Barbiturate is one of the few drugs capable of killing you painlessly, so of course the state has banned it. Instead we get paracetamol, a ****** over-the-counter painkiller that leaves you in pain for up to five days while your liver and kidneys shut down. Suicide prevention is a ******* joke. Secular appropriations of Christian values that assume life is worthwhile, whether you desire it or not. It’s long been known that rates of suicide rose dramatically with the birth of modernity—techno-scientific paradise for the middle-class which stresses efficiency over existence. New forms of automation, the human body disciplined into repetitious acts, the partitioning of workspaces so that no single worker could operate the whole—so that any worker could be fired and replaced with the minimum amount of training necessary for capital to continue circulating. The body is individualised, scrutinised, and punished by rich kids playing panopticon, so that any mass agitation is coerced into silence through the threat of destitution.

Slitting your wrists barely succeeds and more likely than not leaves you with tendon and muscle damage. Catalytic converters in cars now convert carbon monoxide into harmless CO2 and H2O. Drowning is one of the most painful ways to die. You cannot escape. The state places helpline numbers around suicide spots to treat life after the fact, rather than at the source of suffering. Vocal band-aids, ****** ******* aphorisms that seek to revert you back into a happy state-serving commodity. Things will get better. Life is worth living. Think positive. Alienation is omnipresent. Neoliberal discourse requires you to be subservient to the greater system of capital and the easiest way towards this is the instilment of comfort, of pleasant nullity, the circumscription of emotional capacity and reflectivity. Suicidal thoughts are abnormal, because life is worth living. Eat your packaged food item and watch Netflix.

For a drop into water to be fatal, it has to be 250 feet. Try to aim for your head to maximise brain injury. The most prominent suicide spot around here has a drop of 100 feet. They cordoned it off anyway. Your life doesn’t belong to you. The first time I tried to suicide my mother asked ‘why would you do that?’ as if it was the dumbest thing in the world. The second time, the doctor looked at me in an exasperated manner and prescribed me lots of drugs. Geettt bettterrrr. Nobody cares about you, they simply want you to return to normal. Normality as in serving your parents, serving your friends, serving the state, and serving the market. Normality as in not questioning social norms and institutions. Normality as in get a stable job (i.e. compete against other workers in an exploitative, undemocratic system that values and inculcates self-serving desires), get married (preferably to someone of the opposite *** who is middle-class and imbibes European culture), get pregnant/get someone pregnant (but only once or twice, because anyone who has more children than that is backwards), invest in housing (those students and lower-class families need to learn how the world works; really, it’s a benefit to take their money), watch sports (to instil national pride in your children; no son, we didn’t colonise the Pacific Islands, keep watching the man with the wooden stick hit *****), eat out every week (preferably exotic restaurants), go see the world (preferably exotic locations, so you can be served by exotic people, take in exotic sights, then leave without considering where any of your money has gone to, whether any of it has reached the slums, whether the beach you lay on is accessible to the people living there, or whether it has been privatised by the tourist firm so that only rich tourists like yourself can lie on it), join a club (those capitalists were innocent, it was the indigenous folk that were making a ruckus over the new golf course; it’s not like we’ve been colonising their land and culture for the past three centuries), donate to charity (but never any charity desiring systemic change; that’s crazy), consume, always consume (keeps the economy going; why question the desire for infinite growth in a world with limited land, resources and markets?), replace your phone every year (those poor workers in Asia need our help), repeat to the point of nausea.

The most successful method to suicide is a shotgun to the head; high calibre, slug rounds. Of course, with all these methods, the chance of failing may leave you disfigured, paralysed, mentally disabled or physically crippled (spinal damage, broken limbs, failed organs), with no guarantee that your family, or even your state, will allow for euthanasia. After all, the popular discourse paints suicide as selfish—an irony, considering liberalism places the self first and society second. It is viewed as sinful regardless of context—deontologically detached from anomie, alienation, material deprivation, social pressures, psychological affectations, any cause or structure. Life is worth living. This ignores that the subject is situated in existence. The subject moves through existence to live. Life, then, is the totality of the subject’s interactions. It cannot be universalised into a single state or judgement that merges all subjectivities into a catch-all worthiness. Worth is dependent of the subject.

I don’t know why I’m writing this. Maybe I just want everyone to **** themselves, because the world is ****** and the majority of people are ******* it worse. Most people think being nice makes them good. They turn blind to the systems of oppression they partake in. A while ago my mother was asking if I’d heard about the mass suicides happening at Foxconn, the largest electronics manufacturer in the world. This year she showed me her new iPhone. I don’t ******* understand. I don’t understand how people can be outraged at humanity abuses, yet do ******* nothing to help or change their ways. Yes, market solutions are ******* ****, but these commodities are still coming from somewhere, and while capitalism is in place, our money is still flowing back. I don’t understand how people can be concerned about ecological issues, then pour dishwashing liquid down the sink every night, dissolving the gills, eyes, and organs of fish in rivers and oceans. I don’t understand a ******* thing. I feel physically sick most days. I can barely function outside of university, because engaging with real people, in real systems, just reminds me of how careless, worthless, and disgusting they are. When I first turned vegan, my dad simply said plants are living too. Well no ******* **** dad, why didn’t you ask me my reason for turning vegan, rather than simply repeating the dumb **** everyone else says? If you were stuck on a desert island. Well I’m ******* not. I’m stuck on this **** world filled with nice people who don’t give a **** about anything. I’m stuck every week walking the same roads, to the same university, where I become more and more distanced from reality through abstract philosophical theories that no one else cares about. I’m stuck walking through the supermarket every week, to purchase overpriced commodities produced by transnational corporations I don’t support, but nonetheless have to buy to survive. What alternatives I buy are mocked because it's so funny being ethical in our day and age. Because it’s so much more normal eating pies, and drinking beer, and treating women like objects, and affirming nationalistic sentiments of white supremacy, and making fun of ethnic minorities while they’re incarcerated, and beaten, and killed. All lives matter, the liberal conservatives cry out, while doing ******* nothing to help any cause. I don’t understand this world, and I have no desire to be in it if this is all there is.

I wrote this while waiting my turn at Baragwanath Hospital...it suddenly came to me, that I had been speaking to these wonderful ladies at **** Crisis Scotland nearly every day before I came here and started to heal.  Im forever, and ever...grateful ***

"While I wait…"

Today I was thinking,
I had so much time,
Waiting for hours and hours,
Patiently in line

Apprehensive, nervous,
Yet somewhat assured,
I let my mind wander,
Back and back it was lured

Im out of my body,
Now an empty shell,
Going back to the past,
Going back to …hell

It feels dangerous,
Thinking back,
I feel so vulnerable,
It hurts to look back

But here I am,
Waiting in line,
A different person,
To look back, it is time

But who was I?
What was going on?
The fear, the shame,
I had almost no one

Its darkness and pain,
Unbearable pain,
Not trusting anyone,
Even myself, never again

I was something else,
Torture, torture, torture,
Hating myself,
Was I a murderer?

The panic, the fear,
Not knowing myself,
Not knowing inside,
Wanting to **** myself

All of this now
Seems so much worse,
As im getting better,
Im learning to trust

The pain in my stomach,
Thinking back to that time,
Stuck in my house,
Completely out of my mind

Time had stopped,
But I still had to live,
Existing was painful,
It was a nightmare to live

I don’t recognise myself,
Don't know who I was,
But the feelings are still with me,
More traumatic than all else

My blades were my friends,
Taking the pain each day,
Numbing my mind,
Allowing it to “go away”

Cut cut cut,
Every day,
I look at my scars now,
I’ve had to explain

Back there I was me,
But I was totally lost,
Like living a virtual reality,
So totally totally lost

An empty shell,
Yet shaky and trembling,
Wanting to die,
For being a burden

Suddenly
Im lost for words,
Just feeling feelings,
Its too much for words

There was nothing left of me,
Now that I know,
And knowing causes me pain,
How could I have got so low?

I can’t stop the tears,
The confusion, the fog,
Was so intense,
Not knowing who I was

The daymares,
The nightmares,
People grabbing me,
People hurting me

I look at my arm,
I look at my legs,
Nowhere is my body spared,
Apart from my face

I felt *****,
Ashamed,
A burden,
On Society

I disgusted myself,
Yet not knowing why,
Even for calling the helpline,
I felt I should die

Its much like a fog,
Feeling my way through,
Occasionally bumping into things,
My mind says “thats you”

I was so very sick,
I only know now,
Just thinking how sick I was
Makes me physically ill now

It wasn’t me,
Id gone somewhere,
The pain too much,
And the shame, to bear

I break down now
When I describe these times,
I was in contact with people,
Begging them to take my life

It still comes back now,
Triggers, so im told,
I beat myself up,
Hit my head on the wall

It can be overwhelming
When it comes back,
Whether its the ****,
Or just the cruelty I faced

People were cruel,
So so cruel,
They hurt me so deeply,
That I thought I was cruel

I think back to times
I was abused by police,
I was abused by doctors,
In fact, all authorities

They just hurt me more,
They put me through hell,
The pain they caused me,
Left a story to tell

They were cold, suspicious,
Filling me with shame,
Making me believe,
That I was to blame

They traumatised me more,
More than ever before,
Or perhaps I should say torture,
I felt ashamed to my core

So much I could write,
But im struggling for words,
They hurt me, they did this,
Now I realise their curse

I cannot forgive them,
I cannot go back,
Here life's a struggle,
But my trust is coming back

I feel sad for time wasted,
Knowing Pamela would help me,
It pains me now to think
How I just could not let her help me

She believed in me,
Was ready to listen,
She understood,
Even spoke to the policeman

But I always feared
Asking for help,
For I was a burden,
Perhaps id feel worse getting help

They put this in my mind,
….a burden on society,
Dealing with the **** was one thing,
But this was a different story

Pamela tried so hard,
She took me to get help,
But it never materialised,
Instead, I totally lost hope

The days were long,
The nights were longer,
The man in my house,
Or is it my mother?

I didn’t want to exist,
I blocked out my life,
Then remembered what I didn’t want to,
My brain attacking me like a knife

There was no hope,
People are so cruel,
Do they enjoy it?
Watching people become ill?

I didn’t know how sick I was
Until I started getting better,
Im in a better place now,
But with a past full of horror

Its been a long time,
I think it had to be,
For me to find myself,
And to feel free

Now is the time,
Looking back on my life,
There were people, a helpline,
That physically saved my life

Although I was confused,
Not allowing myself to believe,
They told me again and again,
The one thing they did was believe

A have so much respect,
A deep connection too,
To these selfless women,
Who give up their time, for you

There wasn’t much you could do,
But you did everything and more,
You never gave up on me,
As I sat glued to the floor

Im healing slowly,
Reclaiming my life,
But I want to thank you ladies,
You did save my life

I appreciate everything you did so deeply it brings me to tears, thank you from the very bottom of my heart. .

Oh Darling,
It kills me inside to see you so sad
You are so young
You are so beautiful
I won't be the kind of person who tells you that you are too young
to be so sad
Depression doesn't care about age
Depression doesn't care about race
Depression doesn't care that you have a plate full of problems already
Depression is a sneaky *******
Depression has a way of reaching into your personal outer space
and wrap it's arms so tightly around your neck as it forces you
down into the deepest part of the ocean
It lets you go every once in awhile but as soon as you are so close
to reaching the surface to finally catch your breath
it comes back up and down you go again
I'm sure somewhere in your heart you know that you are beautiful
You know that you are strong
You know that you are capable of doing anything you set your mind to
However, depression doesn't let us see our beauty
It doesn't let us feel our strength
Depression takes away our ability to get through the hell it unleashes onto us
I spent seven years slicing up my arms in the hopes that my sadness
would leak out of me
I spent months starving myself
as a way to make up for the beauty depression took from me
I spent so many nights envisioning suicide and attempting not once
not twice
but three times because I was so tired of feeling sad
I was so tired of being sore not just on the inside but on the outside
I was tired of feeling like I was constantly drowning
Someone once told me I was too young to be sad
I laughed in anger because how dare that person tell me that
How dare that person make me feel like I was being ridiculous
for feeling how I felt
Do you think I enjoyed making myself bleed?
Do you think I enjoyed being hungry?
Do you think I enjoyed feeling tired because I was fighting a battle that no one else could fight but me
I know that when you cry yourself to sleep at night
you wish you could just fall asleep in peace
I know that when you take those pills
you don't really want to take them
but you are running out of options on how to make your unhappiness go away
They say it's the people around you
It's the things that you watch
It's the things that you read that make you so sad
The only people who tell you that are people who have never
ever experienced true depression
I haven't cut myself in three years
That doesn't mean that when depression pays me a visit
I don't wish that I could lean on a razor to feel better
I am not here to tell you what to do or what not to do
I am here to let you know that I understand what it's like
to feel the way that you do
I understand what it's like
to be where you are right now
I know what it is like to just want to die because you are tired of fighting
I also know now that there is a light at the end of this dark
and what feels like an endless tunnel
I know that if you keep fighting
you will get through this sadness
I'm not saying the sadness will go away because it won't
I'm twenty three years old and that sadness I felt as a teenager
still lingers behind me each and every day
I learned to reach inside myself
and use my sadness as a weapon to kick depression's ***
It's exhausting each and every day
It was devastating to learn that I will be fighting this battle for the rest of my life
I have two options every morning when I wake up
I can choose to fight or choose to give up
Oh Darling
It kills me inside to see you so sad
You are so young
You are so beautiful
I won't be the kind of person who tells you that you are too young
to be so sad
I will be the person that loves you
and shows you that there is life beyond this ugly thing called depression


If you ever need someone to talk to: 24-hour Hotline.
National Suicide Prevention Helpline.
1-800-273-8255 (1-800-273-TALK)

1  But i'm just so done
8  With life. I can't wait
0  around to be some hero.
0  I'd rather be a photo
2  On the mantelpiece. Too
7   Scared to even
3   Try and hope to be
8  better. i won't be great
2  someday. Nothing i can do
5  to help me survive
5  hell why am i even alive..

ad·dic·tion
əˈdikSH(ə)n/Submit
noun
the fact or condition of being addicted to a particular substance, thing, or activity.


Step back a second,
before you judge,
and let me tell you the facts,
of addiction to drugs.

People think it’s clear cut,
that you chose to be an addict.
That the bottle, or needle,
is just some kind of tick.

They don’t know the fear,
when you’re not in control.
When you’re crying, while using,
and it’s ripping you’re soul.

They don’t know the feeling,
when you start to hide it away.
It’s a secret, I’m fine,
just another day.

They can’t see the battle,
of you versus your mind.
When you’re scared you might die,
but you try to act fine.

They don’t know the feeling,
when you know that they know,
and they don’t say a thing,
as you watch their disappointment grow.

They don’t know you slept,
on the bathroom floor,
passed out from your drug,
because you shut the door.

They don’t see,
you pushing your sides.
Checking your organs,
hoping today you won’t die.

Your fingernails are pink,
thats healthy right?
You don’t have a problem,
your eyes are still bright.

Who are you fooling,
they see the weight loss.
They know somethings wrong,
but it’s a bridge they won’t cross.

Now your on your own,
fighting your own brain,
trying your best to stop,
but you’re going insane.

Your addiction has won,
and you still try to fight.
That’s what no one sees,
is that you never lost sight.

That voice in your head,
that person you used to be,
has been drowned out,
by that addictive personality.

You want to apologize,
to simply beg for help,
but the shame stops you,
because you just blame yourself.

You didn’t choose to be this,
and you wish to take it back,
but you don’t think they’ll believe you,
because they can’t see the cracks.

Please don’t judge me,
I don’t want this at all.
I wish you understood,
that I’m against the wall.

I want my life back,
I want it to go away.
I never wanted to disappoint,
I didn’t want to be afraid.

Help me.


If you are having addiction struggles, I urge you to contact the helpline 1-888-508-4193.  There is no shame in admitting you need help with something you cannot control. I wish the best for you all.

Glorifying alcoholism is *******.
Putting pain on a pedestal is appalling.
Celebrating mistakes is a travesty.
What's with this obsession with tragedy?
Isn't there some helpline you should be prank calling?

We are going to a party
In a concert in Manchester
To be with all our friends
And acquaintances
We dance we move
Yeah we hit it
And as we hear broken
A bomb blows up
Everyone is running for cover
Some from under and others from over a woman was out on her evening run
Only to have it cut short yeah
If you are wondering If your family are ok
Just ring helpline to be assured
You want to pray to old Buddha
For this to end
But not to be killed
The other way
It was a loud bomb very loud
Killed 20 of the people in the crowd
And the toll could be getting Higher
It was like one huge fire
Of a bomb that will
Never end  
Oh you feel for the
Poor children who suffered in this
It looks like a terrorist attack
A really bad attack
And parents wait by the phone
Or social media
To hear their loved ones are ok
In the blaze
Save us save us we wanted to party
Save us save us to our parents we are tardy
It is not our fault the bomb blew up by a crazy terrorist
Who doesn't care too much
We must save the people
Before they die

Dear 2020,

   I was planning on writing you a letter that explained in my own words everything that happened this morning, but if you’ll please excuse me, then I won’t. I simply don’t feel like I want to relive such an experience through writing to you about it. I’m sorry.
   All that you really need to take away from this morning to understand where I am now is these things:
I started eating semi-normally again
Dad doesn’t understand/ believe in apps like Calm Harm and Breathe. He instead thinks that forcing me to work when I’m down works instead. He obviously has no idea.
When I’m really down, I check-out. (I will explain this in a moment)
Dad doesn’t really love me. (I know, I know. Obvious, right?)
School is now officially better than home.
I like ants and wish I had been born one.
Lo-fi hip hop is my new jam.
I forgot to take my medicine last night, and nobody cut me any slack. (My mom is supposed to remind me, but did she apologize? NO, she was just angry that I didn’t go to school today)
I didn’t go to school today but wish I had.
When I check-out my self-harm risk level rises dramatically
I don’t need knives or razors to self-harm.
My knuckles are greatly torn and the sidewalk is ******.
I can’t talk much when I check out, and self-harm makes me smile.
If I self-harm enough, I go numb.
I can’t remember clearly what happens when I check out and when I check out I lose track of time.
I think my dad called me an idiot.
I’m pretty sure that Dad likes Sean better than me and probably wishes I was more like him. So do I, lol.
I really don’t have any explanation about my knuckles. I don’t know at all what I will say to people at school, the doctor, or the therapists, or Ginger. My mom asked me why, and I just said, “I’m sorry.” (I was still half checked-out then)
The reason I was outside on the sidewalk at all is that Dad told me to go pull weeds.
After the knuckles, Mom told me to put on her gloves and I think I bled enough to ruin the leather forever.
My knuckles will probably be scared because they bled more than my wrist and that is scarred.
I never want to have a husband. I either want a wife or no spouse at all.
I am kind of scared of my Dad but hate him at the same time.
Dad acts like nothing is wrong.
I think Dad is angry because if it weren’t for me, he’d have a perfect, normal family.
I can never see men the same way again.
“Quit being an idiot. Do you feel better now, eh?”
About an hour after I checked back in, I had the worst and longest chest pain of my life.
I know I just basically told you what happened in the morning, but this way it doesn’t hurt as much to relive. Besides, If you're reading this then you probably already know what happened.



   Anyways, I cleaned my room. And I took down all the posters, art and stuff yesterday. I even turned my books the other way so that I don’t have to see the art on them. Sometimes seeing things with art is like a slap in the face, as if the book itself is saying, “Look what I can do, what you can’t!”
   The app called Calm Harm says that you should record when you self-harm and write what the trigger might have been. The first times it was because my mother was leaving. This time I think I was scared, angry, and suicidal, which are amplified when I check-out. I couldn’t get a grip on reality at all (hence being checked-out) and I guess this way brought (even if only a little bit) back to reality. But really, I don’t like talking about it at all. Especially not in person.
   I told Lauren this yesterday (from the 741741 crisis helpline) I don’t know how I would **** myself, but I know where. I would **** myself in the place that I used to go to be happy. I meant the place underneath the highway, on the neighbor’s property across the highway. Noone is ever there, so the police (when they went looking for me) would find my body, not my mother. And I think it is kind of metaphoric (Lauren called it philosophic), going to the place I used to be happy, so I can be happy one last time as I **** myself. But unless I brought my own rope for hanging, or gun for shooting or something, I could really only drown myself there (since it’s in the creek). And I’ve read about that, read that it is a horrible way to die and that it’s very hard too because your body is fighting against you and that if you fail, you could have serious brain damage. I am very scared of that, failing I mean. I would much rather use something I know would work, like noose or gun than something that has a significant chance of not working, like wrist slitting, drowning, of jumping. I’m sorry. This is a bit morbid, and I know I should write about them. But it is better to write to you about them, and get them out than it is to have them rattling around in my brain until I do them, is it not?
   I believe so.

With as much love as I can muster (which isn’t much),

Love,


Hollin Stewart

u wont let me eat when i want to
or even sleep when i want to

God, u wont let me move without ur ******* interference

Please, please just go away

Such fickle things
These feelings of mine
Forever changing
Never left
With a moment
Of clarity

You come
To mind
Once again
Now I can't
Stop
Please, make it
Stop

I need you
Out of my skull
I can't bear it anymore
You're no longer here
You won't be back
I can't stand it.

l.v.s

My ears were ringing
and my head felt like it would explode
“We’ve got news about your ticket”
Could be the big one… The Mother Lode!

What extreme luck… I thought, because I’d phoned
the lottery complaints line yesterday… No honest, I did.
To say I seemed to be locked out of my Lotto account
and I’d just topped it up with 25 quid
(That’s a loss not a win!)

Anyway, if nothing else, and I can’t play any more
I’d like my money back… so what’s the score?
A real bloke asked my postcode… first line of my address
Don’t panic he said… no need to get angry or stress.

Well, after a lot of confusing stuff,
inside leg measurement colour of eyes… “Enough!”
he said, “I’ve got the griff. I have the info…
You’re good to go - check it out - go on’n have a go”…

When you’re on the line and being asked to type,
push buttons, you know you fumble, stumble - right?…
well, it’s 115Million Quid tonight
So I was all thumbs… but I hoped to get it right…

So, my helpline buddy was still on the line,
I clicked… Euro Millions • 2 Lucky Dip lines • 
Friday • One week - yep I’m in!
“Thanks mate, you’ve been great.  Okay?”
“All the best, good luck for tonight”… I heard him say.

Dreaming about what an omen that had been
I just felt I was due for a win…
And, yeh…Next morning I had a bit of a fright
I'm checking my e-mails to see what might
have happened overnight
and, amongst all the usual dross and *****, was one…
News about your ticket tadaaaa!

Nervously…’cos I WAS… nervous, I clicked to my account
I felt my heart skip a beat…so many futures on hold…
only to move to the next page and then be told,
Congratulations! You got 3 numbers right… Oh dear, well I thought... nifty
and you’ve won the princely sum of 7 pounds fifty!!!

That’s another fiver down the *******!

today i write
not a poem, but a sort of story.
last weekend at about this time exactly,
i contacted the national suicide hotline.
i wasn't suicidal, necessarily,
but i sure as hell wasn't safe to myself.
i spent that night crying, reading stories of recovery while i waited.
i stopped the chat request when i was next in line because the wait time was too long,
and went to bed in a dark room almost as dark as my mind,
a late night call to my love only a temporary help for my suffering.

the next morning
i felt the same.
a bit later i contacted the helpline again.
this time i let the chat connect.
we talked, i was able to unload.
and after that,
for the first time in a long time,
i felt peaceful, and not only that
but like i could truly fight again.

i guess what i'm trying to say here is
there is a way out.
there is hope.
it looks different for everyone, and it may be hard.

but don't
            stop
                 fighting.

you are loved. <3

just words added together making phrases

slogans 

programmed I guess
without anyone noticing 

until they do
of course

then comes embarrassment
on realisation

it means nothing

we prefer it this way

i have been imagining and that is all it is

invented scenarios in my mind

james

how are you guys doing over there now?

at first here it felt difficult for me
for shopping and other tasks

gradually 
we found our way
now it is the way 

of life

rang the helpline about my laptop james
he says he thinks we are the virus on this
earth that kills the trees and animals 

that kills each other

i walk each day
&
some days stay dry

forever imagining