Die wundervollste Frau dieser Welt. Sie hält mich, seit ich depressiv bin, am Leben. Ohne sie wäre ich nicht hier. Sie rettet mir das Leben so gesagt. Ich möchte und kann nicht ohne sie Leben. Wenn sie weint, fange ich auch an. Es bricht mir das Herz sie am Boden zu sehen. Doch sie steht jedes mal wieder auf. Sie ist so verdammt stark. Ich beneide sie dafür. Sie ist einer der Gründe warum ich stark sein will. Ich weiß sie kennt mich nicht und wird es niemals tun, aber ich will sie stolz machen.
I Love you Selena💖💫
rain drops on my window where i used to go
i touch all the pieces i used to know
rushin thru my head and i wish that i were dead
i say where do i go again
where do i go again
i can never find i know i am never right
where do i go again
all of this weakness it drives me mad
and all of the streets end when they dont begin
i lose so many times i stop and i can never go
i pray that i might find a place, a place to call my home
People ask me why I bang about suicide so much. And my answer is simple: I don't want us to STOP talking about it. And the reason we need to talk about it, is that it's one of the biggest killers of Australians, yet for some reason, we find it very difficult even to say the word
Here is why I think it's important to keep talking about it:
Just over 3,000 Australians die from suicide each year, that’s 8 Aussies every single day, 6 of them male
We hear a lot about the amount of people who die on our roads, and there is regular and consistent media campaigns around road safety, but 2.5x more people die from suicide than the national road toll
The average age of someone who dies from suicide is 45 years old, same as me
In fact, even if you are younger than that and aged between 15 and 44, the number one cause of death of people your age, is suicide
If you are an indigenous Australian, you are twice as likely to die by suicide as a non-indigenous Australian
And in the area that I live in around the Central Coast and Hunter Regions of New South Wales, Australia, there is a death by suicide every 2 days
We need to talk about this every day. And we need to keep talking about it until we don't have to talk about it anymore.
by rach.noel (r.n.w.)
April 8, 2007 "Scotch on the rocks." I say to the bartender, as a dame sits down beside me.
"So, what do you do?" She asks me.
"I'm a poet." I reply.
"You seem a little down on your luck."
"Just a rough day miss."
"Is there any way I could make it better for you?" I could tell by the way she placed her hand on my thigh, that this dame was no lady. If it had been any other night I might have taken her up on the offer, but the news I had received that morning had put me in a sour mood.
"Sorry dame it's just not that kind of night."
She leaves in a huff of cigarette smoke and alcohol stained walls.
"Thanks for the drink."
"G'night kid." The bartender replies.
I return to my hole in the wall, cocokroach infested apartment filled with disdain and disgust. I collapse on my bed and drop into a sleep of pills and vodka. The room spins and the clock nearly stops at a crawl. Cars stream by, and their headlights strip across the wall. Sound fades and I begin to hear the sound of my heartbeat slowing. My body functions begin to slow down and stop, the clock hits 12:01 and I die on my twenty-third birthday.
. . . .
I wrote this as a craft exercise for my creative writing class I was taking in community college. As an image representation for my story here I used a picture of Kol Mikaelson aka @natebuzz😉
Breakfast this morning before a half day at university today is a bowl of cornflakes with almond milk plus my usual toast with strawberry jam 😋 hope you all have a good day today! I have a hospital appointment later ugh 😑