#suicidalthoughts
"The Drifter (A Life of Trauma and Mental Illness)"
.
.
I was told all my life,
That I was stupid and lazy.
In school, I drifted
Into my own little world.
.
At home, I was criticized
And made fun of for
Wasting time creating
The things I loved to do.
.
I loved art (mostly drawing).
I loved building and making things.
And most of all, I loved music.
.
All of which my family
Thought was a waste
Of time.
.
In school, I didn't focus.
I was too anxious there.
Like wanting to **** myself,
To not have to go.
.
This was embedded
Into my brain, daily.
And I learned to believe it.
It continued throughout my life.
.
So, I kept to myself.
Or hung with the wrong crowd.
This became my life.
.
Alcohol and drugs were all
I thought about.
It was almost a daily activity.
And I lived to survive.
.
I am fifty-five now, and finally
Starting to love myself.
I live with mental illness,
Schizoaffective Disorder, and
Severe anxiety, to be exact.
Both of which rule my life.
.
I am learning slowly to live
With them, but life is hard.
I live it one day at a time.
I have to, it's the only way.
.
.
A poem by Garry Ventura
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 1:48 PM UTC
:INPUT ATTEMPT——
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:OUTPUT SUCCESSFUL——
:endsystem.
Apr 1
Apr 1, 2026 at 9:24 PM UTC
Would you accept me if you realized I was suicidal?
Would you accept me if you realized I have trouble connecting with others?
Would you accept me if you realized I have horrible anxiety?
Would you accept me if you realized I struggle with depression?
Would you accept me if you realized I was a woman?
Would you accept me if you realized I was bisexual?
Would you accept me if you realized I hate being alone?
Would you accept me if you realized I hate being left out?
Would you accept me if you realized I hate myself?
Would you accept me if you realized I think others don’t like me?
Would you accept me if you realized I have harmed myself before?
Would you accept me if you realized I find it hard to make close friends?
Would you accept me if you realized I wasn’t pretty?
Would you accept me if you realized I procrastinate?
Would you accept me if you realized I sleep at midnight every day?
Would you accept me if you realized I have no plan for my future?
Would you accept me if you realized I spend all day on my phone?
Would you accept me if you realized I’m not perfect?
Mar 13
Mar 13, 2026 at 12:52 AM UTC
The Stillness
It does not echo.
It does not push, or pull.
It only stretches into the yawning void.
I stare over the edge and think,
What if I went?
I do not want this,
But I will not go there.
I am here.
I want to BE HERE.
I am floating,
Hovering.
There are no voices in the stillness,
Telling me to come.
Telling me to go.
What to think,
What to say,
What to feel.
I find solace in the silence—
a...not quite peace.
It's the space between pulses
Where I am not chasing
Or being chased.
No demand to perform,
No mask to hold in place.
It's a hush that lets me breathe,
A little something just for me.
But I like it here,
Right at the edge of this void.
It's where I can just be.
And wonder,
What if I stay?
So I stay...
and find out.
Jul 10, 2025
Jul 10, 2025 at 6:36 AM UTC
I'd feel like a stranger at my own funeral-
who's that in the box, dressed better in death
than I ever managed in life?
Better than my quiet attempts-those empty rehearsals
at suicide.
Was this the last chance I had left?
Even in death, my voice isn't heard-
nor the screaming ones trapped inside my skull.
Even my ghost wouldn't believe it's dead,
still hoping the lives I tried to save
might pay my way past the gates,
buy out my debts.
But what if there's no heaven waiting?
What if another kind of hell greets me instead?
What if I never see my old friends again-
never laugh without fear,
never smile without pretending?
What if I never stop
being so ******* afraid
so strangely ashamed
to feel nothing,
to be numb to even shame itself?
All I wanted
was to be born again-
not into some perfect life,
but one that wouldn't lead me
back to searching for another end.
And isn't it strange-
how only in death do we see our regrets
with such clarity?
Because there's nowhere left to run from them
once we get
to the end.
Jun 8, 2025
Jun 8, 2025 at 2:52 AM UTC
when i was five
i used to sit on the floor in my kitchen
and wonder what dying was like
i would pick up a fruit knife
put the blade to my skin
if only to feel the cool metal
and before a single drop of blood was drawn from my delicate veins
i would shove the knife back into the drawer
and run off somewhere else as if it never happened
wondering what would’ve happened
if the knife had slipped
i didn’t want to bleed
i didn’t want to die
i just wanted to know what would happen
would someone miss me?
would someone cry?
when i was ten
i used to sit in my bathtub
and wonder what drowning was like
i wouldnt let the water drain after a shower
and i would lie there
until goosebumps littered my skin
the water running cold
droplets from my wet hair trickling down my back
and before i could fully submerge myself in remnants of shampoo suds
i would pull the plug on the drain and wrap myself in a towel
slip into my room as if it never happened
wondering what would’ve happened
if i had fallen asleep there
i didn’t want to drown
i didn’t want to die
i just wanted to know what would happen
would someone miss me?
would someone cry?
now i’m fifteen
and i sit on the floor in my room
drowning in a pool of tears
and i wonder if i could just disappear
erase the signs of my existence quietly
so no one remembered me
run off to a world where i’m not tired
not physically
or emotionally
or mentally
or academically
and although i try to fight off the dehabilitating fatigue
as i deplete the last ounces of my energy
i wonder what would happen
if i succumbed to the exhaustion
i think i want to disappear
i think i might want to die
but i want to know what would happen
would you miss me?
would i cry?
Feb 13, 2025
Feb 13, 2025 at 5:02 AM UTC
Oh lord
Forgive me for I have sinned
Like Adam and Eve
I am the snake in the garden
Oh lord
Will you forgive me for I have sinned?
Like Eve and Adam
I am the apple in Eden
Oh lord
I have sinned to be forgiven
Like Adam, Like Eve
All I knew was that you told me
To come back to you even if I have sinned
I have tasted hell for years
I am going to be there for years
Oh lord
Forgive me for I have sinned
And forgive the people who betrayed me
Forgive the traitors in my past
and the betrayals in my mind
Oh lord
Will you forgive me for I have sinned?
Like Abel, Like Cain
or will I be your lucifer
Lost in hell forever
lost touch to the rope
Like the son of Noah
For I have sinned?
Jan 23, 2025
Jan 23, 2025 at 5:14 PM UTC
“You’re doing a great job brain,
Driving the meat-suit…
Just killing it.”
Part 3.
I woke up...
What the **** am I doing?
That’s a bigger question than I want to face at 4 am in the dark with an urge to **** and a limp that makes getting out of bed a decision based on pros and cons:
Pro Con
I won’t **** the bed. I have to walk.
Stairs in the dark are my nemesis.
I get up, turn on the light so I don’t stumble and fall traversing the disaster of personal space I occupy.
Middle class squalor.
Druggies live like this.
I am a druggie, so it’s fine, or so it seems.
Back to the big question- What the **** am I doing?
Nothing. Taking a ****
I just have to get ok with the fact that I’m not going to leave anything behind. No great, unsung opera, or hidden magnum opus; no postmortem, unpolished, unpublished manifesto to find. Just sadness released and gifted to whoever should find me lying lifeless (unless it’s just something there looking for something to eat.)
(Pt4)I limp
Down the stairs one step at a time.
Bad foot down, good foot follows.
Can’t trust my fat *** to the broken ankle, but now the other legs getting a bad knee.
I’m ******* falling apart.
(Pt3cont)
It’s too **** difficult.
I just want to quit.
You’re not gonna **** yourself.
You’re too **** chicken ****
You can’t do that to your mother, your father. You don’t love your family enough, but mom and dad are here and they don’t deserve that despair.
Sure would be nice if something else would do it. Like an act of god or a terrorist or drunk driver (but not you).
Your friend got away just a few weeks ago
and it was messy, but now it’s over for her.
Shut up dude.
Is that what you wanna do?
You’re gonna **** yourself?
Then do it... what the **** are you waiting for? The right time? You ******* *******
What; are you too ******* scared?
Scared you might go to hell?
Or that you’re right and it’s just this one blip; and you, you lucky little **** you only get the one shot, and it’s a blink of an eye and you’re gone; and you’re gon’ turn off the light and and never turn it back on?
Go ******* talk to a friend.
This is just the addiction again.
It goes away. (It comes back)
I don’t want to **** myself;
I’m scared I’m gonna **** myself;
Not immediately,
not imminently,
I’m just afraid I’ll lose the battle
One day
Not tomorrow,
certainly not today
But what if one of these days I can’t come up with a reason to suffer through.
Cause it’s getting harder to do.
(He sobs and screams and tells it to go but he knows it’s just sinking back into the shadows in the corner of the room)
Part 1
The part of my brain which I’m constantly fighting does not speak in language,
it knows only “do”
It does not even know “do not”
“Not” Serves no purpose
There is only do.
The lizard Brain licks its own eye as it waits for the next command.
It does not tell itself "wait,"
it just delays the pounce,
it eats bugs and does drugs
and serves only one purpose,
-Feed-
It’s not even in charge of ****
That takes to much cognition
How
Am I supposed to fight hunger?
How
do you turn off the need?
How
Do you tell a dragon you won’t chase it
How do you get a fiend to be free?
Part 2. I woke up at 3:54 in the morning to ask myself what the **** I’m even doing, to which I had no reply, and the dark thoughts that creep in in dark moments alone came creeping across shadows with there fingers long and scratched at the walls and wept and moaned…
It’s too **** difficult
to close the door
but the critters keep crawling in and making the interred corners there home.
Nasty little buggers,
disease ridden pests,
eating up everything,
automatons driven by “feed and fertilize”
But you can’t blame survivors for surviving
it’s all they know.
That is until they get squashed by a boot
Nobody likes bugs crawlin on their skin.
It makes you twitch and kick and scratch and freak out. A man will slap himself to **** a creepy-crawler crawling on him, he'd slap a friend without warning to **** a bug that lands on him. But the bug I’m trying to squash is the cockroach of the mind. And it’s the most cunning little ****** I’ve ever tried to slap. You ever chased a cockroach through a kitchen? - just slamming **** on the counters out of the way trying to chase it into a corner where it can’t hide from the light. You ever had one get away and so you gotta go searching through cabinets and moving boxes of cake mix and bags a of rice and packets of seasoning and other detritus until you finally discover it’s disgusting den and you see the signs of life… (mostly, that means bug **** everywhere). But the roach is rarely there, they don’t go home at night. They get out there and get to work, trying to get high.
It’s either that or home hungry, having a cry. That’s what I’m doing…
This ******* guy…
My dog is dreaming I can tell by her muffled barks and how she kicks. I wonder what she’s chasing? And where? Is it the memeries of her ancestors hunting in packs she sees? Or is it great chases from her own past she relives. That one time she caught a bunny? Or stalking the neighbors cat, pouncing and chasing into a corner and catching and killing? Does she ever catch a squirrel in her dreams? She’s never caught one in the daytime, eyes open, on her feet. Can she imagine what it feels like? Extrapolate things? What purpose does a dream serve a dog? Or is it something they adopt from their masters; Like anxiety? Do dreams come with the imprint of human interaction or are they innate to brains? I need to go back to sleep.
(Pt4cont) He resets his alarm
A little later than before but he wants some time to dream, dream of a life where he’s not just some ******** druggie living in an attic at his parents home at 40 with no job and no life and no kids and no wife and very little will to live and even less left to give. Sweet dreams sweet Prince, you’re my favorite one, don’t tell the others, they’ll revolt and who knows what they’ll do to us when we aren’t looking.
Here comes the sun
(The screen just auto-switched from night mode to white mode. I’ve gotta go back to sleep, thanks for playing, it’s been fun. Fuuuuuck me…)
:Existential Crisis over (for now):
May 17 2024 3:54am-6:49am
Jun 15, 2024
Jun 15, 2024 at 6:04 PM UTC
_[Chorus]
I'll never go back home.
I'll never go back home...
I'll never go back home.
I rather be all on my own.
History rewritten in stone.
Not to burden anyone
in a place
Where I never belong.
You will miss me being around
Remember my voice
This is the way peace sounds.
What goes up.
Must come down..down...down...down...._
If it's persistent.
Then remain consistent
In the process of handling it.
Temporary problems
Never require a permanent solution.
It may bring silence
In the most dreaded nights.
Blinded by rage
Remember all in sight.
Think twice before you
remove yourself from your own life.
Everyone involved in this story
Composing their chapters.
Trying obtain resolve
Regain. Recover. Repeat.
Questioning everything except
The truth in all which is right.
Detrimental to determination
Destiny, comes in search for you.
As so it does for me. It does for all.
Realistically, there is no down fall.
If you never stay down, from the moment you fall.
It's not just fact. It's honesty by Default.
Jul 26, 2022
Jul 26, 2022 at 1:43 PM UTC
To all the ones who didn’t make it,
Tell me are you finally at peace?
Did the weight of the world truly leave you be?
I’m simply asking because I am one of the ones who did make it
And wonder what would have happened if I didn’t make it?
Has the addiction to be perfect stopped eating you from the inside out?
Or the need to please everyone, by now surely that drive must no longer be around?
To all the ones who didn’t make it, tell me it got easier?
What about the voices, the voices in your head that could never be drowned out, the voices that always told you “you’d never be good enough” for the love of god tell me they finally listened, tell me they finally shut up?
And are you still able to feel numb to all the hurt?
That you don’t have to fight the cravings any longer? Tell me, tell me there is no harm to just giving in?
Tell me, tell me please
To all the ones who didn’t make it, tell me how it was worth it?
Or would you rather ask me first?
Would you rather ask me how warm the sun feels on a lazy august afternoon?
Because you can’t seem to remember what that feels like any longer
Or if the roses still bloom with the promise to smell sweet and to bring the honey bees around?
You’re starting to forget what they look like
What about chocolate you ask, is it still known to melt in your mouth and bring a smile to your face?
At least that is what you think the rumours you heard say
And is laughter with loved ones truly contagious?
It’s been a while since you’ve done it yourself
You go on to ask about blue skies and cozy rainy days
Old teachers that made you fall in love with learning and the ones you’re happy you’ve forgotten about
We discuss friendships new and old and how far they’ve come sadly in your absence
And when I’ve answered all your questions you finally agree to answer mine
But I simply smile and say,
To all the ones who didn’t make it, may you please forget I ever asked?
Jan 6, 2022
Jan 6, 2022 at 12:14 AM UTC
This year was supposed to be better
It was to be the year I got my life back together
Last year was incredibly horrible
This year I was hopeful
It was a mistake to feel that way
My accident left me feeling such dismay
Leaving me with such hatred towards the drunk driver that could've ended my life
He almost took away my chance to find a wife
It's been 6 months since the crash
I'm drowning in so much debt; I need some freaking cash
My brother wants me out by next year
Tbh it makes me wish I never moved here.
It's been 3 years and I never experienced a year of happiness
Everything I've been through built up so much stress
All this stress adds to my depression and makes me prone to suicidal thoughts.
Lately I've been thinking about what it feels like to die
Will I feel anything, will anybody even cry?
Does anybody truly care about me?
Or am I just an empty soul internally.
This is how this year has got me in my feelings
Nov 25, 2021
Nov 25, 2021 at 8:55 PM UTC
Sometimes they yell,
"WORTHLESS!"
And I listen,
Because
"Listening is the polite thing to do."
Feb 23, 2021
Feb 23, 2021 at 5:37 PM UTC
Alone, cold,
Misunderstood.
Fighting a battle that began before our conception.
Cursed. The physical manifestation of ones fathers mistake.
Emotions removed, confiscated. No longer relevant.
Useless.
Sympathy lost when love failed us.
Patience is the only retribution.
The endangered struggling black father.
On the verge of self destruction.
Restricted from the love of his own life force.
With no direction. No support.
Intense emotions personified by a series of precise phrases representing static progress and consistent negligence.
Our efforts are never enough.
Our words mean nothing.
Our concerns, suppressed.
Our worries, neglected.
Our respect, vaporized.
Our life. Devalued.
The endangered species
The struggling black father...
Jan 22, 2021
Jan 22, 2021 at 12:49 AM UTC
I think about dying
At least once a day
It's gotten to the point
Where I crave death:
To the point where suicide
Doesn't seem so bad and selfish and cruel
But more like a solution to all my problems
Of course, I'd rather die
From natural causes
But the progression is way too slow
So, I'm trying to speed it up a little
By destroying my body in the best possible ways:
-Junk food
-Laziness
-And bad ******* hygiene
Jan 8, 2021
Jan 8, 2021 at 12:18 AM UTC
Suicide; society tells me it’s a ***** word
Blackens your tongue and brands you an
Outsider to your beloved community;
Tarnishes your dazzling reputation and
Takes a beautiful, cherished, short-lived, soul.
But why did society not raise me like the
Painstakingly adored roses amongst
Its garden of thorns; why can’t I be
That happy girl. Why have I been
Doused in fertiliser, a wretched ****
Amongst a garden of beauty, growing
Faster than lightning, roots of gnarly
Agony and shoots of grey, blurred hatred for
Every atom of my being- screams for the ****
Killer to embrace me by the neck, apply a-
Seductive dose of love-dripping pressure
And set this crow free; unchain my bruised wings
And I promise I will leave you be, I will never
Bring misery or misfortune again.
But suicide; is a ***** word, a cheek
Burning, soul smouldering, darkening
Shadow on the pretty plastic cases over our,
Mechanical hearts. Not for the great pain of
Losing a barely, blossomed flower- took one
Heavy dose of white-pain sunlight and
Wilted away into the black, bottomless soil.
Not for the gaping loss of a singular
Fertile crop in an endless year of draught and
Famine. Suicide, is not a tear-wrenching,
Palm-sweating word for the, heavy and huge hole
It leaves in society’s newly plastered walls-
But it is an unspeakable word for the pure
Shame. The surly shadow of unspeakable
Shame that it leaves like a, stain of red wine
On the pretty, sensible woman’s white blouse
Like a ****** tattoo on the arm of an infant.
We do not grieve their death. We grieve our pride,
Our bruised and bleeding pride at not preventing
The stench of failure as a race of people, in the death
Of one melancholy drowned person, we practically
Placed the boulders in their pockets and said drown.
And I am holding my breath; tight roping this
Misery that smothers me at sunrise, see I am
Permitted a feigned slumber of peace in the dead
Hours of night yet I awake to the,
Asphyxiation of pain, eyes bulging in terror of
What awaits me when I run out of time, oxygen fast-
Fading and the orange, pink of dawn lights a
Fire in the honey pools of my eyes- small, mocking fires
That sneer at my desperation to cease, at my plea for peace-
Tight, burning stabs that tingle in my throat and
I’m running low on air, on time, almost there-
Deliria, ecstasy, glee dripping from my limbs
And- the noose I fabricated in my non-
Functioning, disabled mind slips away, faster
Than I can catch it and refasten, and I am, cold
In my bedsheets once more. Welcomed again,
To the now bellowing daylight of, depression
Another flightless, fruitless day of carefully,
Hand-stitched smiles and sinfully pre-tuned
Laughter. The world tells me to stand on the
Pinnacle of misery with one broken leg and
If I dare fall, I am a branded shame on the surface
Of the earth, I am the centre of all failure in the
Universe so I, valiantly ride into no-mans-land,
A knight in shining armour except, I have no steel
And no bronze to, protect my heart from the cannon fire
Of pain, I have no shield to shelter me from the
Poison gas of self-hatred. But I am perfectly okay being
Defenceless in the brazen gunfire; I am still breathing,
The titanium arrows of misery protruding neatly from
My mangled limbs and my broken heart.
And that word, sombre and dark as ever
Flashes once in my head and I swat it away with
Deep-rooted disgust, and a dire hunger for such a desire.
Suicide;
Society tells me it’s a ***** word.
Nov 1, 2020
Nov 1, 2020 at 2:51 PM UTC
Resting your head on the side of the bathtub,
Half-hoping you won't fall asleep and slip under the water.
Walking into the street without looking both ways,
Half-hoping you won't be hit by a car or some other vehicle.
Running down the stairs, taking them two at a time,
Half-hoping you won't trip and fall all the way, all the way down.
Turning off the oven after cooking your dinner,
Half-hoping the gas hasn't leaked and isn't filling your entire house.
Leaving a candle lit for a moment as you leave the room,
Half-hoping it won't fall over and set your bookshelf ablaze.
Doing any number of seemingly monotonous chores,
And half-hoping your mind won't hope for the dreadful way it could
end.
Aug 20, 2020
Aug 20, 2020 at 11:51 AM UTC
Cutting my own arm
every other night
cause of what I am hearing
from the ones I trust
Jul 2, 2020
Jul 2, 2020 at 8:27 AM UTC
Fill your lungs with air, they say
These black fireworks are getting closer
Crawl around, it's fun, they say
The slower I move, the deader the knot gets
You're dizzy, shadowed, they say
Apple after apple, only glowing poison
You'll see, you'll see
You'll want to someday
But all I want is out.
May 20, 2020
May 20, 2020 at 5:40 PM UTC
I am so very extremely depressed
I want to sleep but I'm way too stressed
I try to talk with friends and with fam
But they seem to think that I don't give a ****
They call me lazy, heartless and dull
I've stopped eating food; they just think that I'm full
My arms are restless, I kick in the night
Can't someone tell me what I'm supposed to fight?
I wait for the next day, and the next, and the next
Waiting for when I finally breathe my last
And then it occurs to me; why hadn't I seen it?
I have the power to **** and destroy it
Tell me one reason that suicide is bad
Besides the fact that it'd drive others mad
I should be concerned with the rest, but I can't
Just let me be selfish and let me rant
I want to die and I want to die now
The only question left to consider is: how?
May 14, 2020
May 14, 2020 at 2:22 AM UTC
A brain chemically imbalanced.
How could taking two little white pills every morning
slowly but surely resolve eight years of major depression
ameliorate symptoms that strangle the mind and spirit,
destroying self-worth, competency, basic functionality.
Despite a set-back of a month of unstable, barely restrained
suicidal thoughts, whole-heartedly consuming every minute
of conscious thought and shattering already severely fragmented
sleep, the only repose from the onslaught of endless thoughts
each one affirming deservance and supplying means to an end.
The vile depression, mind-warping, heart-marring, shape-shifting,
perspective-rearranging, adapting to every new environment,
clawing its nightmare-grip further into my chest day after day,
haunting me even in its remission: the depression was sinister.
Body and brain scarred and healing, starved synapses react,
a regiment of medicine, taxing-thought, and long-scarce love,
but indisputably vital: taking two little white pills every morning
slowly but surely resolves eight years of major depression.
A brain chemically balanced.
Apr 8, 2020
Apr 8, 2020 at 4:17 PM UTC
Poison.
Poison is all that's on my mind.
I could go out in edgy flair
By the point of a dagger
Or, I could disappear by poison.
Free myself from this cage with cyanide
A sleepy, seamless death.
No marks
No pain
Just true freedom.
No more drugs pumping through my body to stall while death is lurking
Maybe then
I could finally be released of the pain I hold in my chest
The pain of a thousand wishes and hopes orphaned
Crushed
I'll never be worthwhile.
I know that.
May this last vision
To some so vile
Be carried out for once in my life.
Mar 29, 2020
Mar 29, 2020 at 5:18 AM UTC
I sit in the shower, wishing for my brain to work the way it should.
I sit in the shower and let the water beat against my face, hoping that will drown out my thoughts and insecurities.
I sit in the shower and cry because I know no one will hear me.
I sit in the shower and question my importance here.
I sit in the shower and gag myself while I sob quietly.
I sit in the shower and take apart razor blades and let them dance across my wrists so that I will stop numbly staring at the shower wall.
I sit in the shower and wonder, if I should really be here tomorrow.
So, how do I tell my friends I sit in the shower?
Mar 20, 2020
Mar 20, 2020 at 7:54 AM UTC