Do you think that God would separate me from my husband if I killed myself? I feel as though I am going out of my mind at times. Wouldn’t God understand that I just want to be with him?
Jacqueline Kennedy OnassisMots clés loss suicide grieving
Isn't it strange, how one so afraid of contracting a fatal malady...should so earnestly wish for death, as well?
Alan BrennertMots clés death suicide malady
She already felt dead in everything but name. What remained to be taken from her? She longed to be enfolded, welcomed, into the earth - to breathe no more, love no more, hurt no more
Alan BrennertMots clés lost sleep death suicide earth
Is one to die voluntarily or to hope in spite of everything?
Albert CamusMots clés suicide
She would let a speeding automobile hit her to show them all how unloved she was.
Lisa DierbeckMots clés love lost suicide depression one-pill-makes-you-smaller
I don't have to kill myself, living my life is just the same.
Aaron ScheererMots clés suicide sad lonely dying
I wanted so badly for there to be more. I ached for there to be more than my crappy little life.' He shakes his head. 'And there was more. I just couldn't see it.
Patrick NessMots clés life beauty suicide patrick-ness more-than-this ness
He beheld in swift succession the incidents in the brief tale of his experience. His wretched home, his still more wretched school-days, the years of vicious life he had led since then, one act of selfish dishonour leading to another; it was all clear and pitiless now, all its squalid folly, in the cold light of the dawn. He came to the hut, to the fight with the Porroh man, to the retreat down the river to Sulyma, to the Mendi assassin and his red parcel, to his frantic endeavours to destroy the head, to the growth of his hallucination. It was a hallucination! He knew it was. A hallucination merely. For a moment he snatched at hope. He looked away from the glass, and on the bracket, the inverted head grinned and grimaced at him... With the stiff fingers of his bandaged hand he felt at his neck for the throb of his arteries. The morning was very cold, the steel blade felt like ice.
("Pollock And The Porrah Man")
Mots clés suicide
I am a dumb piece of meat
and I rot everyday
my flesh gives a rotting smell
and people say it's the smell of life
and they come to me
and watch me rot
and get happy and upset and annoyed and disgusted and maybe sometimes feel
compassion
but they don't realize they are rotting too.
Mots clés suicide self-loathing rot daul-kim
It's one of these juvenile therapy scams,” he went on, sprinkling a pinch of the Golden Virginia tobacco along the rolling paper. “They advertise help for your troubled teen by staring at the stars and singing ‘Kumbaya’. Instead, it’s a bunch of bearded nutjobs left in charge of some of the craziest kids I’ve ever seen in my life—bulimics, nymphos, cutters trying to saw their wrists with the plastic spoons from lunch. You wouldn’t believe the shit that went on.” He shook his head. “Most of the kids had been so mentally screwed by their parents they needed more than twelve weeks of wilderness. They needed reincarnation. To die and just come back as a grasshopper, as a fucking weed. That’d be preferable to the agony they were in just by being alive.
Marisha PesslMots clés life death suicide depression teenagers mental-health
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