Contemplations, Daily Life

Let me tell you what goes on inside the head of a suicidal, or some of them at least.

First off, no, they don’t really want to die. Unless they’re going through some really intense physical pain, then, otherwise, yeah, maybe they do want to die. But, most don’t. No, emo people are longing for love. They long for affection, for acceptance. They wish to feel wanted and adored.

No, they don’t want to kill themselves. Rather, they want to know what effect their sudden disappearance would mean to the world. They want to know how they’ve changed the world. What ripples they’ve caused and how they’ve touched the lives of those around them. They just want to know their own importance. They’re own beauty. Because they can’t see it. No matter how many people tell them otherwise, none of it penetrate through because they’re longing and waiting for the approval of someone that matters.

Now, that sounds horrible doesn’t it? You mean to tell me that none of those telling them otherwise mean anything to them? To some extent, maybe, but there’re just some people who matter more to them. They both matter, some just matter more.

Pretty stupid isn’t it? Here we have people who unconditionally acknowledges us for who we are, and yet, we ignore them. Meanwhile, we have people who don’t give a single fuck about our measly existence, and yet, we chase after them as if they’re shooting stars capable of making our wildest dreams come true.

Tunnel vision.

That’s usually what kills suicidals. They’re inability to see beyond how they feel. They have a one track mind and it’s difficult to overcome that. What they’re dealing with is not a broken heart, but a shattered ego under the guise of a broken heart. They can’t accept that fact that they were rejected and ignored. That they’re not good enough to merit the attention of others. That there’s nothing they can do to make the situation better. That no matter what, they can’t force people to accept them. Thus, the problem is them, not the people. But they won’t say that. It hurts too much to acknowledge that. They’ve already been rejected by the world, must they reject themselves as well?

And that’s where the struggle starts, to love or hate themselves. They try to love themselves, trust me, they do. They try to believe that if they love themselves, they’re going to attract that kind of love towards them. That for people to learn to love them, they must first learn to love themselves. That’s like a mantra to them. They stand in front of a mirror and tell their own reflections:

Repeat after me.

You are loved.


You are loved.


You are loved.


You are loved.


You are loved.

Tears start to stream down their faces. Their chests tightens and clamps their hearts. Their lungs, struggling to maintain the rhythm of their breathing. Their voice cracking under the weight of all that pressure.

You are loved.

You are loved.

You are loved!

You are LOVED!

Damn it!

You are loved!








You are loved..

Believe me…

I’m begging you.

You are loved.

You are…

They repeat those words over and over again. Trying to believe the meaning behind them. But, alas, only a few succeed.

Because they blame themselves for everything. They blame themselves because they’re so unlovable. They blame themselves because they’re not better. Maybe if they were, maybe the world would recognize them. They blame themselves because the world can’t appreciate them. What’s worse, they blame themselves because they can’t accept the simple fact that the world just don’t like them at all. They don’t like them existing at all.

And they start to believe that. That maybe it’s better if they didn’t exist at all. Maybe it is better if the world was rid of them. They start to see themselves as a pathetic excuse for a human being. They start to believe that they’re the trashes of society. A complete waste of matter, energy, and space. They start to believe that. Yes, they do.

But you know what? Deep down, they still wish someone would stop them and say otherwise. They want to believe that they are good. That they can be somebody to someone, to anyone. They want to believe that there’s hope. That it’s not the end. Because nobody really wants to die, they just want to be loved.

They kill themselves because they believe they’re worthless? No, maybe that’s how it seems, but really, they kill themselves because they hope that in their death, they will finally be appreciated. That they will finally be recognized and acknowledged. That people will regret how they belittled them and took them for granted. That maybe, finally, people will realize that they actually loved them.

But what a tragedy that is.
To only be loved when you’re no longer there to experience it.

People tend to romanticize death and suicide, but believe me, there’s nothing romantic about it. You die, people mourn, time goes on. The world continues spinning. It’s not worth it. You’ll guilt trip the people? That’s bullshit. Time heals all wound. Given enough time, people will soon move on and forget. You’ll be nothing more than a distant memory. How many people do you think have killed themselves since the dawn of time? How many of them were remembered or commemorated? Killed themselves, not sacrificed. Tell me, how many? You’re not the first and you’ll certainly not be the last. Believe me, it’s not worth it.

You can try to deny it, but you know what I’m talking about. A shattered ego under the guise of a broken heart. You were hurt because how could someone not love you? So you look for a way to mend your ego for you. Be it looking for a rebound or a way to be appreciated. All in all, you don’t want to die, you want to be loved.

But what you fail to realize is that you already are.

You may not know it. You may not understand it. But you are.

You are loved.

With an everlasting love.

With unfailing kindness.

You are loved.


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