#suicide ideation mention | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shmorp-mcdurgen · 11 months

Text

TW: mentions of blood/bodily harm

The following is a transcript between Thatcher Davis and [REDACTED] Heathcliff, recorded on September 22nd, 1992 on Heathcliff’s account of the recent disappearances of Mark Heathcliff and Cesar Torres. It is to be noted that Heathcliff has chosen to stay anonymous to the public, requesting to have her name censored on all public documentations of this event outside of classified MCPD files. Interview goes as follows:

[DAVIS BEGINS RECORDING, AUDIBLY SIGHS.]

Davis: State your name for the record.

Heathcliff: [REDACTED] Heathcliff.

Davis: Do you know why you’re here today?

Heathcliff: It’s…because of my son, isn’t it…

[ANONYMOUS OFFICER IN THE ROOM SPEAKS]: I’m sure you’re aware of his recent disappearance, along with his friend, correct?

[HEATHCLIFF REMAINS SILENT.]

[NAME REDACTED]: Do you know of anything that might’ve…gone wrong between them, Miss Heathcliff?

Heathcliff: They…they were best friends, Mark…he…didn’t have many people like that; Cesar was like…a brother to him.

Davis: He was at the Torres household a few nights before Cesar’s disappearance, correct?

Heathcliff: I believe so.

Davis: Do you know why?

Heathcliff: It was a visit…staying the night.

Davis: Visiting…for what reason?

Heathcliff:…He…mentioned that he wanted to talk to Cesar. He didn’t say what he wanted to talk to him about.

[DAVIS WRITES ANSWERS DOWN. OFFICER IN THE ROOM SPEAKS]

[REDACTED]: You mentioned that your son has been acting…strangely, correct?

Heathcliff: Yes…but…not violent.

[REDACTED]: I wasn’t implying he was. Why do you mention that?

Davis: I can take care of this myself, [REDACTED].

Heathcliff: I-I don’t know, he just…felt…I don’t know.

Davis: Can you describe these behaviors?

[HEATHCLIFF REMAINS SILENT FOR AROUND FIVE SECONDS, PRESUMABLY THINKING.]

Heathcliff: He…seemed more distant; more than usual.

[REDACTED]: Do you believe it has to do with his diagnose?

Heathcliff: He…never acted that way before. He liked staying in his room and kept to himself but…it almost seemed like he was…avoiding everyone, even his sister. Though, I don’t…think his depression had to do with it.

Davis: Is there anything else you’d like to mention, regarding these changes in behavior?

Heathcliff:…He started…sleepwalking. Knocking on his sister’s door and…talking, though I never knew what he was saying.

[DAVIS SIGHS AND SLIDES NOTEBOOK TOWARDS HEATHCLIFF]

Davis: This seemed to have belonged to Mark, is that correct?

Heathcliff: Yes. He liked writing in a journal…it was a suggestion by his therapist.

[DAVIS GOES TO SPEAK BUT IS INTERRUPTED.]

[REDACTED]: There are multiple entries inside that imply that he and Torres’s friendship was starting to become potentially toxic. Were you aware of this?

Heathcliff: N…no.

[REDACTED]: Ma’am, it seems that…Mark had…been feeling bitter towards Cesar shortly before his disappearance, stating things like “he won’t listen to me” or “he’s ignoring me” and similar things.

[HEATHCLIFF APPEARS WORRIED, AND REMAINS SILENT.]

[REDACTED]: If you don’t mind me asking…was Mark a particularly…violent person?

Heathcliff: He…n-no, he wasn’t. He…got into a few fights at school, but he wasn’t naturally violent or-

[REDACTED]: Ma’am, that could be a sign of an underlying problem. You mentioned on his report that he had problems regulating his emotions, including anger. It could be possible that he was particularly angry at Cesar that night, the night the supposed visit took place.

Heathcliff: My son is not a murderer. I came here hoping that you could stop all the rumors going around town that my son is some sort of…twisted psychopath. Do you know how many calls I get, yelling at me about how my son killed one of the most popular kids in school?

[REDACTED]: Now, I’m not making any conclusions, I’m simply stating that…it’s certainly possible.

Davis: I’ll take care of this myself, [REDACTED]. You’re free to leave.

[REDACTED]:…Lieutenant, I must-

Davis: That is an order.

[OFFICER LEAVES THE ROOM, SHUTTING DOOR BEHIND HIM.]

Davis: Apologies…as I was saying, your son—

Heathcliff: It doesn’t matter what I say, does it?

Davis: Pardon?

Heathcliff: No matter what, you’re going to…pin all of this on Mark, aren’t you?

[HEATHCLIFF APPEARS TO BE HOLDING BACK TEARS.]

Davis:…No. Not enough evidence to pin anything on anyone. Your son is not being accused of anything…I’ll make sure of that.

Heathcliff: Your friend seems to disagree…

Davis: Are there…any…particular events you’d like to mention before we wrap our conversation up?

[HEATHCLIFF AVOIDS EYE CONTACT. APPEARS NERVOUS.]

[THERE IS SILENCE FOR AROUND 10 SECONDS BEFORE DAVIS CLOSES FOLDER]

Davis: Then I suppose you’re free to—

Heathcliff: Yes.

[DAVIS PAUSES AND SITS BACK DOWN.]

Davis: Can you…describe them?

Heathcliff: He…for a period he…God. He was so…polite.

Davis: That sounds…like a good thing.

Heathcliff: Not this time, no. He was…too polite, before that he was so cold and…irritable, but for a day straight he was so…soulless. I don’t know what got into him; Sarah even told me he was banging on her door one night…asking her to…follow him somewhere.

Davis: Did she tell you where?

[HEATHCLIFF REMAINS SILENT.]

Davis: Did Mark say where he wanted Sarah to go?

Heathcliff:…Home.

[DAVIS WRITES ACCOUNT OF EVENTS DOWN.]

Heathcliff: It all ended when…I…oh God…opened his bedroom door.

Davis: What did you see?

Heathcliff: He was…kneeled on the ground…almost like he was…praying. But he wasn’t, he was…biting his hands until they bled. There was blood all over his face and arms and…I don’t…I didn’t know what to do—

Davis: It’s alright, Mrs. Heathcliff. Was he…typically this…self-destructive?

Heathcliff: No. I…don’t…believe so. After that he seemed…normal. As normal as he had been lately.

Davis: Ma’am, you have been told of the gun found in his nightstand, correct?

Heathcliff:…yes.

Davis: Do you believe he may have been…contemplating—

Heathcliff: I wish to go now.

[DAVIS PAUSES.]

Davis:…Very well. I believe we’re done here. Contact me if you have anything else you’d like to mention.

[HEATHCLIFF REMAINS SILENT AS DAVIS RETRIEVES EVIDENCE FROM THE TABLE. DAVIS FLINCHES.]

Davis: What did you say?

Heathcliff: I…didn’t say anything.

[SILENCE FOR AROUND FIVE SECONDS. DAVIS APPEARS PERTURBED.]

Davis: Very well…you’re…free to go.

[END TRANSCRIPT]

Notes: Will investigate the Torres household with Ruth in three days. There has to be something more to this case, I know it. I’m not letting a young man be blamed for a crime he didn’t commit.

I heard something. I know I did. But it didn’t sound like her.

#tmc home sweet home au #tmc #Mandela catalogue #leah heathcliff (tmc)#hsh thatcher #hsh mark #suicide ideation mention #blood tw #shmorp writes sometimes #I don’t get it. what would make a normal kid just. break like that?#I won’t rest until I find out.#ooc: HEHEHEHEG LORE??? instead of teasers??? holy shit- /lhj

60 notes · View notes

just-antithings · 9 months

Note

TW suicide ideation. Anti rhetoric is eerily similar to the validation of thoughtcrime. There is literally something called l'appel du vide, or call of the void, which is like that feeling you get when you're driving and you suddenly think what it would be like to crank the wheel and throw the vehicle and yourself off the side of the road. But that doesn't make someone guilty of mischief or arson or other property damage. It is literally conceptual. I don't know where I'm going with this but.

#mod erin #ask #posted without comment #suicide mention #suicide ideation mention

17 notes · View notes

percywinchester27 · 2 years

Text

The new Mrs. Winchester (5)

Word count: 3.2K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Chapter warnings: Mentions of death, kidnapping, human trafficking; PTSD, forced marriage, mention of suicidal ideation, fluff... kinda ;)

Series Summary: After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?

A/N: Some more interesting stuff ;) Thank you for all your love!

Beta: My darling, @deanssweetheart23 love ya!

The new Mrs. Winchester masterlist

You barely caught any sleep that night. Knowing that even the smallest creaks could be heard on the other side, had kept you from tossing and turning, frozen in place till your back and limbs started to ache. You didn’t want to give him more to go with than you already had. The other room remained silent. For the rest of the night hours, you floated in and out of consciousness, plagued with horrid dreams of roaming in the woods around the property, unable to find your way back to the house, while hungry eyes followed you everywhere, staring out of the forest.

You awoke to a still-dark room, stomach growling in protest at being kept empty since the afternoon of the day before. You should’ve eaten more than two bites at dinner.

Gingerly stepping onto the rug, you pulled on your old cardigan over the baggy pajamas and quietly made your way out into the corridor. The cold, dawn air stung your face. With the sun barely up, Abby wouldn’t bring your breakfast for another three hours. She might not even be up yet. Eyeing her closed door at the end of the corridor, you made your way downstairs, pulling the cardigan closer to keep away the morning chill. A glass of milk would suffice. Surely, there must be milk somewhere in the kitchen you had only once stepped into. Mentally chastising yourself for getting used to the hotel-style service when it came to food, you wandered through the ground floor in the vague direction of the kitchen.

When you did find it, you were come upon with the pleasant realisation of how old school it was. Another part of the house that hadn’t been renovated to fit modern standards. Huge stoves braced upon a solid stone counter, with pots and pans hanging from an overhead rack mesh. The double-door silver fridge, oven, and grill appeared to be the only ultra-modern equipment there. Martha stood humming to herself in front of the stove, back turned to you, as the smell of sizzling eggs hummed in the air. Your stomach made an embarrassingly loud noise; so much that Martha whirled around, eyes wide, hand at her chest.

“My goodness, Mrs. Winchester!” She smiled automatically, once the scare wore off. “What a pleasant thing to see you so early in the morning!”

“I… um… I was hungry.” You shuffled your toe from one side to another. “The eggs smell really good!”

Martha looked exactly how you’d expect a loving grandmother to be. Round and happy. And when she bestowed you with amused raised eyebrows, you felt happy, too.

“Why, I’ll fry you another batch of eggs right up,” she said. “Would you like them sunny side up?”

“Umm… just give me those!” You pointed at the once sizzling deliciously in the pan, as your stomach growled again.

“These are for Master Sam and he doesn’t take salt in them.”

You jerked up. “He’s awake?”

“Why, he’s right there.”

You turned around and almost had a stroke.

Sitting on the small round table on the other side of the kitchen was Sam, dressed in sweatpants and a full-sleeved t-shirt. He held a newspaper in one hand and seemed to have forgotten about the toast in his other, suspended halfway to his mouth. He appeared so natural in the setting that he almost melted in with the background. That must be why you hadn’t seen him at first, not that you had paid attention to anything once the smell of eggs had invaded your senses.

His wide-eyed expression of surprise held you in your spot, unable to move, or speak.

Sam blinked a couple of times then cleared his throat and said. “It’s alright, Martha. Add the salt. You can fix my eggs afterward.” He hesitated, before adding. “Put some bacon on the pan as well.”

“Weren’t you giving up on it?”

His eyes flickered in your direction, “Maybe from tomorrow.”

Martha chuckled quietly. She must’ve seen you frozen in place because the next minute, her hands were on your arms, fussing, leading you to the table. “And why’re you still standing over there, ma’am? Sit, sit!” She plopped you down on the chair right in front of Sam.

The small, round table accommodated four chairs and Sam immediately straightened up to make space for you.

Martha put a plate in front of you with two fried eggs, warm, buttered toast, and sausages. Not knowing what else to do, you picked up a fork, stabbed the sausage with it, and savagely shoved it in your mouth. Food, glorious food deserved all your attention. It helped to pretend that no one sat before you and you would have followed through with that strategy until a series of knocks made you stop.

You could see his knuckles tapping out the word

G-O-O-D M-O-R-N-I-N-G

Swallowing loudly, you looked up. Sam had abandoned both the newspaper and the toast to regard you cautiously. If you didn’t know better, you would have assumed that he looked… nervous.

“Morning,” you whispered, uncertain.

“Isn’t it lovely to have you both here!” Martha clapped her hands, making you jump in your chair. It shook Sam out of whatever he’d been thinking. He got up from his chair.

“Thanks for the breakfast, Martha. The coffee was great.”

Martha tutted. “It ain’t coffee, Master Sam, whatever it is that you drink.”

He chuckled. “You should try it sometime. Wakes you right up.”

“No, thank you. I’d much rather boil live puppies first.” At your gasp, she explained hurriedly. “It’s just a phrase, ma’am. Of course, I’m not even thinking about it.”

Sam chuckled some more at her embarrassment. “Don’t stay up for dinner, yeah? Just put it in the fridge. I know how to use the oven.”

“It’s unhealthy to reheat food!”

“So is staying up late,” he countered. “You have a good day, Martha.”

“You, too, Master Sam.”

He decidedly lowered his voice when he addressed you. “I hope you have a good day, as well.” Sam rushed out before you could so much as swallow the morsel in your mouth.

Had he just spoken to you? For real? Maybe you had imagined it. Sam didn’t speak to you.

Martha shoved the batch of crispy bacon on your plate. Sam hadn’t waited for the bacon, despite specifically requesting it. Martha cleared out the table, muttering about reduced portions and terrible coffee.

“What’s in that coffee?” You asked, curious.

She threw up her hands. “The hell do I know! A business associate got it from Bali. It’s supposed to have a mix of South-Asian spices and something healthy. I’m sure tar tastes better.”

You snickered at her pronounced distaste on the subject.

“Master Sam will drink anything if you tell him it’s healthy.” She shook her head in faint disapproval.

“He asked you to call him master?”

To your surprise, Martha laughed heartily. “Oh no no, ma’am. Quite the contrary. He’s been begging me for years to stop calling him that. But I’m an old nut, been seeing him since he was a baby and Master Dean in his knickers. Can’t stop now.”

You knew you shouldn’t… you knew very well that you shouldn’t manipulate the trust of this sweet lady, but no one else would talk, so you pressed. “How long have you been working here?”

“Oh, since before Master Sam was born. His mother was the most compassionate woman I ever knew and those boys take after her. Especially Master Dean.” Melancholy seeped into her voice at the name and she settled herself on the chair opposite to you.

“You miss him,” you observed quietly.

To your horror, Martha’s eyes filled up. “He’d be all up in my business since he was a little boy. Always pestering me to bake him those pies. Smiling widely and teasing me for being an old lady. But he’d wait by the door every evening to help me down the stairs because he knew my knees were rotten.” She dabbed the corner of her eye with her apron. “And when it came to his brother, he would walk three miles into town to get bananas for those peanut butter and banana sandwiches. In the rain and in the sun.”

“Peanut butter and banana sandwiches?”

She smiled through the tears, “Oh, master Sam used to love them as a kid.”

And he still kicked out his brother?

Martha clasped your hand, her veiny fingers shaking on yours. “I know what you’re thinking, ma’am,” she said, anger simmering just below the surface of her words. “I know what everyone says about him, but I know this, master Sam loved his brother. Loved him, I tell you…” She hiccuped. “No… he worshipped his brother… wanted to be just like him.”

She dropped her voice, whispering fretfully. “I was there when they brought in Miss Jo’s body. Master Dean had been beside himself with grief, and if it weren’t for Master Sam, he would have gone off and destroyed himself over it…”

Your mind was buzzing with too many questions. “But everyone says…”

“Everyone wasn’t there!” She snapped. “I don’t claim to know exactly what happened and the yelling was ugly, but it’s not what everyone says. Master Sam would never do that to his brother. And he hasn’t been the same since. Barely talks much. His laughter used to light up the house before, but I don’t see much of it anymore… and none of it outside this room.”

When you didn’t respond, she grasped your hand tighter in hers, prompting you to look into her old, vehement eyes. “You married a good man, ma’am. If you have to believe anything, believe this.”

*****

You wandered the halls all day by yourself, ducking into the corners to avoid company. It gave you the time to think things through, starting from the very start. Jack had been telling the truth after all about not ‘tailing’ you. Once you got the hang of the house; at least, the part you were allowed into, he’d stopped following you. So you walked on, struggling with the two warring images of Sam. The first one had presented itself from the get-go: an arrogant man who purchased a living, breathing person just for the pretence of a wife, to show off to people. A man who had kicked out his brother, and then managed to become the sole owner of an estate that ran into several million. Someone who barely uttered a word if it didn’t serve a purpose.

Then there was the image that you had seen and felt: A man who hadn’t touched a hair of your body when he could have done much, much worse to no consequence at all. You hadn’t heard him converse with the staff, but neither had he been rude to anyone. The way Martha and Jack, two of the oldest employees, talked about him with such confidence and then the biggest of all– how he had treated you since yesterday. The only word that sufficed? Careful.

Shaking your head to dispel the notion of the man being anything good, you lowered yourself onto the parapet of the corridor, the evening sky lighter at the sides and darker down below. Jack had been right. If you really sharpened your ears, you could hear the gurgling of the brook. Your legs carried you down the parapet and the corridor, out into the ground after that. And by the time you reached the pier over the brook, night had already shrouded the woods before you.

Dangling your feet over the edge just like earlier, you eased your hands behind you, supporting your weight on them. The brook gurgled, the trees rustled and the wind whistled so rhythmically that your loneliness itself melted into contentment. The questions pelting your brain stopped.

“Not trying to drown yourself today?”

You wanted to smile at the sound of his voice.

“If it ain’t the guy-in-the-woods,” you announced, not turning.

“Hey yourself, scary-lady.” He lowered himself next to you on the pier. “You look… chipper tonight.”

You shrugged. “A girl can’t always be thinking of blood, right?”

He laughed at that, carefree and you envied him, so, so much for being able to laugh the way summer felt.

“How did you find me? Please don’t tell me you’re tailing me.”

He put his hands up. “Oh, no. Total chance. I was fishing upstream. Good season for salmon.”

He smelled like fish a little bit, plus the end of his jeans and the sleeves of his jacket were soaked. And somehow, you just knew he was telling the truth.

“You catch any?”

He screwed up his face sheepishly. “One. But then it slipped right out of my hands and I got all wet trying to catch it again. I figured if it was brave enough to escape the mighty me, maybe it deserved to live.”

“So you suck at fishing.”

“No!” He protested, seriously offended. “I’m practically God-level. You just caught me on an off day.”

“Right.”

You observed him carefully, the fine lines at the corner of his eyes, the precise shade of his light brown hair and it all felt familiar. Not the way one feels after knowing a person for long, but in the sense that the features reminded you of another person, maybe a painting.

“What?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” you said, coming clean. “I actually came down here hoping to find you.”

“Me?” But he didn’t sound surprised.

“Yeah.” You kept your eyes focused on his hand, on the pulsing vein in the thin crease where his thumb met the index finger. “I didn’t set out to kill myself that day, you know? Just to run away; and not from a person. I wanted to run away from my own head… and I guess… the only way to do that is to… well… you know…”

He gazed into the distance, seeing things beyond the trees. “The only way to truly run away from yourself is to face yourself, isn’t it? But I’ve been there… I know that urge.”

“I guess… I just wanted to thank you for the other night. I… I haven’t felt like I could talk to anyone since… since a very long time.” Not since Carmen.

“Hey?” The softness to his voice prompted you to look into his eyes. “You ever feel like you wanna talk? Light a lamp on the corridor in front of your room and I’ll come find you here.”

Too relieved to care if you came across as desperate, you whispered, “really?”

“Yeah. I think it’s high enough that I can see it from all the way across the brook.”

“Is that where you live?”

He winked, “Wouldn’t you want to know, so you could send those wolves after me.”

Snickering, you shoved his arm. “I don’t even know your name.”

“I’ll tell you my name the day you tell Sam that you sneaked off to meet me.”

The smile slid completely off your face. “So he could tie me up in his basement?”

It was his turn to snicker. “I don’t think Sam’s that kinky, but who the hell can say?”

That. That right there was why this man you had met only once before felt like a friend already. He could joke about things like that without insulting or pitying you… treating you like an equal just like that first night.

And you snickered with him, at the absurdity of the conversation.

“We should come up with names for one another. You know, suitable for secret rendezvous,” he suggested.

“Thelma and Louise,” you deadpanned.

He looked unimpressed. “If this is your idea of a joke, it’s very morbid given the conversation we just had.”

“Admit it… it’s funny.”

“Alright,” he gave in with an eye roll. “A little. But I’m thinking more like Han Solo and Chewbacca.”

“Sounds good, Chewie.”

“You’re Chewie!” He protested. “I’m the good-looking badass. Hell, I have a ride as sweet as the millennium falcon.”

Who was this guy? You wished so bad that you knew, but with gun-wielding men protecting the property, you understood his necessity to stay anonymous. “Okay, Han! Have it your way.”

The thought of gun-wielding security reminded you that you needed to get back to the room before they came looking. You got to your feet.

“Good luck fishing, Han.”

He jumped up as well. “You take care of yourself, Chewie.”

You left him standing there at the edge of the water, feeling lighter than you had felt in days, or months, or even years. When was the last time you’d had the privilege of walking by yourself, barefoot in the grass without having a man following you around? When was the last time you saw the sunset at the horizon knowing that the night wouldn’t bring any horrors? You had food when you wanted it, the right to wear whatever you wanted to. You had been so obsessed with hating Sam all these days that you hadn’t stopped to think about the kind of freedom he had allowed you. No, you didn’t want to be grateful to him, but how could you not be that when your day ended in silk sheets instead of stinky cots?

Abby reprimanded you in her own way for disappearing like you had. You didn’t mind, letting her unload her worry with tuts and disapproving huffs while you stuffed down another one of Martha’s amazing dinners.

The day had been one rollercoaster to another. Starting too early at breakfast with Sam and ending at the chat with Han. You couldn’t pinpoint it precisely, but when Han talked about Sam, there was a certainty in his words. Laying back on your pillow, you thought over everything you had learned today, wondering why any of it mattered to you. It made sense before, to gather as much information as possible about the man who owned you because your survival might have depended on it. But now? Why did it matter now when you knew very well that Sam didn’t want you dead, neither was the connecting door opening anytime soon. Why were you so curious about him to pounce on unsuspecting cooks and men wandering in the woods to understand the man?

Admonishing yourself, you turned off the bedside lamp and knocked on the frame behind you as a force of habit.

I-T-S G-O-I-N-G T-O B-E O-K-A-Y. Y-O-U-L-L B-E F-I-N-E

G-O-O-D N-I-G-H-T

Just as you closed your eyes, the knocks sounded on the other side:

N-O P-R-I-N-C-E-S-S T-O-D-A-Y?

Your heart made itself very known in the next second, each beat distinct.

Raising yourself on your elbow you glared at the wall over you. Hating him had been so much easier than this tangle of emotions you felt for him now. So, the taps that followed were loud.

N-O

A whole minute passed. Before you could jump to conclusions about having said the wrong thing to him, came another series of raps.

G-O-O-D N-I-G-H-T. H-O-P-E Y-O-U S-L-E-E-P B-E-T-T-E-R T-H-A-N L-A-S-T N-I-G-H-T

You wanted to hate him so bad. And you hated that you didn’t.

*****************************

A/N 2: Let me tell you, things only escalate from here and I think in a good way :)

Please do let me know if you liked this part. Reblogs and comments are what keep me going!

If you want be tagged, you can send me an ask or you can add yourself to the taglist here.

Or here’s my side blog @percywinchester27-writes. You can give that blog a follow and turn the notifications on to know about updates.

TNWM taglist:

@cosicas-cuquis @daughterleftbehind @maliburenee @spn730015 @aeo10fan @stoneyggirl2 @houseforwhores @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @linki-locks11 @cookiechipdough @impalaimagining @gabavaldman @multifandom-slxt @chalicia @mrswhozeewhatsis @likhelbentin @vividreader @mackiemcb @qveenmikaelson @lightchesters @deanwanddamons @bluedragonflylady @daddys-littlewhitegirl @mlovesstories @sams-bubblegum-bitch @chinosherlock @hoboal87 @sandlee44 @mariaenchanted @little-x-wolf @theanniewisegirl @supraveng @i-is-for-inspiring @fandom-princess-forevermore @sammedeansandwhich @trexrambling @wittysunflower @strawberryycows @joseyrw @agenthellcat @lacilou @giggles1026 @aloneatpeace

#sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #sam winchester #sam love club #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester reader insert #sam winchester x you #sam x you #sam x y/n #sam winchester x y/n #reader x sam winchester #Ana writes Sam #anawrites #anawritesspn #tnmw5 #Ana writes tnmw #suicide ideation mention #q

126 notes · View notes

naomiknight-17 · 1 year

Text

Been watching a LOT of Caitlin Doughty/Ask a Mortician lately cuz I've been thinking about death a lot. Not in a "Oh no I'm gonna DIE!" Or in a "Augh I'm depressed I wanna die" way, but in a "Man, this is really gonna happen at some point and we should really plan and prepare for it" way

Then I visit my mom and bro for dinner tonight, and Mom tells us that Aaron Carter just died. After dinner we watched some Lower Decks and the episode involved a character dying off-screen and a main character questioning the point/meaning of life when a death can be so random and meaningless.

So uh. I broached the subject with my family. What do we each want done when we die? Where will we be buried and how? Embalming? Viewings? Cremation?

And my brother was snarky and jokey about it, because that's how he do, but he did express that he wants what's easiest on the family, and we came to a tentative decision based on that.

Mom already had a plan, and a spot reserved with her parents, and a spare spot reserved for bro in case something unexpected happens before other plans can be made.

Jon and I want green burials and found a place not too far away that does them. We have to look into it more, but now at least the people around us have an idea what we want.

So yeah. It just feels good to have that out of the way. It's been on my mind a lot, and now we've discussed it. It was hard, but necessary I think.

Mom and I also agreed that we're gonna order will kits for her and Dad and get him to sit down with us and figure things out. He's said he wants me to be the executor of his will but I don't think he actually HAS one yet.

I know it may seem morbid but having a plan and knowing what my family members want makes the prospect of death way less scary. Yeah, it's still unknown what will happen to our souls/consciousness/whatever but at least we have an idea what will happen to our bodies and don't have to stress our loved ones by making them figure out what to do. It's decided in advance, so they don't have to worry about it.

Sorry to get all deep and serious over here but! It's important! I encourage y'all to talk with your loved ones about such when you have a chance

#btw i did not force anyone to answer right away #i just asked them to think about it #but they had answers ready! so all right then #mod post #family stuff #death #death planning #suicide ideation mention #funeral #burial

7 notes · View notes

burinazar · 1 year

Text

Whenever I'm sitting and working on furthering my career by seeking out opportunities and contacting people etc there is a constant, constant feeling of rising horror at how much of my life I've already wasted, how underqualified I am, how pointless the ways I've spent my years are. (If you’re one of the people who happens to know part of my volunteer work stuff I do involves equipping others to seek out career opportunities in a constructive and efficient way, yes, I see the irony...my actual job is sort of ironic in that way too, I’m sending the kids off to uni way better equipped to take advantage of and thrive during their time there than I turned out to be...)

Anyway. The sense of shame and horror builds and builds and when it reaches a tipping point I have to stop for the day. It's really goddamn taxing but other than pushing forward thru it I don't see how I'm ever going to manage to change my situation and achieve a career trajectory that brings me something other than shame, disappointment and exhaustion. It'd be cool if I could find a way to do it that's less mentally exhausting and doesn't sometimes lead to literal suicide ideation as the concluding point of the day, a la 'aw fuck, no this is NEVER going to happen and i need to literally kill myself, that way when the people I’ve crossed paths with wonder how I’m doing, ‘that person killed themselves’ will be a less shameful reality for them to find out about subsequently than ‘that person made nothing of their life’ and they will be less disgusted by the fact that i fell out of touch and didn’t achieve anything' But...like...*not* doing it was just leading to literal years of stagnation at a dead-end job...like this is probably the good outcome, the fact that I'm doing it. Maybe I’ll get desensitized? ‘Make yourself cry every day while job hunting’ is probably not Good but like, Don’t Do The Thing is not an option any longer.

#suicide ideation mention #might actually take this down later but i wanted to howl into the void #very embarassing. oh man. the thing about being a depressed sack of [unspecified] is that it's deeply UNDIGNIFIED.#crawling on your hands and knees in the dirt tier undignified #except there's nothing inherently undignified about the pose i just described. you might be gardening.#'your head looks like an ass' undignified might be more how i feel. My Head Might Metaphysically Look Like An Ass to people when they grasp #how Nothing my life is #anyway like. ((insert This Is Fine dog but the fire is mine brain))#((the dog is filling out job applications and tears are running down its cheeks but its facial expression is still :D ))#likes will be interpreted as support

6 notes · View notes

psyschopompous-lotus · 1 year

Text

I gotta break myself out of diet culture shit

My immediate families are both full of overweight people. We've always loved to eat rich, filling foods and most of us were/are fairly sedentary and inactive.

But my mom has also always stressed about her weight. She tried so many programs. She'd take me and my sister to the gym for around an hour a day after school. I was 15. My sister was 10. We didn't know what we were doing so we never really noticed any differences. I joined weight watchers with my mom in my early 20s, back when they first started rebranding to "we're not a diet, we're a lifestyle that teaches you how to eat in moderation" bullshit. It was impossible to eat at any of our favorite local spots. All the weight we lost came back quickly after we fizzled out on the restrictions a year later.

The only reasons why my mom has lost weight recently is that she's been way more active and she literally couldn't eat more than one small meal a day for about a month straight.

Same with my sister! She worked at a gym for a while and the fatphobia there ensured that she was working out on her breaks and when it was slow. She got nosebleeds from doing too much and struggled with eating more than one meal a day too.

I'm trying to reframe my goals as not losing a specific amount of pounds but rather being able to do more with my body. My stamina is shit. My shins hurt when I run. I need help carrying things because I don't have much upper body strength (because women shouldn't be muscular lmao). But it's still so hard when I've experienced body shaming my entire life from the people around me, on top of having some severe depression/an extremely unhealthy relationship with food/suicide ideation at points, and a family intent on providing more unhealthy options than healthy ones. There was just no way to win when I was young.

I might never lose weight. I hope I never get to the point of eating just one meal again. My stomach might always stick out more than my chest. But I'm trying to be healthy. And I'm trying to do it in a healthy way with my body rather than against it.

#cloudy's thoughts #ed mention #suicide ideation mention #depression mention #most humiliating point of life was when my future mother in law called my boyfriend to ask him to tell her the truth that i was pregnant #like 5 minutes after we left her house #this is the woman that is always upset i dont eat more

1 note · View note

glitter-alienz · 2 months

Text

CW suicidal ideation

he's trying 👍🏾

[start] [next] <- this is the start of an era... i have a bunch of comic wips about donnie being mentally ill <3

original under the cut

its by @mewechy but their blog got explded i think

512 notes · View notes

incognitopolls · 26 days

Text

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

#polls #incognito polls #anonymous #tumblr polls #tumblr users #questions #polls about relationships #submitted dec 9 #suicide cw #suicide tw #tw suicide #suicide mention #mental health #tw suicidal ideation #suicidal ideation cw

444 notes · View notes

slyandthefamilybook · 2 months

Text

I'm gonna say it

as someone who has had suicidal thoughts as recently as yesterday, the primary factors keeping me personally from killing myself are:

It would make other people sad

I can accomplish more by living

From my conversations with other depressed people, these seem to be similar threads. It's well-known that the majority of tumblr users suffer from one mental illness or another, with depression being arguably the most common among them. Whether this airman was mentally ill or not, and whether that mental illness played a factor in his suicide or not, the example being set by tumblr users is incredibly dangerous. The reactions I've seen to his death have made two things very clear:

People are proud of him for his actions

People think his suicide has helped in an important way

If you're paying attention, you will have noticed that those two reactions exactly contradict the reasons why many depressed people abstain from suicide. This is going to put people's lives at risk. People with depression do not need another reason to think they should kill themselves. Gazans have already spoken out about their disapproval with these methods. This needs to stop before more people die

If you or a loved one are considering suicide, call 988 to be connected to the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline

#atlas entry #suicide tw #suicide mention #suicidal ideation

661 notes · View notes

thebibliosphere · 2 years

Text

"But you're so successful without it."

Content warning: This post contains mentions of suicidal ideation.

I got a message earlier tonight that I'm not going to post, but I did ask the person involved if I could talk about what we subsequently ended up talking about in DMs because I feel it's important.

Basically, it was along the lines of "My kid got diagnosed with ADHD and really wants to try meds. I know from reading your blog that correct treatment for ADHD can be really beneficial, but I just don't think she's severe enough to need them."

The message then went on to ask me, as someone who is unmedicated with ADHD, for some tricks and tips on how to be successful without medication because clearly, look how well I'm doing without them. I mean, look at my blog, look at my book(s)! Surely if I can do all that without ADHD meds, other people can too. Surely there's a trick. A skill. Something you can learn if you just try hard enough...

This is not the first time I have received a message like this. In fact, I probably get about 2-5 messages like this a week.

Usually from other people who also have ADHD/suspect ADHD but don't want medication because they don't think they need it/don't want to need it, and yet can't figure out why they're struggling so much, and ask me how do I do the thing(s) and cope so well and get so much done, etc., etc.

So I'm going to tell you what I told this person tonight in case it helps someone. Yes, I have ADHD. No, I am not medicated due to severe health complications, and yes, I get a lot done. From the outside, I am sure it looks incredibly productive and successful. But I'm going to let you in on what that success feels like.

It feels like dying.

It feels like my brain is on fire; every nerve in my body scraped raw; every part of me wired and exposed to the noise of the world. There is no quiet; there is no calm. And even when my brain does fall silent, it's another kind of death. The inside of my head is sludge, flowing uphill like treacle, weighing me down, pulling me under in the riptide of my inability to focus. I can see what needs to be done, I can see it so clearly, yet sometimes it's like I don't control my own body. Not enough dopamine. Not enough brain chemicals for the message I'm screaming in my head to make my limbs do the simplest of tasks. Like, feed myself. Take a shower. Answer that email. Text my friends back. Go to bed when I'm tired. Write a best-selling novel...

A novel that almost killed me and not because of my other ailments, but because of my unmedicated ADHD.

I didn't realize it at the time, but I was already operating at critical mass when I went into final rewrites/edits. Every coping mechanism I had fell apart. Like training wheels falling off a tricycle, leaving me to wobble unsteadily until the main wheels fell off, swiftly followed by the handlebars until all that was left was me peddling frantically trying to keep my balance and not getting anywhere. I didn't realize it then, but I was heading towards a complete mental collapse. And even when I dragged myself across the finish line with the above and beyond help provided by my friends and editors, I was so burned out I couldn't enjoy my success. Worse, my success made me suicidal.

It took me until very recently, almost two years later, to be able to read Phangs without feeling suicidal. My brain associated it with the trauma of experiencing complete ADHD burnout but having to complete a monumental task anyway.

I had to go into intensive therapy to recover. I am still in intensive therapy for it.

It took me even longer after that to be able to sit down and write without harming myself. I still struggle with it, and I tell you this in all honest sincerity in the hope it makes you realize what it costs me to be "successful" and unmedicated.

And this wasn't the first time I've had to deal with this, either.

I struggled all through high school, all through college, all through every career job I ever had, knowing there was something wrong, but not quite being able to put my finger on it because hey, I still got stuff done, so it couldn't be that bad, right? Surely everyone went through life feeling this way? Right?

...right?

It wasn't until I got my ADHD diagnosis as an adult that I realized what was happening. Why I struggled so much. Why life was so hard. In many ways, it was like the sun coming up. An internal dawning of realization and acceptance, but also rage.

So much rage.

Rage at how much I'd had to struggle because no one noticed because I was quiet and undisruptive. Rage at a system that forced me to learn in ways that were not intuitive to my brain. To always being told, "doesn't apply herself" while it felt like I was clawing my brain apart trying to do what people wanted from me. To a work-life balance, that rewards all the things that make ADHD actively worse. Rage. So much rage it hurts. And to top it all off, I can't be medicated for it. I finally know what's different, I finally know why my world feels raw and turned inside out, and I can't take any of the medications that might help me.

Do you know how angry I wake up every day that there is a possible solution just within my grasp, but my health conditions prevent me from trying them? Do you know how much it hurts? How much I grieve for the person I could be if I was able to have help beyond therapy and coaching? How much happier I could be...

Not productive. Not successful. Happy.

So ask yourself, what do you want more? A child who has to go through all of this and resents you for prolonging their suffering? Who winds up hating themselves by internalizing the false concept that if they just try hard enough, they can do whatever they set their mind to.

Or do you want to help them?

Or if this is you, why are you afraid to help yourself?

Please, don't use me as an example to harm yourself or others. Yes, I am successful without medication. But the toll is high. Too high.

Rid yourself of the idea that you need to suffer more to be allowed help. You don't. They don't. No one does.

#adhd #adult adhd #actually adhd #chronic health tag #suicide mention #suicidal ideation #long post #mental health #I am not for you to bludgeon other people with #kindly desist

11K notes · View notes