt abuse, c-PTSD, PTSD, or depression, plz let me know in the comments🥲

What led me to have c-PTSD/PTSD:

Firstly, you need to know they have OCD and Bipolar disorder and experienced bullying so I think you need to have the context that they’re not exactly mentally well too.

Well, I met the one of my former moot online one day, because I was desperate of entering the animation industry as a color designer and they were one of the Japanese artists who works from home. I thought it might be a good opportunity to ask them about stuff. After that, we became moots.

One day, I decided to ask them if I could use their line art to color design and put in my portfolio. They had their restrictions like “Don’t make my OC in to a Black character” I was a little bummed about that request, feeling that feels a little bit anti-black, but they said yes, so I decided to work. And I told them, “It’s really hard, because the colors you’ve chosen is already good” and they replied, “Well, if you just use my colors, it will just fan art. Go find someone else”.

I accepted that request and the project was cancelled.

Before that, we’ve had a conversation, that I don’t really like the term “Yuri” to express wlw, so I suggested them to call it Sapphic instead. They declined so I decided to respect their wishes. But told them that “Well, please know that at least I tried”. And we also had a conversation about Disney styles. People always think I have a Disney style, and they on the other hand, have a completely different art style. More like a anime style for kids. So I told them, if you need any help with Disney style in your portfolio, I could help. Because I thought I could show my gratitude for being kind to me.

After that, I’ve saw their tweet saying, “When Marnie Was There is so yuri”. I was stunned because it was a ship between a grandmother and granddaughter. It was an incest ship.

After that, they also tweeted that “Lumity is yuri” and to be honest, I was at my limit so I tweeted, “I don’t think the term yuri is suitable for Lumity. You could call it wlw, GL, or Sapphic instead”. And oh, they went mad.

They told me, how yuri is not a bad or dirty term, and was so angry at me. I told them, we should end this conversation because we won’t agree on each other. The next day, I decided to soft block them. Only to find out they’ve blocked me on multiple accounts and they’ve spread a misinformation about me that “She said she hate yuri”.

Not only it felt like misgendering (because they kept using she/her and not they/them or ros/rose my other pronouns at that time), it was completely false information. So I tweeted on my account that “I didn’t said I hated yuri. I literally love wlw. I just don’t like the term” and they saw the tweet, deleted it, and tweeted again. And they also accused me that I said they don’t have a Disney style and they are hurt by it. I literally didn’t said that. I have proof and screenshots of what I’ve said.

What bummed me the most is that they were talking about our conversations we talked through DM. Meaning private.

They also said, that “Am I anti-black for saying that I don’t allow my OCs of not being colored darker?” Leaving the context completely that they specifically said that they don’t want their characters Black.

So a lot of people started to get angry at me, saying I’m childish or an asshole. A lot of people speculated by their tweets that I was a foreigner trying to gain control of a Japanese person with their terms when I’m Japanese myself. The person who accused me all of this, kept misgendering me so their followers did too.

I decided to just leave them. But I couldn’t get them off my head. One day, I’ve decided to visit their account on my alt account because I wanted to take a screenshot of their tweets bad mouthing me. And I saw their tweets accusing me that I’ve been kept falsely accusing them and harassing them for months so they’ve took the screenshots of my tweets and went to the police and the lawyer. I got very scared.

Ever since, I’m so scared of them, avoiding anything that reminds me of them (words, my attendance record for work, names, characters, movies etc), and keep having flashbacks of that incident.

My memories of what I exactly tweeted abt them is so blurry, so I might be wrong, but I think I tried to warn ppl that they ship incest ships and that they are a proshipper. And the way that they said that they don't allow their characters to be colored dark skinned only slightly tanned and not Black feels a bit anti-Black. And I think they took as me trying to harrass them or defame them or spreading false info bc they thought I’ve worded differently

And that’s the entire story I guess.

What’s my “abuse”?

So my abuse… starts w my mom… she doesn’t speak English but she always wanted to and pushed my dreams on me. I grew up learning English w my mom. The shouting got worse when I was in Elementary school. I would get scolded for the smallest things.

Like not remembering the meaning of the word. She would lock herself up in her room and I just cried while I’ll just write her an apology letter. She wouldn’t hit me, but sometimes kicked me. She still does when she gets too hot headed.

The second one is my homestay at Australia. I had two host families. I'll get to why later. But my first host family was a grandma. And before my stay, I asked her if she had a wi-fi and she said yes, we weren't allowed to bring out own wi-fi so I was relieved. Until I’ve learned she doesn't.

So I asked her if she could get wi-fi during my stay and she said yes so we went to get a wi-fi unit I've learned she thought I wanted to buy myself my own wi-fi. I was surprised and refused and I left the store.

During my stay, there was a Chinese boy with me. He had his own wi-fi. I could hear him talking to his phone in his room and that made me more lonely. I was crying in my room without no comfort, no internet, no way to contact my mom.

Until I breaked down in front of my host mother and the Chinese boy kindly offered me to share his wi-fi. I happily took the offer. The next day, I was accused by my teachers that I bought a wi-fi and I never left my room.

I was confused, bc I never bought a wi-fi and was in my room just playing w my phone. I was crying in my room. I told them it was all an misunderstanding. I've never bought a wi-fi, I got shared a wi-fi from another boy who's home staying. The teachers were horrified.

Bc it was against the rules. It was supposed to be only one student per home. I was apologized by the misunderstanding but I had to change my host family.

After that, I moved to a different host family. This host family seemed wealthy. They had two kids (both boys) and I had my own place to stay w a wi-fi (finally!) But I had to go and be around w the boy's sports lessons and I was bored.

Although, I had severe social anxiety at that time (without knowing) I tried my best to be present and interact w them. I was pretty happy w my second host family. Until, I was called to a room during my lecture by my teacher.

There was my host mother and his son waiting. I was wondering why I was called out during class. Until I was told by my teachers that my host family told them that I wasn't interacting much as they wish too.

I was humiliated in front of them about my personality and how I should be more extroverted for my own sake. I remember crying and said “But this is just who I am…”

After that incident, I asked my host family if I'm able to visit the medival inspired castle. They told me if I want to go there, I need to pay everything including their fees. I was shocked and took down my offer.

During my stay of my second host family, I had to come to the school an hour early due to their work schedule. So I had an hour to myself nothing to do. My friends won’t come soon so I just decided to use my phone which was against the rules.

Eventually, I've got caught and my phone was taken away. My only comfort, my only way to contact my family and online friends. Even though there were students using their phones during the class.

Of course, I was scolded by it and cried. I haven't got my phone back until my last day of my stay. Eventually, I got a cold and I my throat hurt I couldn't speak. It was my worst stay ever. And that's the end of the story I guess.

What’s my suspicion with depression?

My mom asked if I’m happen to be depressed bc my shopping addiction got worse and I honestly don’t know. I’m being suspecting if I have one for months. But it’s not the same as the early symptoms(crying and having diarrhea every day) I’ve experienced during college so I’m not sure.

I just feel less joy w my hobbies like drawing or reading. I haven’t finished an actual book for months…

Sometimes when I look at the knife I just think and wonder if I wanna cut myself or stab myself… but I wonder it’s bc of my OCD or depression. I honestly have no idea.

I asked my doctor months ago and he was like “Well you might be”. He doesn't diagnose me specifically. So I'm still confused whether if my lack of joy on drawing and reading is due to depression and I just happen to get my shit together bc I already take antidepressants bc of my OCD.

[obscurix]

holy fuck what is the fucking point anymore truly.