Drafting Suicide Notes (with no intention of using them)

Hey guys,

Today I picked kind of a more odd topic: Is it weird to draft suicide notes as a therapeutic outlet? I had someone send an email (keeping it anonymous) asking about my opinion on this, and of course my opinion is no! its not weird.
I like everyone to keep I mind that grieving process is different for everybody, whether you’re grieving a death, a stressful situation, or just getting through depression. Not everybody can process things smoothly, so naturally we cling to any outlet that we could possibly find and I’ve seen (and used) a very wide range of them. And let’s be honest, most of mine aren’t exactly the healthiest options for myself. Suicide notes usually aren’t about suicide (as confusing as that sounds) it’s usually about expressing how you feel, when you think nobody was ever listening before then. It’s almost like journaling in a morbid kind of way. A few months ago I was completely obsessed with this documentary on Netflix about bipolar disorder I found this one woman that said when she hit the low point of bipolar and felt very suicidal, she would always write a suicide note before she brought herself to doing anything too drastic, because she knew that after the letter was written she felt like she got everything out, and it provided enough of a distraction to where it took the edge off the suicidal urge. And it wasn’t just one or two times that she did it, she kept an entire box of these notes.
Watching that made me feel better because it was then that I realized that I did it too, I usually kept them in my journals though, when I was extremely down I would draft a suicide note in my journal and it made me feel better to express to the world everything that I kept locked inside of me for so long,
so no, I don’t think its weird. I think it’s good that you have an outlet for yourself -KJ


I was so happy with myself, I figured that I was going so far in life, like maybe I was building this base for myself that allowed to be able to start creating a freedom and to start finding myself and actually start my career and school and my new life. In reality though I’m just stuck in a rut. I relapsed and cut again after almost flipping the car. I’m about to go make my appointment to finally take my license test but now I’m starting to second guess if that’d actually be a good idea or not,

on the bright side I started exploring myself in starting my career as a makeup artist and started a beauty blog, I’d love if anyone checked it out? I’ll be posting hauls, lookbooks, ootw’s, and tutorials. Thanks babes.

Adam’s song- Blink 182

I’m trying to type fast because my laptop is dying and frankly I don’t have any energy to run  through the crowd of very loud very obnoxious people getting drunk in my kitchen.
I’ve been thinking a lot recently, probably too much… but I’ve accepted that that’s my problem.
Depression, does it ever really end? or are we always living with it? Maybe its like a bug… no, it’s like a virus. It makes itself show through sometimes and others it just sits in you and grows and grows and just never stops. You never really understand how bad it gets until you finally see it. By that time it’s too late for you to do anything about it..
I’ve had way too much time to think on my hands. I’ve been sitting in bed like all week, watching old 90’s sitcoms and making friendship bracelets (so. many. bracelets). I feel like an old woman. Unable to move, confined to the bed… only, just for different reasons.
My apologies everyone. I promise my posts will get more organized after this. I know I’ve just been bombarding y’all with posts from my random thoughts and updates on life, if I post at all.
I’m working on it.


Depression, it’s such an ugly word. It seems to just be a ten letter word but the actual feeling behind it is all too real. It’s funny how something so damn serious can just creep up on you and you don’t even realize it. It starts as a small feeling, just not wanting to sit at the big table around all of your friends anymore and not quite understanding why, until slowly it grows and esculates. It becomes a heavy blanket, a comfort zone for some almost, forever looming over you and covering you. It hurts but in a way it’s protection, it helps you see the real problems in life so when someone does something really bad, when life really devastates you.. you just wont care anymore. You don’t care much to fight it but on the other hand you hate it, you would do anything to smile and be happy the way you used to but secretly in the back of your mind, the thought of happiness makes you just a little queasy, you can’t fathom it. The closer you get to death the easier it seems because you’re so ready to have the pain end, but as you near it you would rather just stay under the comforting touch of depression, your other eyes.
People know something is wrong with you but you can’t explain it, nor do you really care you. Or sometimes you try and you just can’t find the words so you give up. Eventually people get all to used to the change in you and just quit asking.
You know every word to the song on your ipod because that’s your excuse to get away in social situations (unless your good enough to fake a realistic smile) or your favorite t.v. show

The pain goes on, you never thought something like this could happen.. but it did. Just taking life day by day, planning scares me because a part of me always doubts weather tomorrow will come, I suppose I should be slightly more optimistic but I don’t really want to. Mental disorder is such a strong word, I choose the word comfort.