“I, uh, wow. Okay. Jus’— come on,
sit, and we’re gonna talk.”
“I can — I can /hear/ everyone.
Y-you … this scares you, why does it scare you, what difference does it make to you?”
Tag Archives: tw: suicide
“Don’t, don’t — ” she tried to stop him, but the words kept spilling out of him, and she flushed hotly, guilty and wretched. “Percival, don’t please. It’s not you, it’s me, I’m … I’m a bad person. I’m a liar, and selfish, and horrid. I don’t deserve to be here, I don’t deserve to be cared about. You can’t — I was born broken. You can’t fix me. Nobody can fix me.” She gulped, and the tears she’d been trying so hard to hold back started to slide hotly down her cheeks.
“I’m alone, and I’m supposed to /be/ alone.”
Percival frowned deeply, and looked right into her eyes. “No. You are an excellent person. You occasionally lie, you can occasionally be selfish, I don’t care. You do more good than bad, and even if you didn’t, it wouldn’t matter to me. You are wonderful Summer. You deserve love and comfort and joy and protection and even if you didn’t I would still give it to you. Because I want to.” He began again to move forward, but remembered she still may not have wanted him to. Water began to gather in his eyes, as well. “I want to, Summer. Can I hold you?”
She wanted to argue with him, but he believed so strongly in what he was saying it was hard to. And he didn’t know enough, he didn’t know she had magic. It would be hard to argue with him without revealing that. Nevertheless, she wrapped her arms around her shoulders, shaking her head. Soft wisps of loose hair flew around her face. “I am a liar. There are things you don’t know, things you can’t know. I don’t deserve it, Percival, I don’t.”
Summer slipped her hand from under his. Why /now/? She blinked, and a tear rolled down her face. “I don’t — no thank you, Sir Knight.” Carefully formal. Deliberate distance. She couldn’t bear to let him — any of them — in again and be hurt again. They’d forget about her, soon enough, like always. “Can you please just let me alone to die?” she mumbled.
Percival grimaced as he placed his hand back in his own lap.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when all of it- happened. I’m sorry it happened at all. I’m sorry I didn’t stop it, you know I wish I had, you know I wish I could’ve!” He held his head in his hands. “…I, you, you’re cared for, Summer,” he looked back up at her. “I’m so sorry. I knew it was hard, and I knew you were hurt, but I didn’t know what to say, and I came up here to tell you about the picnic, and you were standing there, and I hadn’t- I hadn’t realized it was this bad, I am so, so, sorry… What can I do, what can I give you?”
“Don’t, don’t — ” she tried to stop him, but the words kept spilling out of him, and she flushed hotly, guilty and wretched. “Percival, don’t please. It’s not you, it’s me, I’m … I’m a bad person. I’m a liar, and selfish, and horrid. I don’t deserve to be here, I don’t deserve to be cared about. You can’t — I was born broken. You can’t fix me. Nobody can fix me.” She gulped, and the tears she’d been trying so hard to hold back started to slide hotly down her cheeks.
“I’m alone, and I’m supposed to /be/ alone.”
She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. Now, /now/, they think of her, when she’s finally decided she can’t take it any more, when she’s ready for there not to be any more pain, any more anything?
She dropped to sit on the edge, arms shaking, and just stared at Percival. “A picnic,” she said, finally. She choked on a hysterical laugh. “Don’t play, Percival. Sir Knight.”
Percival started when she suddenly sat. He shuffled over to sit next to her, albeit further from the ledge. His brow lowered and he reached to rest his hand on hers. “Yes, a picnic. But if you’d rather, you and I can have one right here instead.”
Summer slipped her hand from under his. Why /now/? She blinked, and a tear rolled down her face. “I don’t — no thank you, Sir Knight.” Carefully formal. Deliberate distance. She couldn’t bear to let him — any of them — in again and be hurt again. They’d forget about her, soon enough, like always. “Can you please just let me alone to die?” she mumbled.
Someone called her name — Percival. She wobbled, and grabbed at the stone, heart pounding. Falling was different from jumping. Jumping was a choice.
“What is it, Percival?” Her voice trembled, forced through an aching throat.
“Gods, that’s a long drop. I hate heights.” Percival looked back up at Summer. “Not really anything. Gwaine and I and and a few others are going on a picnic and we wanted to invite you. Can we speak elsewhere? I’m going to soil myself, watching you stand on the edge like that.”
She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. Now, /now/, they think of her, when she’s finally decided she can’t take it any more, when she’s ready for there not to be any more pain, any more anything?
She dropped to sit on the edge, arms shaking, and just stared at Percival. “A picnic,” she said, finally. She choked on a hysterical laugh. “Don’t play, Percival. Sir Knight.”
The walls of Camelot weren’t very high. Not for what she was planning. She stood on the tallest tower, looking down, and it didn’t seem nearly far enough.
But no one would care. No one would even notice.
She took a deep breath, and climbed up on the edge, ready to jump.
“Summer! I’ve been looking for you!” He paused. “That’s not a brilliant place to stand.”
Someone called her name — Percival. She wobbled, and grabbed at the stone, heart pounding. Falling was different from jumping. Jumping was a choice.
“What is it, Percival?” Her voice trembled, forced through an aching throat.
The walls of Camelot weren’t very high. Not for what she was planning. She stood on the tallest tower, looking down, and it didn’t seem nearly far enough.
But no one would care. No one would even notice.
She took a deep breath, and climbed up on the edge, ready to jump.
In a fit of passionate despair, Summer swept everything off her altar with one arm. The carpeted floor was too soft to make the crash she wanted, and the candles went out before anything could catch fire.
Unsatisfying. She threw her head back and screamed, then kicked the table. It tipped over, but that was all.
Hot tears burned down her face, blinding her. “Useless. Worthless,” she panted, fists clenched painfully tight. “Not even the god you thought you followed gives a damn about your pitiful life. You should just die. Rip your own heart out and offer it to him, maybe that will be good enough.”
She dropped to her knees, bracing herself on her elbows over the ritual implements tumbled in a heap. Five gemstone cat carvings glittered up at her. “I’m nothing,” she whispered to them. “Everything about me offends him.”
One hand curled around the knife, shaking. She couldn’t see. Couldn’t breathe. Everything was wrong. As if the world was sideways to her, and she couldn’t touch it. Or be touched by it. She lifted the blade, and a flicker of sanity wondered if she even had the strength to drive it into her own skin.
M!A: You are incredibly depressed for 18 hours. All your failures and perceived wrongdoing hang on you as weights; you can’t stop thinking about them. You hate yourself so much, you want to die. Hope someone comes around to stop you!
[I hope you know what you’re doing, anon … ]
OOC:
I just… I have to say this.
For everyone who has been dealing with two or more week of depression, people who have suicidal thoughts, people who self-harm, people who have eating disorders, just if you have any kind of pain or problem you struggle with constantly (even migraines, okay?), please read this…
For all of you who suffer and hurt in some way or form, I highly recommend you seek professional help if you have not already. Please do not read this in a ‘I’m frowning at you’ kind of way. I care about you all in my own weird way and I want to see you happy. So when I tell you to seek professional help, it is because that is what I did for my own problems and my only regret is not doing it sooner.
It makes me sad to see so many of you lovelies in the community that accepted me and my characters with wide open arms so warmly are suffering. You are all so great, you’re all wonderful, beautiful creatures, and I think none of you deserve sadness in your lives. But I am not telling you to speak to a doctor because of how it makes me feel, I am telling you to do it for yourself.
You should not have to suffer, all right?
Now I will tell you about myself, and I am posting this on Liefully’s blog where over a thousand eyes can read it. (
Oh my gods, why you all are here, I don’t know what I do to keep so many of you, but thank you…) I have had depression since high school at least, so that would be about probably seven or more years of depression that I just lived with it. There is the chance I had depression in middle school. But I know I had it in high school because I read about mental health as I found the topics interesting and noticed that clinical depression’s symptoms described me really well.I never spoke to any doctors and yet I had thoughts of suicide as well. The thoughts of suicide were not constant like the depression I lived with, though. I could go a few months without thinking of some way to kill myself if ever I decided to do it. But then this year, feeling the depression and having so many thoughts of suicide got to where I really wanted it all to end. I wanted to stop feeling sad but suicide is not the answer.
So I spoke to a doctor about it. I admit, it was really difficult for me to tell my doctor I had depression for a long time and thoughts of suicide. I was scared of what she might do or say. I had a ton of horrible scenarios playing in my head of what would come of telling my doctor this information because I am a worst-case-scenario type of person.
But guess what?
A doctor is there to help you. And that is exactly what my doctor did when I told her these things. She helped me. She recommended me to a therapist to speak to and my therapist has been great with me. I was not given loads of prescription drugs. I was not sent to a mental hospital. I was not in any way shunned. The doctor’s there to help, not treat you like shit. But the doctor cannot help you if you never say anything. I guess just think about the phrase “A closed mouth never gets fed.”
For those of you who have a hard time speaking to doctors, like you get nervous or intimidated, or you’re like me and just really forgetful (lol), I recommend writing what you want to say down on a piece of paper. That way your thoughts are clear and you’re better prepared to speak to your doctor.
And if you’re already seeking help, my advise to you is to be as open as possible with your doctor(s). A doctor cannot help you if you never speak to them. Doctors are not mind readers, so do not expect them to be. The information you tell them is confidential, they’re not going to go find your parents, your family, your friends, whatever, and tell them what you told your doctor. My therapist has met my mom and has not told her anything we talked about. Okay? Have faith and trust in your doctors. Be as open with them as possible so they can help you.
And lastly, feel free to come talk to me. I don’t have any “triggers” that I know of. So you can come talk to me and not worry about me start to have problems of my own from having a conversation with you. I have a Skype to talk to roleplayers. So send me a message if you want it to talk to me about something that bothers you. I would prefer it if you talked to me than hurt yourself. Okay?
Okay. So…
I love every one of you, yes all of you.
I think you should not have to suffer.
So talk to a doctor if you haven’t already.
Doctors are there to help. Shhhh, don’t be scared. <3
All the hugs to you.
You’re all beautiful creatures, whether you think you are or not.
