Date	Name/email Nom/email	What is the best way to kill yourself when you're under 13? Quelle est la meilleure forme de suicide pour les moins de 13 ans?
02 Jan 2007	elaine	I used to come here years ago and spend hours reading responses here. I was in high school, alone, and scared, like so many others out there. I moved on though, and I'm happy with my life and love who I've become. My little brother is sick now too, and feeling the same alienation and hopelessness i once felt, I think. I don't know how to help him, but I'm scared again. Scared to death for him. Look out for those around you, and remember everyday that someone loves you even if they don't know how to say or show it.
23 Dec 2006	dead inside.	Well, normally i post on this site offering help, cause when i feel like crap helping others helps me. I guess it gives my life meaning. But when I realize that some people just can't be helped, than I feel like crap again. I hate seeing others hurting. It makes me hurt. This post has no value anyways, please ignore me, I'm just wasting space. I don't know why I felt the need to write. Well, for what its worth, Happy Holidays. Stay strong kids, what doesn't kill you can only make you stronger.
16 Dec 2006	Jeff	I am thirteen years old and cannot get a Nintendo Wii due to my fathers old boss who owes him over 5000 dollars. We are almost in debt now and I cant stand this anymore, he expects me to wait another week after christmas for a nintendo wii. I feel like just hanging myself or shooting myself in the face. I will buy a 360 controller cord and strangle myself or hang myself with it.
13 Nov 2006	Felicia the Great	Dear To Whom It May Concern, There has been a spammer identified as thuguyyyy@gmail.com, or thugyyyy@gmail.com It is a malicious email that must be blocked in your account. Do not, I repeat, do not answer any of its emails or open any of its attachments. Please forward the email to abuse@gmail.com or webmaster@gmail.com Sailor_kg6hdw_mercury@yahoo.com has no part in sending spam email to you. This is my personal email I had since 2000. Thank you, Felicia The Great 11/13/06 10:59 pm Pacific time
07 Nov 2006	The Original Felicia The Great	Mouchette Is Just A Blog Site Whatever you may think, this is a blog site. There are volunteers on call reading these emails. What's even scarier still is there are people who are hired to scan through blogs and billions of emails. Most of it is to scan for company secrets or subliminal messages. I feel sorry for people who are on the verge of killing themselves though. This site once used to be a haven for us crazy people who want to kill ourselves. Now technology considers this to be a joke. If you read closely, I have something to disclose to you. Live the moment of truth and set yourself free from mindless jargon. Open your heart to new beliefs. Don't limit yourself to one belief. You will lead a stagnant life if you do. But be sure to choose your belief's wisely. Value your family and friends. Stay away from the wrong influences and cling to positive role models. I am not saying you shouldn't be yourself, but make the most of what you can become by helping others. Engage in activities that are postitive. Steer clear from sexual immorality because it is tiring. It causes harm to your body and soul. Believe me. A double life is not all fun and games. Understand that each day is the first day of the rest of your life.
29 Oct 2006	Peace, be with you.	you see mouchette i am going to be honest. when i came to your site i was depressed and suicidal. i wanted to kill myself. not anymore. and i would like to offer you some advice. the rudness i encountered could have sent me over the edge. plumiting to my death. so please mouchette listen with an open heart. if i was a different person i might have killed myself. someone else with a different personality. but instead i was deeply angered and wanted revenge. and i feel i have gotten it. but you must make it clear to your mouchette mailers that it is not always a game and someone may be on the edge. in my life i have endured horrific things that you only really hear about on tv. and they have twisted my mind so. but i do forgive you mouchette. not because you asked for it but because even Monsters like me have pity sometimes. i hear voices and desire to shed human blood every day. i hate all people just because they are alive. i am one of the sickest people you will ever encounter on your site. well mouchette this has been going on long enough. if you want peace then please write me an email. if you do this i promise that you will no longer have anything to fear from me. i dont care how you run your site or who you let on it. but i just want you to email me so i can know you got this and you desitre peace. there are no requirements or stipulations i will demand. just a simple yes i want peace. and i do want you to know mouchette that i forgive you and i love you. you know my email. please write me. i just feel like i was wronged mouchette. and i have been wronged all my life by people. and i wasnt about to let you or your mouchette mailers get away with that. and just so you know. i have been coming to your site for many many years. you even have some of my past posts in your favorite section. bisous. ps. i dont know exactly what bisous means. but i know what the gesture of it is. you never would tell me. i found that to be rude as well. i just wanted to know a simple thing. and you didnt want to be my friend. you just ignored me. pushed me off to the side like a piece of trash. but i forgive you mouchette. i forgive you as long as you let me know you desire peace.
27 Oct 2006	The Original Felicia The Great	The Call To Jury Duty (Note: Case will not be disclosed for the protection of the client.) By The Original Felicia The Great There I sat on the chair with boring novel in my hand, falling asleep between intervals and restless beyond belief. No iPods were allowed, all cell phones all turned off, the never ending urge to go pee but I couldn't. It took days to be picked as a Juror and finally it was the day. There I was, poor innocent me, feeling a wee tinge nervous... I, The Original Felicia The Great.. .ready to decide the outcome of one's fate. I, the ninth juror, was the one to say GUILTY or NOT GUILTY. It is sad to see the jurors, who were excused from the premises, and I was thinking...Oh dear God? Why wasn't it me? One juror,who was so excited to get picked was pardoned. Here I was, with miniscule mind asking that question over and over why I was picked. There I was to be sworn, to speak the truth, to speak the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.... SO HELP ME GOD. Till next week, same bat time, same bat place, same bat channel.
19 Oct 2006	The Original Felicia The Great	There is no such a thing as hogging space here Jacob. You are fine. It is a post site you see. We all have the enjoyment of posting what we really feel, whether it be factious or non-fictitious. It’s a site that we choose to lament, patronize, or vent upon. It is a people forum for suicidal folks of all ages, and for people who need entertainment, ideas to put on their twisted movie scripts and cartoons, a mosh pit for people in criticizing our uniqueness. I don’t condone destructive behavior and post full of mean slander. Jacob, I also want to comment that I didn’t create this website. I had numerous complaint emails about Mouchette.org, and some people accusing me of being the suicidal French chick, who gets a kick out of making questioning comments about thirteen year olds killing themselves and this kit thing. Feel free to comment more often and no I am not picking up on you. If you are a parent: I urge the parents reading this site from their child’s add to favorites list, to keep an eye on their kids… get a nanny blocker and banish this site so your children can’t view it. But note that later down the road you can’t shelter your child forever. Seek counseling for them anyways and note that nobody gets over suicide.
09 Oct 2006	Jacob	Hey'all. Me again. Sorry to hog all the space in this forum, but I thought i would share my recent experiences in the slightest chance that it may help someone. When I first posted on this forum I was deep inside the whole suicidal manic depressive state and wrote to abuse someone who I thought was irresponsible about what he/she wrote. In my second post I tried to (more sensibly) explain in better detail what my point was, and not to send out the wrong message (as someone pointed out to me.) I have since had a handful of people contact me, either to offer support, or to share their story with me. And to be honest, its made a massive difference to both me and them. I was at the time of the first post taking sleeping pills (as i work at night & sleep in the day). I was warned by the pharmacist that the pills will make me depressed if I use them regularly.. I ignored him. But now I've stopped taking them & realise that those fucking things were only compounding my misery... & now I'm in better control of my feelings. So i've been emailing a couple of people and it has occured to me that there are people worse off than me.. but they are also facinating people with a world of their own so different from mine, and still have a lot to offer this world. I have been getting councelling for the first time in my life & to be honest although I like the councellor, it all just seems so obvious... & subsequently a bit pointless.. maybe I need to perservere. BUT, being able to offer my support to others has been the thing that has turned my own struggle around. Contacting someone anonymously over the internet and sharing your deepest most inner thoughts is definately a strange thing to do... but its safe. Some of us have no outlet for our thoughts & our grief. Kids may be too afraid to pick up the phone or talk with their parents.... and anonymous ear over the internet is a safe, anonymous & easily accessible option. I've tried the stupid chat rooms and they're so fast, competitive & stupid, its impossible to stop and really communicate with someone... but here.. there are lots of people, same as us, feeling lost, alone & with no-one to listen. Well i can tell you from my experience, try it.... connect with someone from this forum, share your story, listen to theirs... you won't feel so alone.. it will make you realise we all suffer from time to time and if we can lean on eachothers shoulders we can make it through to the next great adventure. Sounds a bit cliche.. but true... from my experience anyway... regards...
29 Sep 2006	The Original Felicia The Great	Everybody is claiming they are Felicia The Great, but I am the originator of this name. But nobody cares! Since I started this trend, I am going to change it to "The Original Felicia The Great". So you are wondering why I am writing in this post. It's for countless reasons. Number one, its for recognition, number two, I'm doing some 15 minute timed writings. And number three, to talk people and myself out of killing ourselves. Literally, everyday we are gradually dying for no unknown cause due to earthly elements beyond our control and stuffing our faces with unhealthy food or barfing it out, whatever turns you on. But for now, I am going to stop babbling, and get to the heart of the matter in why you are visiting this site. You are in my situation. You feel that things happened beyond your control. Your self esteem is down the toilet, you have good looks but you don't feel good inside or you have bad looks and feel ugly in the inside. You got rejected or getting ejected. Either way, you feel screwed. Well, in a nutshell, if you kill yourself, you soon will go into purgatory. That is the place between heaven and hell. If you believe in neither, well, when you do go into purgatory, you will tell yourself in some other realm somewhere that "The Original Felicia The Great, TOLD YOU THERE'S A PURGATORY!" And by the time you are there, its too late. You will be haunting houses, people, and places, only to find out that your haunting tactics will bring in tourist attractions and you will find that you will not share the wealth with these business entrepreneurs making themselves rich off of you. You will be flipping them off and nobody notices. Then your motive is to make objects move around and making things fly accross the room as if some nincompoop in the afterlife didn't attempt to do this. Awwww! Come on!!! Please send your post immediately on this sight so I can send you some feedback in how to handle this suicidal problem. Probably you and I can talk ourselves out of it. Don't kill yourself yet, I have more to talk about. If you don't feel like dealing with me, just pretend you are doing a 15 minute timed writing.
29 Sep 2006	natas	i killed myself when i was 13 and it wasn't fun. no-one will believe this, but i'm not around anymore. you might find this difficult to believe, but we just got the Internet here in hell. ...you might have noticed the spike in bestiality porn sites, and general spread of evil online. ;) i'm sure my punishment for speaking out will be harsh. don't expect to hear from me again in this life time. we are not allowed to speak about being dead here, especially with the living. i killed myself on a whim one day because i thought my life was horrible. ...it's been hell ever since. i don't care what they do to me for saying this, but don't kill yourself. it's not worth it. take my word for it, you can't imagine how much worse things are here then they are there. if you need to escape from your situation, try running away and seeking sanctuary. churches, half-way houses, government homes, ets. these places seem like heaven compared to where i am. some things aren't what they seem. others are. don't kill yourself or you'll have hell to pay!
25 Sep 2006	Angi	yeah, wow. it's crazy how this site has turned into what it has. a simple question, and then all this complication, the stories of all these hurting people. i have no story to tell, no tragedies or testaments. i just sit here silently and read the posts. If anyone needs someone to talk to, other than the million other people who have offered help, e-mail me xxblueplaidxx@yahoo.com *afterthought* oh yeah, and did mouchette actually make the kit, or is it still just an idea?
09 Sep 2006	Nick	<script>document.write("<h2>a")</script>
25 Aug 2006	miss kelli	sorry if this isnt the answer you would like, but i work in the youth dept at my church and God has given me an extra special dose of something. i dono what it is...but I'm glad he gave it to me. Its a dose of connecting with kids and letting them know they are loved, by God yes, but by me too! Not just "oh im a sunday school teacher and I love you". its more than that. This may seem egotistical...but try me! You will love being loved by me. i will help you thru hard times and fun times, sad times and scary times...everything!!! I am currently loving on a group of kids who just burried one of their best friends after he hung himself one week ago today. i LOVE teenagers with a passion that I know God has given me. And not a love you if your good enuf for me to love...but love you cuz you are YOU!!! Look at it like this...guns are expensive - I am free :) Guns are cold - I have a warm heart :) Guns are heavy to hold - I will help you lift your burden :) Guns are black - i will show you Light :) Let me love you.
14 Aug 2006	Erica P.	I don't really know what to say to people who want to shut down this site. They are obviously people who have not experienced the certain kind of pain that others come across. Instead, they want to direct their anger at a website they don't know the exact effects of. For me to read the stories of so many people (and i know that at least a small fraction of them is truthful) is to look at something completely beautiful. I have no power. I can't express what it really is i need to say. I just hope that people could look a bit deeper. . .
30 Jul 2006	LK	Wrote this at a time of clarity, to capture that spirit. I just read it to myself when I’m feeling low. Take your time over it I know it’s long and a bit dramatic but just kick back and take a moment. It might be just what you need. Carried by angels, I refuse to be dead weight. From a place of strength, courage, and safety (my mother) I was forced into the world by a blade (caesarean) my first struggle. This world enforced its bitter truths on me and made me a slave to them. And so, with the knowledge my life has so far blessed me with, I will be a happy slave. I will sing and dance to the songs of the oppressors of the world and make them my own. I will not call for the chariots to swing low, but for my guardians to carry me above it all. I will not let any weaken me, control me, oppress me, belittle me, or confuse me. I see more clearly now. I was blind suffocated by the pain of my thoughts. I wished for escape, so drowned myself in tears, I was deceased. Thoughts and visions of death plagued my thoughts. But whilst I’ll still shed tears, I am now reborn Baptised by my tears, which are blessed, and should not be mis-used again. Now, I crawl above the reality which threatens me. Where there is no place for me I will create one. Hold my own. Never again will I let my kindness be taken for weakness. I can not stop others from under estimating me but I can stop underestimating myself. Instead I will stand tall in all I do. Proud and victorious, I refuse to lose. I refuse to be a victim of greed, jealousy, and envy. A slave to my own dark thoughts; no more. And the snakes in the grass, those who’s mere negativity can bring out that sorrow; I will actively fight against. I will be a soldier, and my guardians or whatever is bigger than me in spirit, that lifting force that comes with things such as love will be my army. My mistakes will be blessings and I will embrace the lessons they teach me shamelessly in the knowledge that I have followed my heart for I know that it is good. It has been witness to my struggles and for that it is strong. It has loved and trusted many, and been hurt as a result, but no more. The scars my body bear are my strength. They document my life. All this will replace the hurt that once existed. I will be knocked again, and I will stand again, faster, and taller than I stood before. I will live the dream, not dream the life. I will treat my body as my temple. My feet, my hands, my legs, my eyes, all that is me, for it is all that I have which I cannot lose without losing myself. Literally and figuratively. I realize this now. I have realized my worth and I will reflect this worth in all I do. In the things I say, in the people I choose to spend my precious time with. I want to be a blessing to those whose lives are entwined with my own. I ask that spirit to help advise me, shield me, give me the strength and courage to achieve all that my heart desires. I write this not knowing what the future brings. But I presume little. But all presumptions aside, I can confidently say this; “I will not lose”. Live
20 Jul 2006	Spooky Penguin RIP 2004-2006	I swear to god this is the last post i'll ever make, i swear! To Mouchette: I hope your reading this. This will be the last time i will submit to you. I keep comming back to you for some lame, oddball, nerdy, waste of time reason. You've turned me in to a dreamer mouchette, i'll never forget that. I know that i'll never be a famous person or have my own spot on the site, but strilli feel like i'll he time i've wasted here, not having a life, has left enough of a mark. I hope some day i'll find you, I don't think i woudl say anything to you i would just wave. I hope you remember me from this stupid little internet world I've lived in. It's time for me to come out of the hole. i can't describe the connection i have with you, i 've never spoke to you nor known you yet it feels like i've know you for ever, call me nerd, fine, but 'm not the only one. I could go on for hours but it's like at night... and my eyes go tired. so all i must say is, I love you. Goodbye mouchette, I hope to meet you one day, somewhere over the rainbow.but for now i most go live in the real world again. Good Bye. Oh, and for the record: I know your over thirteen because it's been over a year, mayebe to you have to be at least 14. Thats all. Signing Off. X Spooky Penguin
07 Jul 2006	ugly girl	FIRST CUT Here I stand with a carpet knife in my hand, pressing it into my own skin. What happened in me that I’ve been lured to this? What took place in my mind and emotions to bring me to this place? If there was anyone who cared, I might be sitting with them talking about things instead of standing here alone in a dark and cold room. Too many words go in my ear that tell me I don’t matter. It’s come to the point that I don’t even value myself. I guess that’s true... After all, who would slice open their own flesh if they really value themselves. In my mind, I’ve become very fascinated with this breaking of my own skin and watching it bleed. The pain that hides within me, deep in my gut and tucked far away in my mind bleeds out. It’s a secret pleasure that I lust after as it draws me to itself. Before the blood even dries, I want to cut myself again. What is it that makes me take pleasure in my own pain? The blood dries and as I enter back into my reality, I feel guilt. What made me go over the edge that very first time that I cut? What was it that made me so desperate that I would cross the line of self-worth? I’d heard one too many degrading remark. I felt the failure just too much to cope. Who would listen to a poor sad girl? Who would even care? Taking the knife to myself oddly feels like caring for myself in some strange, deranged way. I inflict the injury, while the pain is numbed by my courage. Is it courage, or is it rock hard inner pain. The flesh parts and releases my own blood, and now I can comfort myself. Alone in the world and left to myself. Left to my own morbid little habit. No one sees - no one tells. I want to stay here. It feels safe here with my pain. Facing those who say they love me brings me tension and trial. I hear voices outside the room. Part of me wants to join them as if this never happened; yet, part of me is drawn to embrace the pain. Embracing pain is much easier than facing the unpredictable life with others. What could I have done to resist this urge? It was so strong, luring me to itself. It was calling me and begging me to come take a piece of myself. Or was it that I was giving a piece of myself away? To who or what, I don’t know. It is done and now I live with the fear of a temptation that stalks me. Sharp edges call to me. Pain awaits me. Voices haunt me. My inner voice... ...the loudest FACE IN HANDS It's dark in the room and the screen shines bright. Nothing to tell. Nothing felt. Face in my hands. Weariness on my shoulders. Another day fades. My eyes tight closed still seeing the light. Hands on the keyboard ready to speak. Pointless ramblings ready to flood from my mind. Holding them back for something more. Other than shallow chat, what will be revealed through my text? Resolve and release. Profound thought, You escape me. Tease me and tell me I'm a fool. Anxious heart, You enslave me. Try me and tempt me to carelessly fail. Empty mind, You abandon me. Leave me to myself, and show me that I'm frail. Small talk and empty words, typed as the screen glares pink. Feeling weary, shallow and alone. Anxious for one thought.... Seemingly left for another day. I'm leaving empty now. CUTTER IN ME The cutter in me cries out, "come play". Her voice is familiar. I hear it every day. When I'm upset or lonely I hear the call, but it's heard even with nothing sad at all. Constantly the cutter in me calls out - Wanting to engage me in a game. Who makes the rules? and who sets the score? Cutter in me lures my affection as I watch the shards of glass lying on the floor. TWISTED AND ALONE Like a motel washcloth lying on the sink, Taken for granted, used and left to itself. You hold it under the running water, Feel it saturate the water - fill itself up with life. Then, thoughtlessly you take the rag And twist the life right out of it. Leave it now. It’s done it’s job. Walk away. Like the motel washcloth, used and twisted up. I get all wound up around myself. Lying in a twisted up ball with the life Sucked right out of me. Once in a while I get filled with life and purpose. Used by someone to fill their own ego, And then left twisted and alone. Shadows of the stain they’ve supposedly erased At my expense remain hidden in the folds. Shades of gray hide themselves well - still a constant reminder of the pain of life. ADDICTED TO RESPONSE Addiction has it’s stereo-types. Drugs, alcohol, sex. The addictions that we don’t think about are the ones that are hidden. A girl comes home late at night to find her parents still awake, sitting on the couch listening to old music. She speaks to them as she walks in the door. Thinking that the music is too loud, she speaks again. No response. She walks through the room, picking up a half empty bottle of beer on her way. No one notices nor cares. No response is the trigger. All she wanted was some sort of acknowledgment. Anything will do. She thinks to herself, “tell me I look fine, tell me I’m a bitch, spit in my face ... anything!” She felt the trigger - now will she respond. She’s tired from a long night of dancing and hanging out with friends. Too tired to take the challenge. She lays back on her pillow in the dark. Thinking. Dreaming with her eyes wide open. Tears begin to make streams of black down her face. She reaches under her pillow. It used to be she’d keep a letter from a friend under there. The letter said nice words and made her feel good about herself. Now the letter is gone. She takes the knife and opens it - then opens her flesh. The trigger was non-response, her response is self-injury. ------------ Cutting provokes response. You pierce your skin and it responds by bleeding. It seems to console you, but it’s empty. You can’t replace personal relationships with an act against yourself. Yes, your skin responds, and you feel. You’re addicted to it, coming back for more. You act out your need in private. Secluded from the world. Alone. You give up and numb yourself to others. Non-responsive to them, you drive your friends away. CRAVING.... It's the blood you cut for... so you say. A release of pain. You open up your own flesh, watching .. waiting to see red, you begin to calm down... Adrenaline pumps through your entire body as the blade makes it's way into your flesh. Nerves are at their peak. Emotions out of control. Is it the blood you cut for? or something much deeper? You've held your pain inside for too long - keeping it bottled up and under control. The silence becomes unbearable and you explode with rage. It's a quiet rage directed to yourself. You take all the hurt and anger on yourself. You inflict it onto your own body, when it should be directed elsewhere. So is it really the blood you crave? Or is it love?.. acceptance... The blood speaks volumes as you watch it flow. It speaks out from you body back into your soul. It reaches out to you in your solitude and pain. The blood is no replacement for human love. It's no replacement for the void in your own heart. You need to be embraced by someone who cares. You need to be loved. You need to receive the love that is being offered to you. Trust someone and begin to feel love again. DATE WITH DARKNESS 2 am again Darkness my constant companion. Doesn't matter if it's 2 in the afternoon, it's still dark in my heart. Darkness isn't a time of day or a place. It's a way of being. 2:30 am Here I am sitting with you in front of the screen typing words that make no difference to anyone but me. Thoughts and dreams go on the page. 2:49 am I'm drawn to you of late. I used to fear you and wonder what lurked within you. Now you've become an obsession because I empty out my heart freely. Humanity sleeps as I type on - always one word away from hope. 2:52 am Darkness, my dear companion. I lie awake in your presence waiting for you to engulf me. Is that so bad I ask? Dwelling in the shadows, Waking in the night, Finding comfort in the solitude. 3 am again Here I am, dear friend. Spending time with you in the stillness. It's dark in my heart but not so cold. Coldness isn't a climate or a place. It's a season of the heart. Self Portrait Worn and weary - weathered by the storm. What life has brought you through has made you strong. Eyes are vivid - they've seen many changes. Changes have taught these eyes a determined focus. Forehead maps out the concerns of the past. Rutted reminders of yesterdays pain and tomorrow's trials. Lips that aren't too worse for wear, staying silent. Keeping guard, remembering not to unleash themselves. Scar on chin from earlier days; stitches trace a small path. An unexpected trip down a flight of cement stairs. Hair frames the face with the mussed look of a day gone by. The day filled with it's share of struggles. If the eyes are the window of the soul - What do these eyes say today? Look deep and long. See into the soul of a person Waiting in the shadows. Eyes longing for release and anticipating relent. Eyes of the soul tell no lies. IT’S NOT JUST ABOUT CUTTING It's not just about cutting - It's about wanting to be loved, It's about wishing to not be alone, It's about feeling needed And feeling wanted by someone - Anyone. It's not just about cutting - It's about scars that go deep, It's about scars that last a lifetime. It's about pain that never heals. Not about cutting - Not about addiction. Not about crying, Not about self-harm. It's all about emotion That has never been soothed. It's all about wanting Someone to care. It's all about knowing You mean something to someone. It's all about realizing You may be worth something. Cutting - or burning - or drug overdose. It's all because of the Condition of a heart That's crying out loud. A heart Feeling pain deep inside. A heart Lost in a world of hate and abuse. A heart Longing for real love. A heart Abandoned. LET GO I know you hurt. You feel alone in the world without one friend... not one person beside you. No one has spoken the words you need to hear that will stop you cold in your tracks. No one has said what it takes to make you feel and give you hope. If you could write the script, what would they say? What are the words you long to hear? How would the scene change? Show me what it is that I need to do...what are the words that I need to say. "Everything’s going to be okay". Those are the words that consoled you in your childhood years. You trusted them to be true then. But things got harder and people got crueler. The hurt got deeper and the pit got darker. Now "everything’s going to be okay" seems to good to be real. It echos in your mind, seeming like a fantasy, stabbing at your aching heart. You’re holding on to your pain. You hold on tight because it’s what you’ve grown comfortable with. The pain you say you want to end is what you lean on. You’ve swallowed all the ridicule and hate, internalizing the pain. You’ve kept the emptiness locked up until it’s become a part of you. Now I see you at the end of your rope. You look quite desperate for an answer. The tears have been shed, and your heart has bled. You stand shaking and weak, quite fragile from it all. PLEASE LET GO. I ask you as a friend who's been there myself. I see you and it feels like I’m looking in the mirror at myself. You have to trust someone. You have to believe me when I say you need to let go. You have such a tight grip on your pain that your knuckles are white. Please let go. Release it and find healing. You’re afraid to let go. You feel secure having the pain tucked deep inside you, kept hidden and secure. Let it come spilling out. You need to trust someone to be there for you when you’re all undone, someone who will stand by you and be there even in the ugliness. You have to trust again. It’s for no one but you. You have focused on your pain so much that you drove friends away. Your pain has consumed you. Holding on tight, your arms aren’t free to reach out to anyone else. Having such a grip on your own pain, your hands aren’t open to give and receive from another. Please let go. The fears you’ve felt are only lies. Try and trust just one person, even just a little bit. Take a tiny step for now.. Another tomorrow. Don’t look back. BANDS AROUND HER WRISTS Standing in the crowd of hundreds, Music blasting, lights blinding. A band takes the stage with fists in the air. Bands around their wrists and tattooed arms. Sweat runs free as the mosh pit grows. Frenzied freaks kick up the dust , As grinding guitars call out. The band chugs water between songs, Spits into the crowd, and shouts. A girl steps into the bathroom to Get away from it all. Hurting from another bad relationship. Closes herself off from the world, She takes the blade to her skin again. The band plays on and the mosh pit swirls. The hour is late but the crowd keeps up. A girl steps out of the bathroom with Fresh bands around her wrists. Blends into the crowd and raises her fists To the band, With bands around their wrists. CAN’T IGNORE THE VOICE That voice inside your head. What do you think it is?! It's your Jimminy Cricket ... your conscience. Your soul. What you hear it say may be a seed from the enemy trying to tell you a lie. How do you tell a lie from the real true voice within you?? I want to say it's simple - how does the voice make you feel? Crappy? Good? Encouraged? Like committing suicide?? I know it's not that simple though. Darkness engulfs the best of us, with a cloud of doubt and delusion. We think the voice we hear is right... we know it comes from the light. But satan himself came as an "angel of light".. so how can we tell? We stand in the center of a pitch black room wanting to step out and take action on the word we hear in our head. It's telling us to move; we put one foot in front of the other. We test our footing, sure to fall. We take another step, and the darkness grows a little less dark. Shades of gray appear. hmmm... the voice must be truth. We move on, and light begins to grow, encouraging us onward. But what if it were not that way? What if we take those first two steps and nothing at all happens. Still pitch dark, still frightening and cold. Do we stop still and freeze? Do we retreat? Do we turn and run? Life is full of advances and defeats. The key is that we never forfeit. To forfeit is to give in without a fight. No one gains anything by laying down and dying. MYSELF LAID BARE When the scales fall off my eyes And reveal the crystal clarity of sight unseen. Then it's the moment I fully realize How unattached to the truth I've really been. All along I thought I knew What was real and what was true. All the while I had a view That I was whole - did I fool you? Then the scales fell off my eyes And I was forced to face myself laid bare. That's the day I could've realized There was hope - but instead I chose despair. DYING TO FEEL There's so many people around that have numbed themselves to the outside world. The pain is so deep, it's so pushed down... it's still there inside. They push it far down, and deny it's even there. If they convince themselves that they don't feel, then they won't hurt. If they don't feel, they don't experience happiness either. They throw out the joy with the sadness, all because they don't want to feel. You watch as "friends" slight you and turn their backs. You walk away saying, "whatever", convincing yourself that it's no big deal. No feelings at all. You talk yourself into feeling nothing. You duck into the restroom and dig for a blade. You can't find a blade so you take out a lighter and burn your skin. You've just lied to yourself. You do want to feel. It really did hurt you that your friends turned their backs. Now you resort to a lighter to make you feel. An inanimate object that won't call you names. One that you control. You make it hurt as much ...or as little as you want. You're dying to feel. Emotional pain is too hard, so you go for your wrists. Feel the pain in your loneliness. You've forgotten that your need to feel is a need to be loved. A blade or lighter can't affirm your value or give you love. You say your blade is your friend, but your blade can't talk back when you need encouragement. You need another human being to respond to you with love and kindness. You need to feel the gentleness of another person reaching out to help.
06 Jul 2006	Matthew Mclean aka Billy the Freak	monday morning went off with out a hitch. routine pencil pushing and paper grinding. not a speck of work has left my desk. my desk found adjacent to the break area has me overhearing every bit of idle chit chat . i am hardly amused by the other flunky's exploits over the weekend. their conversation is as flavorless as the coffee they slurp into thier gullets. i don't care what the mamma from the cosmetology school got, or what position she got it in. fuck your trip to maryland... they move and shake out motions to acompany the stories. what the shit! now my chills are in full swing, and god does my back hurt. "shut the hell up!" i scream across the divider. " i am trying to work here!" mostly from weakness my body drops, naturally thinking my chair was below me, ( it must had pushed away when i stood up) i gave no effort to stop myself from falling to my ass and busting my head on the armrest of my chair. the pain, along with the dope sick was unbareable. now the jackasses are laughing hysterically, staggering to my feet i storm past the bastards. " you work too hard." one coffee breath office jockey called out to me."you're obviously stressed out." i have no clue why i turned around. "go on vacation." he stammered between a chuckle; folgers crystals about to erupt from his nose. "take a trip... tee hee... i'll see you in the fall" the right ignorant cunt- i mean stupid ignorant. a 'fuck you' was all i could muster in a breath as i escaped the ill situation that had me the butt of a lame joke. i could bear the jones no longer. i exited the cavernous office space into the hall where two bubbley cosmo girls (the marketing firm i slave for shares a floor with a beauty school.) engaged in conversation outside the rest rooms. sweat dripped from my brow, i know i looked to fuck. i couldn't care less, not like it's my lucky day. i haven't had an erection in weeks. no cosmo girl spread eagle could sooth my angst. i nod as i pass and enter the men's room. i rummage through my pockets to find my old camel cigarette flask. once in hand i gave it a reassuring shake. bliss. in one steady movement i had the final stall door open and locked behind me. the flask ajar and resting on my knee as i sit on the john. my eyes scrutinize the contents of the treasure chest before me. at the top of the list: three wax paper packets of fine brown heroin, a lighter, a small tablespoon sized measuring spoon, cotton balls, and a fresh rig procured from my diabetic aunt. in the ritualistic motions that follow i am cooked up, tied off, and riding the mellow wave to pleasantville, all in under ten minutes. i normally don't panic like that. my mind was playing tricks. my body didn't need the dope. this is not going to be an o.d. situation. can barely breath. i'm so hot. not this. i jump up and dunk my head in the toilet in desperate attemps to cool down. i continue to splash my face, getting weaker... eyes blurring out of focus. i can't breath. everything fades to a light grey then progressively turns to black.
04 Jul 2006	méphistophéles	Bien... Je lui offrirais un coupe-papier afghan, comme dans le roman de ce diabolique auteur québécois, Pierre Leroux, "Cher éditeur"(éditions Albin Michel).

Prev    Much more than this....    Next

1 2 3 4 5 ... 48 49

Famous users search: Lucy Cortina   Chris   Mackellar   Felicia   Joe Lee   Billy   Phil   will snow   Enzyme