A part of suicidal ideation or self harm no one talks about is the numbness to the subject that comes with it. I sit and scroll through pages and pages of cries for help, suicide notes and plans and feel nothing. No worry, no concern, no crushing feeling in my chest. Nothing. Those familiar feelings are now replaced with a strange familiarity, a kind of comfort that it’s not just me.
Fuck. When did it get to this
ches
I’m sorry you’ve been made to believe that the whole of Africa is poor, I really am..
i am not enough and it’s eating me alive
I'm strongly starting to believe that life isn't meant for me.
I crave intimacy... but I don’t want temporary people touching my mind, body, or soul.
“I don’t want to die, I just don’t want to exist any more” sounds mild if you’ve never experienced it, but it is in fact a horrible, violent way to feel.