Easily takes first place for the saddest scene in animation history. The Lion King comes in second but not by much.
I cry every time I see this.
See that big scar right there? Well, that one and I share a love/hate relationship with each other. See, there is a lot of significance behind that scar. I love it because it was the last I intentionally made, yes, I was a cutter, and it’s there to remind me of past mistakes and that no matter how bad it can get in your head all self-destructive tendencies are a fucking bad idea. No matter how good it feels. That feeling of euphoria is momentary. I also hate it because it’s a bad reminder of all the stupid fucking shit I did to “deal” with what was eating me away on the inside. For what felt like a long time I dealt with depression alone, I can’t express how much you should NEVER do that, and of course lo and behold I managed it not so well. I cut every chance I had. The desire to do so even chased me to college where I took frequent bathroom breaks to “calm down”. One time it got so bad I ran to the bathroom and since I had nothing sharp I turned to my car keys and sliced hoping it would cut. It didn’t but in a way it had the intended effect. To cause pain. Along with cutting came the suicidal tendencies. Twice I sat at the kitchen counter with a knife pressed against my wrist, once holding a bottle of pills in my room and one time I got into my car and drove off determined to crash into a pole or drive off a cliff. While driving I listen to music and it actually calmed me down and the drive was enjoyable. All the suicide attempts were before I met my boyfriend. What the hell stopped me? I haven’t the faintest idea. After meeting my boyfriend the suicidal thoughts slowed down to about 10% of the time they spent in my head. Given that that was all I thought about 10% was a good thing. And it was after meeting my boyfriend that I stopped cutting as well. I mean it when I say that if I had never met him I would be dead by my own hand. The depression? Still deep inside I think though I have worked very fucking hard to keep it at bay but every once in a while it years it’s ugly head. And as sick as this sounds I sometimes like the feeling of utter hopelessness I get when sad. Though I only like it for very short periods of time. My family doesn’t know of my depression though I think they suspected about the cutting. They definitely don’t know of me smoking (not anymore) and drinking excessively to cause even more bodily harm. Now drinking is for fun or when pissed off. How and why did I somewhat “surpass” this ordeal? I was sick and tired of being sick and tired, had something new to look forward to and Angelus (he’s my “other self”. It’s a long story) helped. Sure, sometimes I feel like giving in to the temptation of self-harm but I fight it off even if it’s hard to do so. What was the point of this post? Felt like sharing this to those who would benefit from seeing that it’s really fucking hard but fighting depression can be done.
