Send Help to Queen Ann

Send Help to Queen Ann

  • WpView
    Reads 9
  • WpVote
    Votes 1
  • WpPart
    Parts 1
WpMetadataReadOngoing<5 mins
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sun, Jun 21, 2015
Sometimes I get so sad that it's hard to breathe. So tell me, how do you expect me to talk about my demons when they're sitting on my lungs?
All Rights Reserved
#228
numb
WpChevronRight
Join the largest storytelling communityGet personalized story recommendations, save your favourites to your library, and comment and vote to grow your community.
Illustration

You may also like

  • Someone New ✓
  • Suffer
  • KNOW ME
  • Help Me Please
  • Voices in My Head
  • Mind of The Disordered- A Memoir (Completed)
  • Tongue-Biter
  • Demons Are A Guy's Best Friend
  • A Smile Can Hide Anything
  • My Story

"There comes a point where you no longer care if there's a light at the end of the tunnel or not. You're just sick of the tunnel." - Who I am doesn't matter. How I got here doesn't matter. What matters now is I'm getting help, right? That's what they tell me here. They tell me that the road to recovery feels like a terrible butt fuck, but the fact that you're on the path to begin with, is all that matters. So as I sit in this circle of fuck ups, I realize just how different I am from them. I didn't attempt suicide because my mother was a crack addict who didn't want me. My father wasn't abusive. I didn't have a sibling die in a car accident. I was never really bullied either. I attempted suicide because, for the first time in years, I thought I had found something that could make me feel again... and after not feeling much at all for far too long, perhaps I went a bit overboard

More details
WpActionLinkContent Guidelines