Posts Tagged ‘suicide’


Tuesday, October 17th, 2017

Lately, I have been very raw and sensitive and emotionally reactive. Being that way comes with effects, which include being oversensitive to damaging others. Things like feeling really gutted for days if I unintentionally hurt someones feelings, and digging too hard into myself to look for subconscious sinister motivation, when I forget or misconstrue boundaries and tolerances (we should do this as recovering abusers, as I am, but I get relentless and shameful in it when triggered or emotionally fatigued — I go back to the habit of digging for the molten core of awful I must be to be capable of being so shitty).

Generally when that happens is when I reach a tipping point where I go into isolation to avoid people. That, I have discovered, is when I usually fall into the pit.

I have been noticing this, and noticing that I have needed to talk numerous times in order to mobilize myself to be functional in the last few days, and even after scrolling over my lists, short and long and public and private, I find I have no one I feel I can talk to in those moments.

This is all self talk, shame, depression, and insecurity. I am blessed with SO MANY people I can talk to. Perhaps they might not understand, and perhaps they might not be the people who are immediately around me. But I can speak without logical fear of retribution to many people in my life. Yet I don’t, or if I do, I am so clumsy and desperate and self critial that I feel bad about it afterwards; I didnt ask well enough for proper consent before talking about something potentially triggering, I took up too much time uming and stumbling to get my words out, and so on.

And well, writing here is triggering more often than it isn’t, to be perfectly honest with y’all.

So I called the hotline again today, while I was stuck managing the anxiety of going to a place I work where someone who violated my boundaries and emotionally abused me also frequents, still vibrating from #metoo triggering. 1 (800) 273-8255. I talked to a person who has already given consent to hear whatever it is I need to say, who is not my friend thus also not my long term emotional responsibility, who can also hear the details of that assault without potentially having personal investment in protecting the asshole who treated me like shit.

1 (800) 273-8255

1 (800) 273-8255

1 (800) 273-8255

A little poop on the stigma, and a glimpse of what a suicide prevention hotine actually looks like:

“I got into this field because when I was a teenager, I was also trying to kill myself on a monthly basis, or cutting myself, or ending up in the ER,” she says. “I finally met a therapist who said, ‘Well of course you want to kill yourself. Your life is terrible.’ And the moment she said this, I thought, ‘OK, now I can fix my life.’ Because before I had been so busy trying to prove to people that my life was bad, and once someone believed me, I could go do something about that.”

That’s why, according to PM, traditionally trained clinicians are not always the best crisis counselors — they first have to unlearn a lot of what they were taught.

“Most counselors and social workers are profoundly uneducated about suicide prevention techniques,” she says. “This can lead to a lot of frustration or even panic.”

On the other hand, “at one of my hotline jobs I worked with a guy who, on paper, looked like a terrible candidate,” she continues. “His last job was manufacturing, and before that he’d been a bouncer at a couple of different strip clubs. But … he was the most sensitive person ever, and he knew how to approach a call. ‘It sounds like you’re thinking of suicide.’ Totally non-judgmental, but puts the topic out in the open so we can talk about it more freely. When he’d hear a person talk about why they wanted to die, he’d be compassionate. ‘Given all that, I understand why you’d think about killing yourself.’ That may sound like a really bad idea, but it’s actually been proven to be really effective: You’re actually hearing them, which makes them feel more open to talking. Then you can circle back to reasons to live.”

Source, with All The Trigger Warnings:

Wednesday, March 30th, 2016

The one thing, I think, that’s saved my life most consistently, was learning that it will pass. Like really getting that. Doing the work to change how I talk to myself when I start feeling unlivable, that I won’t get through. And it’s always those quiet times, isn’t it, when those notions kick in. I swear, when I’m curled in bed in the ear piercing silent, locked in epic struggle with my self, what really saves me and keeps me hanging on through it, is the idea that some day soon I might have to rise up, and own the fuck out of a situation that most people who don’t deal with what I deal with imagine as deathfear worthy. I welcome that fucking strife. It gets me out of the place that’s actually dangerous.

Sunday, October 26th, 2014

“The bravest thing I ever did was continuing my life when I wanted to die.” – Juliette Lewis

Sleep, drugs/alcohol, and death.

Saturday, May 17th, 2014

“What was it that made you come back and give hope and life another chance?”

“You listened.”

In terms of reporting, Kevin makes quite a few mistakes here; he speaks graphically about the nature of the deaths, speaks in language that is known to stigmatize those who have completed suicide attempts, and does not give crisis access information. I’ve done this myself in the many long years I have written and spoken about suicide; and am better educated now.

To learn more about how to report and present about suicide respectfully, check out

If you are experiencing suicidal ideology or are considering taking your own life, please call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255. For online help, check out

The Real Monsters by Toby Allen

Monday, October 14th, 2013

Character designs based on mental illnesses.

The artwork is not at all intended to make light of these conditions but instead is intended to give these intangible mental illnesses some substance and make them appear more manageable as physical entities. – Toby Allen

An utterly amazing ongoing project which I’ve no doubt has and will help many, many people. This is what it’s all about!


Purchase the prints here:

So you’re suicidal: A reference guide for you and yours

Friday, September 13th, 2013

Note: This is a personal thinkpiece about living with, and interacting with, suicidal ideaology. The following is not meant to address acute crisis. If you are in danger and need immediate attention, please consider these 10 places to ask for help.

I believe that by hiding death and dying behind closed doors we do more harm than good to our society.

I believe that the culture of silence around death should be broken through discussion, gatherings, art, innovation, and scholarship.

I believe that talking about and engaging with my inevitable death is not morbid, but displays a natural curiosity about the human condition.

I believe that the dead body is not dangerous, and that everyone should be empowered (should they wish to be) to be involved in care for their own dead.

I believe that the laws that govern death, dying and end-of-life care should ensure that a person’s wishes are honored, regardless of sexual, gender, racial or religious identity.

I believe that my death should be handled in a way that does not do great harm to the environment.

I believe that my family and friends should know my end-of-life wishes, and that I should have the necessary paperwork to back-up those wishes.

I believe that my open, honest advocacy around death can make a difference, and can change culture.

The Order of the Good Death

And I believe in a persons right to be the arbiter of their own death, should they so choose.

At one time, I was incensed by the doctors who brought me back. Now, I am indescribably grateful. You can #livethroughthis 1-800-273-8255 – Sept 13, 2013 on twitter

In many situations, suicide is not chosen, however; it happens when pain exceeds resources for coping with pain. And while I advocate for each individual to have agency over their death as well as their life, if that’s how they want it, I also advocate for all people to have unstigmatized and affordable access to trauma recovery skills, mental health support, medications, grief recovery support, and simple human witness to enable them to better live their lives, while they are alive.

These things, to me — along with housing, medical care, food, water — in any society that is worth even half a shit, is a manufactured right for all. In many cases, having this makes all the difference. And in many people’s lived realities, even in the richest and most ‘civilized’ nations in the world, these resources are not readily available to all who need them.

Suicidal ideology has been a part of my world for as long as I can actively remember. One thing I can attest to is that, contrary to the limited narrative of how suicidal thoughts present and what they mean, ones relationship with suicide can be incredibly complicated and nuanced, and that it can change over time.

Suicidal ideation doesn’t always present like the dramatic depictions we are familiar with. It can come once, ever, via external circumstance like a familial loss. It can come in familiar, dramatic spurts when we are stressed to our limits. It can be a constant companion with which one ebbs and flows indefinitely.

Sometimes it sneaks up on you quietly over time, a soft whisper as you fall asleep, welcoming the embrace of death should it come naturally in the night. Sometimes it swoops into your life and takes you along like a bat out of hell, violently and urgently forcing its way into your view of absolutely everything.

Sometimes it signals hopeless tropes and embarrassingly human cliches we want so desperately to be above participating in (“I’ll never find another person who loves me”). Other times it illuminates a subconscious, locked away trauma rising to the surface of ones experience with seemingly no rhyme or reason to the cause… at first.

You may even be tapping into a place of profound knowing that threatens the status quo of your core identity. You may, in fact, be threatening to grow beyond your current capacity to even imagine yourself, thus setting off your own internal alarms. You may be feeling the collective grief of a world tragedy, contributing to your individual struggles.

Suicidal ideology does not always manifest simply in those critical deciding moments we most fear, or in chemical imbalances in our brains. If you’re feeling suicidal, there is a lot that could be going on.

Here is an incomplete reference list of relatively simple, low cost, or free things I’ve found helpful to both survive as well as better understand my lifetime relationship with suicide, suicidal thoughts, and my resulting mental health advocacy.

This post serves both as a reference list for the suicidal, and for those concerned about someone in their life. If you have a suggestion for something you think should be on here, please email me.

  1. Take care of your own self.


    * If you are in an abusive relationship, and are not ready to leave, please read this unique and vital perspective.
    * Kitty Stryker talks about her 10 ways to help someone who is suicidal at The Frisky.
    * 26 times that advice actually worked, as told by those suffering the mental illness.
    * 21 tips for keeping your shit together (when you’re depressed)
    * 81 Mental Health Resources when you can’t afford a therapist.
    * Printable, and excellent, self care checklist.
    * Interactive self care game that incorporates many of the suggestions mentioned in the resources above in a format that can help with the paralyzation that often accompanies suicidal thoughts.
    * Take a break in The Quiet Place
    * Take an Inventory of your body and give your mind a rest.
    * Explore the wisdom of your Vulnerability and Shame

  2. Dispel the myths, many of which you yourself may unconsciously hold, that we’ve all been taught regarding the nature of the people who suffer from depression and suicidal ideology (including if that person is you.). You can read more personal accounts of this here, and here.

    If you are an advocate who writes about suicide, you can also read the basic guidelines about careful and respectful methods of speaking about suicide at to avoid unknowingly contributing to the problem.

  3. Know this number by heart: 1-800-273-8255. It is the number for the National Suicide Prevention Hotline in the United States (if you’re from another place, know the number for yours). Be unafraid to use it or provide it, even if you don’t know what else to say; ESPECIALLY if you don’t know what else to say.

    Head off immediate crisis online at and U Can Cope.

  4. Don’t go it alone.

    Solitude is a fertile ground when leveraged intentionally, but isolation is a greenhouse for hopelessness, and the internet is an insidious perpetrator of it. Attend a suicide bereavement support group or otherwise enroll others, in person, including seeking therapy for yourself. 

    Whether it is you who struggle, concern for a friend, or you have lost someone, you will be stronger, better educated, and have a support framework after having sought out the presence and participation of other people.

  5. Look into compassionate listening, nonviolent communication and mirroring techniques.

    A person who is contemplating ending their life often simply needs to be acknowledged and heard authentically to turn the moment around; your having skills in effective listening could save a life. If you are the person contemplating ending their life, exploring these may enable you to develop self talk skills that can help you move through acute suicidal ideology and allow your inner voice to change over time.

  6. If your loved one has been diagnosed or believes they suffer from a specific mental illness, learn everything you can about that illness. Seek especially information that falls in within the guidelines at and/or cites legitimate medical sources.
  7. If you are concerned, gently ask the person if they are suicidal. It is a myth that simply bringing up the subject will give a person the idea to attempt suicide.
  8. DO NOT SAY: “I don’t believe you’ll do it” – “I know how you feel” – “It can’t be that bad” – “You’re being selfish” – “I just don’t understand you.”
  9. DO SAY: “I recognize your crisis. I am here with* you and listening” – “I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but I am so glad you are talking to me about it.” (Using ‘with’ maintains the persons autonomy and empowerment while leaving room for you to simply be present, without having to be doing anything ‘for’ them.)
  10. Read, learn, and share your story of life after attempting suicide with the Live Through This project, run by suicide attempt survivor Dese’rae L. Stage.
  11. Read, learn, and share your story of loss by suicide with Scott Crisholm at Left Behind By Suicide (Collateral Damage)

It simply can’t be understated how important it is for us as a society to get over our irrational fears, avoidance and unreasonable notions regarding depression, death, suicide, grief, recovery from loss and what those things actually look like. The Grief Recovery Handbook (and associated in-person counseling) helped me be better at it, and eventually lead me to become certified to teach the method. Maybe it will help you too.

If London is a watercolor, New York is an oil painting.

Wednesday, June 12th, 2013

“For in that city there is neurosis in the air which the inhabitants mistake for energy.” ― Evelyn Waugh

The New York subway has its own distinctive scent, like a cocktail of black tar and metal shavings, that I immediately find familiar and comforting every time I retun. You’d think it would mostly smell like pee and refuse, but for the most part it doesn’t.

I was periodically thankful for having that sense memory, and generally a lot of time, the half dozen or so instances I took the train in the wrong direction during the week I was visiting; also a bit of a staple experience for me here.

In the first day I was back, I remembered one of the reasons I considered moving to New York City – all the free stuff on the streets! Within a few blocks of walking a neighborhood, there’s always some motley crew plethora of building materials, toys, electronics, old furniture (much of it antique) and, of course, actual trash laying around. I remember fantasizing about having to purchase nearly nothing for my shoebox apartment should I have moved, back in 2005.

I also remembered one of the reasons why I decided not to move to New York City; There’s, uh, fucking trash everywhere. And with trash, comes vermin, which is also everywhere, including squashed on the streets and scurrying across all manner of floors, sometimes even near my stuff. Humph.

Slow Start

For various reasons, including working my way through the antibiotics I started in Sacramento and actually getting a ton of shit done in between, I spent a couple entire days in PJ’s (or rather, the clothes I slept in, because I didn’t really bring PJ’s) without going out or eating much of anything. With the exception of a few days in which I had plans already, I found that I didn’t have the motivation to do much, and was rather steadily depressed with a few spikes of life in between.

Sitting alone in a small, tidy NYC diner. A white nondescript plate of steaming corned beef hash that most certainly came from a can sits half eaten in front of me, its ridiculous portion blanketed in eggs over medium. I’m listening to Dido seeping from the ceiling, remembering my trip to Toronto when I listened to her a lot. The cold, mostly, and the alone time on the vibrating street cars. My heart is lighter than yesterday, allowing for sweet sadness to spread to my throat and the furrow of my brow. A small wise smile finishes the edges of my lips that feels like a gate to the knowing field. Everybody seems to want to ask me about myself. Perhaps it’s because they know, too. I’ll stay here until the plate is clear. Two more rest periods, I’ll bet. – June 7, 2013

It rained as much as it was nice while here, complete with the signature humidity of an NYC summer, but thankfully it never got agonizingly hot. On the few days it never stopped raining I pretty much hung out in bed with Bejeweled, which I had played for the first time on the plane ride out.

That said, there were plenty of standout times, starting with seeing my friend Rob Paravonian (for the first time in like 6 years) opening and MCing for his friend Liam McEneane’s live show taping at Union Hall in Brooklyn, the day after I arrived. They’re both funny as shit and super sweet – buy their stuff.


On Saturday I went to FIGMENT NYC with Donia, my friend from Seattle whom I originally learned fire spinning from, and my host in NYC. FIGMENT is a giant not for profit public collective interactive free-for-all art event on Governors Island, an amazing retired military base converted into a public park, complete with dozens of huge, gorgeous Victorian era houses and lots of green hilly things. The weather, thankfully, was perfect for it.

The day before FIGMENT (a Friday that was lost to the rain and the comfort of Donia’s guest bed), after looking over the website and really liking what I saw, I sent a little introduction mail through their contact form explaining a small portion of my background in the arts and non-profit work and expressing my interest in putting on a FIGMENT event in Seattle. To my surprise, I was quickly responded to by the Executive Producer and given contact information to be utilized when I arrived.

Within about 3 hours of meeting, wandering, philosophizing and effectively interviewing one another, I was given a nametag, shirt, and was being introduced as “working on Seattle”. Suddenly, I had plans to return for the second day to attend the producers brunch in the morning, which I did, and it was pretty glorious too. One of the things that traveling to the east cost illuminates is just how fucking passive aggressive and flakey people in Seattle are. It’s a wonder anything ever gets the fuck done.

I feel confident that there is intense possibility here, though. Many more things need to fall into place before I know exactly where I fit into the Seattle plans with FIGMENT, however, it’s safe to assume based off my experience with the organizations core assets and many representatives from other areas, including Washington D.C., Boston, Chicago, and even Australia, that it’s rather likely I will be involved in some sort of leadership role in the process. (Unless, of course, I decide to stay in Sweden.)

Hack tha planet, bitchez

After my first day of FIGMENT, and discovering my notable sunburn, I stopped by a place in midtown for some Summercon afterdrinking with my hacker boys, and to pick up the convention badge I never ended up using. I had supposed to attend con and meet up the night before but I simply didn’t feel well enough yet.

I did, however, show up eventually. In turn I got to visit with a few of my favorite people in the world, many of which I hadn’t expected to see, and got a little bit of my drink on.

I was met almost immediately with a pretty awesome exchange with my longtime friend and hobbiest photographer Weld, who happened to notice some time ago that I borrow the SLR camera I often use. He also happens to have a Canon 40D he is not using, and happens to think I need to be taking WAY more pictures. What can I say, the man’s a problem solver – He offered his old camera to me, and I’ll have a 40D of my very own shortly after I settle from my trip. I live a charmed existence indeed.

I invited my distant ex to join us as part of our shenanigans and we ended up having an awesomely entertaining and rather public series of heart to hearts, in which we aired out a lot of the crazy shit we’d pulled on one another, sometimes for the first time since it had happened, and recounted some pretty awesome memories in there as well.

There was a lot of laughing, from both us as well as the people around us who were listening to these tragically hilarious recountings, and a lot of recognition between us. Much Good Stuff was had from our interactions, especially for him, as he’d been slower to process and grow out of the place we were back then and had apparently been holding on to a lot of stuff I’d put down some time ago.

It felt really good, and I was aglow with the familiar feeling of having contributed profoundly to another persons inner world by being generous with mine, though I never stop being surprised when that happens. Nothing we talked about triggered me and I felt a lot of gratitude and connection about it all. It’s sort of amazing how healing admitting to your ex you were kinda happy when you saw he got fat can be.

I ended up spending a night in Manhattan which consisted of very little sleep, not enough dancing, and long awaited connections of multiple types. It was a welcome contrast to the work emails, event coordination mode, recovering from infection, actual work, etc. I got to just be myself for a while, say what came to my mind and be with people who’ve seen it all and stuck around anyway. It really felt great.


Spent some time at MOMA in NYC yesterday, mostly mouth agape at the ridiculous piles of shit that the elite seem to think constitutes as artwork. A few things stood out for me, including an antique slideshowing depicting horrific facial deformities, many appearing to be the result of bombings and shootings to the face in the world wars. Some of them were so brutalized it was difficult to imagine how they continued to exist, missing large portions of their bone structure. Something about it captured me but I couldn’t put my finger on it; I realized this morning that the exhibit spoke to my experiences regarding the uncertainty of the results of healing. I expect a scarless, flawless result from mine, particularly when addressing emotional and spiritual injuries. But sometimes, no matter how much more you fiddle with and stretch your skin over the giant hole collapsing your face in, there comes a time to accept that it’s just always going to be tender and unsightly. Disturbing.

I have decided that most Modern art is a bunch of fucking bullshit, and the Museum of Modern Art kinda sicked me out. It’s almost impossible not to compare my work to the work that’s displayed, and so much of it is SO BAD it’s just unbelievable.

Indecipherable pencil scribbles on torn pages of newsprint? Horrifying greenscreened clunky dancers in garish bedazzled zentai suits on video, chunks of which are invisible because the colors of the costumes matched the screen too closely? Chunky paper with strands of human hair swirled sloppily on its surface and put in a frame? Duct tape squares on fucking cardboard?

It seems that any old piece of trash is modern art as long as you make it a series. Who the fuck decides to put this shit in a museum, anyway – cause I’ve got a pile of my crap smeared to a 2×4 to fucking sell the pretentious fucker.

The one thing we were actually there for, the Rain Room, was an hour and a half wait when the exhibit closed in an hour and 15 minutes. No pictures in the Rain Room for Will and I on Sunday. We decided to try later in the week. BLECH.

A Case of the Mondays

Low energy and fairly uncomfortable, strumming the uke without much direction. I’m traveling, taking antibiotics and have pooped twice all week. Help a sista out and suggest some songs you’d like to hear me cover. If any of them work out well I’ll post the progress to soundcloud.

Once that eventful and potentially life altering weekend was over, New York City spent another solid day raining. The last time I was around these parts for this kind of weather, I spectacularly wrecked on the NJ turnpike with my ex after hydroplaning over a temporary lake I couldn’t see.

That was about 16 years ago now and the sound still shoots me up with adrenaline, but that’s about the only thing that remains in me from our ridiculously abusive (both self, drugs and one another) history, for both of us now, I think, and I found the weather to be almost communicative, like a final nod goodbye to all that fucked up victim bullshit. I found myself wondering if I would still periodically panic when I heard hydroplaning anymore.

Monday also happened to be the day that I traveled farther east in Brooklyn to meet with Dese’Rae Stage of the Live Through This Project (for those who know NYC, I was staying on Atlantic Ave near the Nostrand stop on the A, and went to Saraghina off the Utica stop for my meeting) to talk about life after an adolescence wrought to the core with suicide attempts.

When I had originally contacted Dese’Rae after discovering her project, I was in a pretty solid mindstate. I offered to talk about my experiences because I felt I had a lot of encouraging words and insights that could help people who weren’t feeling that life was very worth living, or were questioning if it was all worth it. I’d been there and done that and was proof that it got better.

Of course, when it came time to actually talk to Dese’Rae, I felt like total fucking shit. I was worn down again, tired, sad, alien, weird, alone. My trip wasn’t freeing and energizing like I was expecting, the time off felt like an emotional prison plagued by sickness and conflict, all these fucked up emotions kept surfacing and for much of the weeks leading up to this commitment I’d been stifling tears and avoiding feeling what was calling them out.

As I sat at the table with her chatting and occasionally advising about the administrative challenges of her project, what felt most real to me as my time to speak and be recorded loomed in the distance was how hard it still is. How hard it is at least a portion of almost every single day of my life. How hope for living is a constant battle, a constant struggle to remember that year that gets farther and farther in the past where I didn’t see suicide as an option, or a concept that was just at my fingertips, at the ready, waiting for me to slide down far enough to have nothing but it to cling to. How hard it is to remember the tiny strands of that reality, to remember when I feel bad that it is possible for me to feel better, for what felt like a long time, and maybe some day if I work hard enough I might feel that way again.

So, that, and ideas and insights surrounding that, was what I talked about, once I got through the basics of my history, which took a while in and of itself. I’ll be interested in seeing what she chooses to include in my story on the projects website, which as far as I can figure is about 6 months off from being published. I’m glad I did it, and I know I will be touched by what comes out of it. For now, though, I am comforted by the fact that I’m likely to forget about it entirely in the meantime.

The Final Act

This vacation, thus far, has turned into a lot of work, very little movement/exploration, and laptop forearms. Considering unplugging entirely while in Sweden.

The last few days in NYC were pretty typical. I slept a bit, scheduled a shoot in Sweden for the 17th, checked a lot of email and took Donia for Indian food as a thank you for letting me crash at her place.

Will and I did get some good pictures in the Rain Room exhibit first thing in the morning the day I left, and I was reintroduced to SnapSeed, which I had tried but didn’t really get into before, for post processing arty images.

Up at 7am preparing for a second crack at getting into the MOMA rain room exhibit to have some pictures taken of me. After that, a final couple of hours in NYC which are likely to include central park and stopping by the piano stores I noticed in the neighborhood last time. Then back to Brooklyn to pack up, and the long flight to Sweden.

I had the opportunity to play a Yamaha C7 grand piano at the recommendation of my friend and musical collaborator Aaron Marshall, who suggested I try a Yamaha after reading about my experience with Steinways. We hit up Central Park for a walk and some ice cream and had a ridiculous lunch at a place called the Jekyll and Hyde club in Times Square. It was good to see Will again, it had been since 2005 that I had, and he is what one might call Good People.

The plan is to return to New York for FIGMENT next year. We shall see. I have a lot of travel, still, this year, and next year might need to be a year that I stay home and tend to my various businesses. Especially considering a majority of my commitments in the near future include SEAF and FIGMENT which are volunteer. I really need to figure out how to get paid for this shit.

Packing up and soon to be out of communication until July. If you’re planning on having any big news or have something to say to me before then now’s the time to speak up. Otherwise, see you on the flip side.

Given my penchant for spiraling into the social networking abyss, I will be offline apart from updating my blog until I return from my trip.

Wednesday, February 20th, 2013

“if there’s one thing I want you to know today, it’s that all you need to save a life is a little bit of empathy and a little bit of fearlessness.” – Dese’Rae L. Stage

Friday, August 24th, 2012

I was thinking on the bus ride home today, after sleeping until 1pm at the office, that maybe I’d be a good idea to find a gun and blow my brainstem out.

I worked on this instead.

Wednesday, February 15th, 2012

God, my music is *dark*.

Saturday, February 26th, 2011

Does anybody else in here feel the way I do?

Friday, June 25th, 2010

I nearly died just to prove to those around me that I wanted to.