maggineko
Holding on 'till May
- Aug 10, 2026
- 10
Basically, everybody around me is trying to CTB. My best friend attempted an overdose, my other best friend messaging me begging to pick up her calls cus she wanted to die, a mutual friend attempted overdose on xan; really, everybody around me. I guess misery just loves company. I love these people dearly, by the way, with my whole fleshy heart.
A lot of my friends come to me begging me to be there for them because they don't have anybody else. I honestly regard it with a little resentment because I don't have anyone either. Since I was a child and attempted multiple times in private, I had nobody to comfort me, and I couldn't find consolation with my parents because I'd just be interrogated for hours and hours and hours. I mean, I get it, nobody wants to bury a child lost to suicide, and my mother (bless her) is likely just desperate for her prayers to not be in vain and to not fail as a mother; but really, I don't think I needed 3 hours of endless questioning at 7 years old when I first started having suicidal ideations and expressed it. I don't get to have the privilege of somebody special to open up to, and I'll always simultaneously love and resent that I get to be what I lacked for other people.
Hypocritical? Totally. I spew hopeful words hoping to breathe life back into the people I hold dearest to me, words that I will ironically never believe in myself. I do want them to live, whether or not I get to witness it. I've always believed that people who wish to die most are the people who know what it truly means to hunger for life, to be desperate for it, and that when they do climb out of the cave their mind is stuck in, it will be all so worth it. It just doesn't feel like it's in the cards for me. I can't exactly tell these people how much I want to ctb too, because then it sounds like I'm lying out my ass when I try to be encouraging and telling them to get help, that things will get better, that it won't always be like this, because it won't. Either you gradually crawl out of this hell hole and find peace and happiness in the art of breathing and living, or die the next day. And I want these people to make it out alive, to get married, have kids if they want them, travel the world, achieve their goals and dreams, and really taste the life they desired and cried for. Life is just the death bed, and how you live it is the way you make your bed.
So I resign myself to being some kind of free therapist to the people around me while putting my words out on the big, wide Internet (oooh, yesss, collect my data) and quietly wait for some random day death comes in like a hawk with talons like I'm a nice piece of bread with some beef jerky sandwiched in. I don't think I'll ever have the guts to ctb of my own accord, but I'm not opposed to closing my eyes and never waking up again.
A lot of my friends come to me begging me to be there for them because they don't have anybody else. I honestly regard it with a little resentment because I don't have anyone either. Since I was a child and attempted multiple times in private, I had nobody to comfort me, and I couldn't find consolation with my parents because I'd just be interrogated for hours and hours and hours. I mean, I get it, nobody wants to bury a child lost to suicide, and my mother (bless her) is likely just desperate for her prayers to not be in vain and to not fail as a mother; but really, I don't think I needed 3 hours of endless questioning at 7 years old when I first started having suicidal ideations and expressed it. I don't get to have the privilege of somebody special to open up to, and I'll always simultaneously love and resent that I get to be what I lacked for other people.
Hypocritical? Totally. I spew hopeful words hoping to breathe life back into the people I hold dearest to me, words that I will ironically never believe in myself. I do want them to live, whether or not I get to witness it. I've always believed that people who wish to die most are the people who know what it truly means to hunger for life, to be desperate for it, and that when they do climb out of the cave their mind is stuck in, it will be all so worth it. It just doesn't feel like it's in the cards for me. I can't exactly tell these people how much I want to ctb too, because then it sounds like I'm lying out my ass when I try to be encouraging and telling them to get help, that things will get better, that it won't always be like this, because it won't. Either you gradually crawl out of this hell hole and find peace and happiness in the art of breathing and living, or die the next day. And I want these people to make it out alive, to get married, have kids if they want them, travel the world, achieve their goals and dreams, and really taste the life they desired and cried for. Life is just the death bed, and how you live it is the way you make your bed.
So I resign myself to being some kind of free therapist to the people around me while putting my words out on the big, wide Internet (oooh, yesss, collect my data) and quietly wait for some random day death comes in like a hawk with talons like I'm a nice piece of bread with some beef jerky sandwiched in. I don't think I'll ever have the guts to ctb of my own accord, but I'm not opposed to closing my eyes and never waking up again.
