1,990 Quotes About Suicide

Lenie " odzywa się Joel"Słucham?""Próbowałaś się kiedyś zabić?""Jasne, jak każdy" odpowiada

He was a man who had already died once.There was no reason why he should feel any sense of responsibility or attachment to the world. To him, it was nothing more than a sheet of newspaper covered in the scribblings of cockroaches.

I have not been able to traverse the entire landscape of my creativity. I have travelled far and wide, and I have never got away from myself.

Johann Kleist: If something is waiting for me in that midnight thicket, it can have me soon enough. To be claimed by that primal darkness, to be swallowed up, to cease: the thought of it is bliss to me.

That was always a thing with you. When you were younger, you were fascinated by the physical act, the bones of it, the viscera. You asked questions: Would it hurt? For how long? What did it feel like to hit water from a height? Would you feel yourself break? You thought less, I think, about the rest of it: about what it took to get someone to the top of the cliff or the edge of the beach, and to propel them to keep moving.

Tell me, just how many lives need to be lost until someone realises the impact that their words can have on another individual?

The social pressure to be happy therefore means that many people who aren’t happy or experience extreme low mood such as depression, are pressurised into not speaking about their negative emotions. It makes it hard for individuals to be honest with both themselves and others, and means that we would rather keep it all inside. Being expected to be happy all the time makes us feel like we’re failing when we’re feeling unhappy.

She realised that she hadn’t tried to end her life because she was miserable, but because she had managed to convince herself that there was no way out of her misery. That, she supposed, was the basis of depression as well as the difference between fear and despair. Fear was when you wandered into a cellar and worried that the door would close shut. Despair was when the door closed and locked behind you.

The seed of not being wanted, not being liked, not being appreciated is planted years if not decades before the ultimate moment. It is nourished by circumstances. It is watered with repeated negative criticism on their inadequacies. The seed sprouts in desperation, grows in dejection and blossoms into rage. The rage ripens to a poisoned fruit of not wanting to live anymore and one fine day, when it is ripe enough, it falls off.