#suicidal ideation ???

[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.

[signanothername]

Better the image if who built you than the image of who broke you

[beneathsilverstars]

um do you think before siffrin joined orbquest they maybe didn't care that much about the curse. like maybe they'll get caught in it maybe they won't. it's whatever.

[profoundbondfanfic]

Forgotten/Flight

Forgotten and Flight by NorthernSparrow || @northern-sparrow Rating: General Audiences (Forgotten) and Mature (Flight) Word Count: 480k

Forgotten Sam and Dean are working a case in Wyoming, but are distracted by news of a dangerous angel called "Castiel" who they can't remember ever having heard of before. The name seems a little bit familiar, but neither of the boys is sure why. Based off of mid-season 9 (before mark of Cain, before the angel army); takes place several months later, in September 2014. Case fic wrapped in a big ol' amnesia mystery. NO SLASH; the idea is that this is something they could do on the actual show, like a 3-4 episode arc with some mini cases and a cool story running through it all. GETS VERY EMOTIONAL with super strong friendship/family themes, lotsa hurt/comfort, about three metric tons of Cas angst, feels galore, plus monsters and M&M's. Flight Sequel to Forgotten. A/U from mid season 9. Castiel is human and wounded, and Dean and Sam need to get his grace back - and his wings. Things do not go as intended and Cas faces a difficult road. Long case fic with strong emphasis on Team Free Will friendship/family bonds. Will get serious and angsty and lonely.

These fics combine into one epic, alternate canon story. As a former ornithologist, NorthernSparrow really digs in on angel lore. In fact, I would say Flight is one of the foundational wing fics of the fandom.

These fics are written in the canon universe and feature some interesting cases. In the first installment, Dean and Cas have amnesia. When they run into Cas on a case, they don't know who he is. It's an interesting mystery that will keep you guessing. In the follow-up, Cas is injured and trying to regain his angelic powers.

If there's one thing NorthernSparrow does as well as intricate wing descriptions, it's hurt/comfort. And these fics have heavy hurt/comfort vibes. I will admit that Flight in particular affected me when it came to Cas' injury. It also features a slow burn. Like really slow burn. They don't even get together until the second fic slow burn. It's so worth it though when Dean and Cas finally come together.

[snickerdoodlesart]

disco disco

[over-emotional-robot]

Y'know, if that's how writing was for me I probably wouldn't appreciate fanfic either tbh

At the back of my copy of The Vampire Armand, there's an old interview with Anne Rice talking about creating that novel. I've never forgotten her answer to one of the questions... It haunted me for years.

It gives incredible insight into how and why she wrote such beautiful, brutal and broken characters, and what she endured in the creation process.

BUT before you read this, I'm going to STRONGLY warn you, it goes to very very DARK places

Q: What are your work habits for a novel?

A: Once I truly begin to write, I work obsessively, in twelve-hour days, punctuated by days of long sleep and vivid dreaming. Starting time and ending time are no longer important. I might begin at 9 A.M., or after noon or at eight in the evening. I go from there. I turn on the computer and write, write, write.

My room is a mess. Notes are scribbled on the walls so that I can look up at them at the appropriate moments and insert the date, the name, whatever, when I need it. Books are stacked so high that people have to search for me when they come into the room. Opened books with marked-up pages are stacked on top of one another.

I become suicidal. I go through a horrid despair some time or other before the final page, during which everything seems meaningless—from the dawn of history to the very hour in which I am writing.

I’m intolerable to live with. But I spread myself thin over a number of loved ones and staff members so that no one person has to put up with how intense, hysterical, and miserable I am.

When I get elated and talk fast and furiously about wonderful aspects of history or the characters, or good developments in the story, people run away from me. I don’t blame them.

While the novel is being written, I try to avoid dressing for outdoors. No one can make you go out if you don’t have shoes on. Not even in the south. I wear long velvet robes and soft velvet slippers. I refuse to go out. All food is brought in. I eat hamburgers because they are easy to hold with one hand while reading and holding the book with the other hand.

In the middle of the night I read, sometimes on the carpeted floor of the bathroom, just because it’s warm. I am wretched. I don’t care anymore about being abnormal. Writing is everything. Everything. It seems impossible to write the book. It seems impossible to lift a hairbrush to brush my hair. But I do it. I put on mascara every day that I write.

This period of intense work lasts about six weeks. It’s best that way. My imagination is overheated, and my memory clogged with data of varying importance. If I go over six weeks, I begin to forget things; I feel the loss of intensity and information and I become all the more self-destructive and obsessed.

The end of the book is a big event for me. A big event. I start screaming. I put the hour and the date at the end of the last page. I expect everybody to understand, at least a little. It’s a triumph! The darkness of destiny has been driven back for a brief while. I celebrate. I scream, eat chocolate, and sleep.

Right near the end of writing The Vampire Armand, I realized I had to return to Italy, especially to Florence, and at once I began to make preparations for the trip. As soon as the novel was finished and off to the publisher’s, as soon as it could be accomplished, I flew to Italy. That gave me hope, a way out of a life threatening darkness that often follows the climax of a book. But I still ate chocolate and screamed.

While writing, I don’t want to rest. I don’t want to sleep. Why sleep? It seems stupid, except when weariness overcomes me like a giant cloud of poisonous vapor. Then I sleep fifteen to twenty hours. I tell people to go in and out of the bedroom and ignore me lying there, as if I were dead. I won’t talk on the phone. I won’t open my eyes if I don’t have to. I dream terrible, upsetting dreams.

I want to kill myself. But I can’t. I can’t do it to other people, and I have work that must be done, novels that must be written. So I don’t kill myself. Besides, I don’t think it’s good to kill oneself. It’s a horrible idea. It has a horrible effect even on acquaintances.

I think a lot about people I loved who are dead. I think of how dead they are, year after year, ever more dead.

[patronsaintofsacrifice]

Replacing "I dont want to live" with "i dont want to live like this" was v helpful for me because it helped me figure out what parts of my life i was trying to escape and reminded me there are absolutely versions of myself i want to work towards and ways of living i havent experienced yet that i want to see

[yousaveeveryonebutwhosavesyou]

I'm proud of you for making it this far.

[thebibliosphere]

You know the cluster migraine is bad when your significant other ends up holding you while you clutch your head and sob about wanting to kill yourself to escape the pain.

Twelve hours. Twelve hours I was in so much pain I wanted to die.

And yet I still don’t qualify for pain management treatment and keep getting prescribed preventatives that don’t work for me because “we prefer not to prescribe painkillers where we can.”

Fuck you.

This is how people end up self-medicating and overdosing.

[positivelyqueer]

one of the most relatable and useful things someone once said to me is that what saved her from her own ideation was the knowledge that suicide is always an option.

And this runs counter to what is very often told, and I’m certainly not saying that that narrative is wrong. There are people that absolutely need to hear that suicide is Never an option.

But when you’ve been in those particular trenches for so long, the old sayings start to wear thin.

So what this person talked about was, the knowledge that she could theoretically always kill herself made it easier to postpone. Sure she could have killed herself this morning, but then she wouldn’t be out getting coffee with her friend. And she can always do it tonight.

But maybe tonight doesn’t work either because what she wants more than to be dead is to be warm in bed. So she’ll sleep on it. Maybe next week after seeing her friend’s musical.

And maybe that musical gives her the strength she needs to hold out for a bit longer, to scrape just a bit more joy from the world.

And maybe in two months it comes back, and she can’t do it anymore. But well, two months ago wasn’t the only time, she can always do it next month. Might as well wait for spring, the flowers are only just starting to come out.

So hey, maybe you could kill yourself. But you’re a long time dead with not a lot to do, so might as well scrape some more joy and excitement and interest and disappointment and music and grief and community and warmth from this world while you’re in it.

There’s always the possibility of something around the corner. Be curious and stay safe loves <3 (love heart.)

[neptunes-saddest-alien]

From the bottom of my worthless heart, I genuinely don’t know if I can survive another year.

[adustoflove]

I think dying would fix me immediately

[daily-crabbys]

This Friday's meme is: you always do this

[3idiotsandarainbow]

Day 19: To save yourself

From a fate worse than death

Killer killing the version of himself that almost reached a point of turning exactly like him before that version actually does >:)

-Anó

[phyrestartr]

Deal With It | Gojo Satoru x M!Reader (TEASER)

CW: Arranged marriage, SELF-HARM (on and off-screen), hurt/comfort, angst, drama, self-loathing, blood and gore, implied depression, suicidal thoughts, suicidal ideation #NSFW, probably top Gojo, probably bottom reader, maybe switch idk, idek if they'll bang it out tbh lol, angst with a happy ending, reader is a sorcerer, time skips, time progression, relationship development, student era into teacher era Note: I got this request to make a story revolving around Gojo and an arranged marriage to the reader (but bro is in love with Getou sob.gif), and I've been RUMINATING on it for forever. I think I finally have a good idea of who the reader is/what their chemistry is like with Gojo, so I'm happy to post a wee bit of a teaser to motivate myself! Let me know your thoughts---I'm finding that I absolutely love writing for Gojo, so I'm down to write more LOL. He's a very fun, complex character.

Deal With It

“So, you really don’t care what he thinks?” Shoko asked as you lit her cigarette. “Even I think he was kinda harsh.”

You pocketed your lighter and leaned back against the cold stone of the college walls. “He’s got a thing for that black-haired guy.”

“Getou.” 

“Sure.” You shrugged and tried to rub the ache out of your neck as you stared up at the bleak, grey skies. The air reeked of petrichor. Thankfully you’d brought an umbrella that day. 

“And you’re not bothered he’s in love with Getou?” Your friend continued, her cute bobbed haircut swaying with the tilt of her head. She always looked so charming like that, when she was being a mischievous brat while pretending to be anything but. 

“Dunno.” And that was the truth. “He’s not even my type. I’d rather hitch up with someone like you or Nanami. Someone less annoying. Less loud-mouthed.” 

“Ooh, that'll hurt his ego.” Shoko smiled. “Well, guess you'll have to learn to deal with it.”

You took a deep breath and rubbed your face as you nodded. “Yeah.”

–

“Forever is a long time,” You mumbled, leaning your forehead against the cool touch of the window. Rain pittered and pattered, exploding off the glass like trillions of kamikaze planes. It almost birthed some sort of hurt in your chest. Best not to dwell on it, you decided.

“Hah? Are you talking to yourself again like a weirdo?” The one and only Gojo Satoru yowled before kicking you in the rear like a petulant child. “Pft! Figures. Knowing my luck, I would have to get married to a creeper.” 

“Even if you married Getou, you'd still be marrying a creep,” you grumbled, dusting the dirt off your behind. “You need something? Or did you harass me just for the fun of it.” 

You heard Gojo, your fiancé, scoff and shuffle behind you. “I just wanted to remind you to humble yourself! Just because I'm forced to marry you doesn't mean you're accomplished or cool or anything, got it?” 

Being in his presence had you craving a cigarette. “Yeah, got it.” 

“And Suguru's better than you,” he added, aloof voice bowing down beneath hardened, steeled words. “Don't forget that either.” 

You bit down on your cheek to ward away the heat building under your skin, the magma sinking deep into your eyesockets and threatening to pour down your esophagus. The taste of iron washed against your tongue, and you released your flesh from between your molars. Sometimes, you wanted to keep boring down on yourself to see how much you could really take, but a fear of the answer too often made you think twice. 

“This is starting to bore me,” you said, tilting your head as you caught a flicker of red in your rain-muddied reflection. You touched your fingers to your tongue and found translucent red coating the tips. 

“Pah. I was gonna say the same!” You watched his reflection turn away. “Good luck trying to impress me.” 

I'm not interested. You watched him walk away, slouching and with his hands in his pockets like he was emulating some kind of yankii character. He might have fit the bill, if he hadn't had such a ridiculous, brat side to him. Just deal with it. You wiped the red on your uniform with a sigh. Tomorrow's a new day.

--

Feel free to comment on this post if you want to be tagged for the full version!

@kamote-kuneho @tr4nnie @silvern1006

[hauntedselves]

⚠️ emergency links

this is a list of resources for when you're in crisis, whether you're suicidal, triggered, having a panic attack, or any other mental health emergency.

this list will be updated with new resources as i find them.

emergency numbers for your country

helplines for your country

Australia: lifeline 13 11 14 & other helplines

managing flashbacks

quick helpful tips for suicidal feelings

you feel like shit interactive self care guide (alternative site)

reassurance masterpost

Get Self Help

psychosis coping strategies

grounding techniques

dealing with trauma triggers & OCD

DBT options for solving problems

self-soothing ideas

how to check the (emotional) facts

TIPP grounding skill (temperature, intense exercise, paced breathing, progressive muscle relaxation)

ideas for soothing impulses (urge surfing)

tips for when it feels too much

why am i feeling bad? flowchart

looking after yourself (particularly tolerating distress)

staying safe in a crisis

crisis support (particularly for dissociation & dissociative identity disorder)

safety tools & resources

dealing with PTSD triggers

grounding & containment strategies