That's wonderful, keep writing! I think i might actually have a therapy appointment shortly so i'm going to log off, but feel free to vm or pm anytime.

I'm trying to cope by writing poetry! It really helps me!

I might come in a bit later

Hey, I read that you're struggling again, did you want to talk in the chat room?

Thanks for the advice
I'm sorry about what you go through Do you want to talk about it?
The third quote is from the song "Map of Your Head" By Muse.

Those are some amazing quotes! I looked up "the blue ghazals", and I love all the amazing poems!

Hi Rosy,

I've felt something similar- where i look in the mirror and don't experience any connection that the face in the mirror is me. Sometimes when i'm feeling disconnected like that, getting reconnected with my body is very helpful. something like taking a cold shower or standing on my tippy toes as long as i can sometimes helps me.

Anyway, I just want to encourage you again to reach out for help to an adult you trust, my friend. Treatment can make a world of difference, and you deserve to get better.

I'm struggling a bit, but managing to survive one day at a time. Feeling like my parents don't care about me, and lonely because i don't have many friends in real life has been difficult lately leading to some suicidal thoughts myself. I do like the poem not waving but drowning and the song mad world too. I didn't recognize the third quote though, what is it from? Here are three quotes you may also like :

"Dying
Is an art, like everything else
I do it exceptionally well."
From the Poem "Lady Lazarus" by Sylvia Plath

And this poem written by a holocaust victim:
he Butterfly
The last, the very last,
So richly, brightly, dazzlingly yellow.
Perhaps if the sun’s tears would sing
against a white stone. . . .
Such, such a yellow
Is carried lightly ‘way up high.
It went away I’m sure because it wished to
kiss the world good-bye.
For seven weeks I’ve lived in here,
Penned up inside this ghetto.
But I have found what I love here.
The dandelions call to me
And the white chestnut branches in the court.
Only I never saw another butterfly.
That butterfly was the last one.
Butterflies don’t live in here,
in the ghetto.

-Pavel Friedmann was born in Prague on January 7, 1921. He was deported to Terezin on April 26, 1942 and later to Auschwitz, where he died on September 29, 1944.

5/4/69
Pain made her conservative.
Where the matches touched her flesh, she wears a scar.

The police arrive at dawn
like death and childbirth.

City of accidents, your true map
is the tangling of all our lifelines.

The moment when a feeling enters the body
is political. This touch is political.

Sometimes I dream we are floating on water
hand-in-hand; and sinking without terror.
-from 'The Blue Ghazals', by Adrienne Rich

Thanks for the help Megan It's nice knowing that there are people like you out there!
Today's been kinda weird, I feel like when I look it the mirror, I don't know what to expect, I feel like there is going to be no-one in the mirror, or that I will be some horrible monster or murderous face... It's a really weird sensation...

How are you?

Hi rosy, just letting you know i just responded to you post in the suicide subforum. could you vm or pm me letting me know how you're doing today? thanks. you're not alone.

Megan