GIRL, INTERRUPTED: my suicide.
suicide is a form of murder- premeditated murder. it isnt something you do the first time you think of doing it. it takes getting used to. and you need the means, the opportunity, the motive. a successful suicide demands good orginization and a cool head, both of which are usually incompatible with the suicidal state of mind
its important to cultivate detachment. one way to do this is to practice imagining yourself dead, or in the process of dying. if theres a window, you must inagine your body falling out the window. if theres a knife, you must imagine the knife peircing your skin. if theres a train, you must imagine your torso flattened under its wheels. these excercises are neccessary to acheiving the proper distance.
the motive is paramount, without a proper motive your sunk.
my motives were weak: an american history paper i didnt want to write and the question i'd asked months earlier, why not kill myself? dead, i wouldnt have to write the paper. nor would i have to keep debating the question.
the debate was wearing me out. once you've posed that question, it wont go away. i think many people kill themselves simply to stop the debate about whether they will or wont.
anything i thought or did was immediatley drawn to the debate. make a stupid remark- why not kill myself? missed the bus- better put an end to it all. even the good got in there. i liked that movie- maybe i shouldnt kill myself.
actually, it was the only part of myself i wanted to kill: the part that wanted to kill herself, that dragged me into the suicide debate and made every window, kitchen implement, and subway station a rehearsal for tragedy.
i didnt figure this out, tho, until after i swallowed the fifty aspirin.
i had a boyfriend named johnny who wrote me love poems- good ones. i called him up, said i was going to kill myself, left the phone off the hook, took my fifty aspirin, and realized it was a mistake.
^one of the many reasons you should all read 'girl, interrupted'. ONE of the many.
love yall <3
its important to cultivate detachment. one way to do this is to practice imagining yourself dead, or in the process of dying. if theres a window, you must inagine your body falling out the window. if theres a knife, you must imagine the knife peircing your skin. if theres a train, you must imagine your torso flattened under its wheels. these excercises are neccessary to acheiving the proper distance.
the motive is paramount, without a proper motive your sunk.
my motives were weak: an american history paper i didnt want to write and the question i'd asked months earlier, why not kill myself? dead, i wouldnt have to write the paper. nor would i have to keep debating the question.
the debate was wearing me out. once you've posed that question, it wont go away. i think many people kill themselves simply to stop the debate about whether they will or wont.
anything i thought or did was immediatley drawn to the debate. make a stupid remark- why not kill myself? missed the bus- better put an end to it all. even the good got in there. i liked that movie- maybe i shouldnt kill myself.
actually, it was the only part of myself i wanted to kill: the part that wanted to kill herself, that dragged me into the suicide debate and made every window, kitchen implement, and subway station a rehearsal for tragedy.
i didnt figure this out, tho, until after i swallowed the fifty aspirin.
i had a boyfriend named johnny who wrote me love poems- good ones. i called him up, said i was going to kill myself, left the phone off the hook, took my fifty aspirin, and realized it was a mistake.
^one of the many reasons you should all read 'girl, interrupted'. ONE of the many.
love yall <3