Updated 3/14/2013

If I were to commit suicide…

It would take days of planning.

I would have to write out letters to all the important people in my life (which there are only a few, but they’d be long letters, I suppose). I would write the letters in pen and not scribble anything out. Letters to my mother, father, stepdad, and sister, also. Set out my final words to them, and try not to worry about the rebuttal. 

I would write a will… Extremely detailed. I don’t want people fighting over my things, or my possessions going to people who would throw them away or lose them in a box somewhere.

I want certain books to go to certain people, I want certain one’s buried with me. 
Dylan would have to be given all of his drawings back. 
I would have to say who got certain pieces of art in my room. 
And then all my knick knacks and whatnots. 
I’d also instruct them that my stoner friends must smoke together at my funeral or at the cemetery. Or both, knowing them. To know there is still something to enjoy in those moments.


Instruct that they give Bradley to David. A person deserving of companionship.

There would also be detailed instructions for my funeral.

Tell them what to dress me in. KMK dress, possibly. A corset hugging me tightly, no matter what else I wear. (Good luck to whoever has to deal with that…)
All black. 
All my rings on my cold fingers, nails filed evenly and painted in a clear coat so they shine.
My important jewelry put in the coffin with me, only a few pieces given to people. 
A list of songs that must be played. A speech for someone to read,  written by me. Farewell to the world, eh?
Lie out all my poetry. Then a piece of paper with all my usernames and passwords given. ‘Read it all.’ 

All the pills, shrooms, and yummies for me, me, me. I think I’d possibly do it in my car… Music loud, my laptop with me so I can look at photos of people. 
First I’d smoke the mary jane after a cigarette. Smoke more cigarettes. A pack of L&Ms and Marb reds- cowboy killers. Then take the shrooms — wait 20 minutes. Smoke, smoke, smoke. Snort pills, swallow more.

Smoke.

Smoke.

Sit and listen to the music, smoke more.

Smoke.

Smoke.

Wait.

Swallow.

Snort.

Hopefully,

Gone.

ramirezbundydahmer:

The suicide note. A collection of words written impulsively in a crazed frenzy, or carefully, thoughtfully agonized over, so each word fits and flows seamlessly. Highly choreographed, overly manipulated, driven by madness, or calmly articulated - it doesn’t matter. Each note is the same, each note is different - a last word leaving no room for rebuttal. Suicide notes are meant to explain, revoke sympathy, provide understanding, answer questions, or create new ones. They beg for forgiveness, confess deep, dark secrets, or attempt to hide things. Some point fingers, sharing the truth and thus setting off a spree of investigations.

Excerpts from some famous suicides:
Jules Pascin:  “Lucy, Pardonnez-moi,”
Hunter S. Thompson: “Football Season is Over. No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax This won’t hurt.”
Sylvia Plath: “Please call Dr. Horder.”
Dorothy Dandridge: “In case of my death, to whomever discovers it, don’t remove anything I have on - scarf, gown or underwear. Cremate me right away. If I have anything, money, furniture, give it to my mother Ruby Dandridge. She will know what to do.
Virginia Woolf: “I feel certain that I’m going mad again. I feel we can’t go thru another of those terrible times. And I shan’t recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can’t concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do.”
Spalding Gray: “It’s an old story you’ve heard over and over. My life is coming to an end. Everything is in my head now. My timing is off. In the last two years I’ve had at least ten therapists and all those shock treatments. Suicide is a viable alternative for me instead of going to an institution. I don’t want an audiene. I don’t want anyone to see me slip into the water.”
Wendy O. Williams: “I don’t believe that people should take their own lives without deep and thoughtful reflection over a considerable period of time.”
Clara Blandick: “I am now about to make the great adventure. I cannot endure this agonizing pain any longer. It is all over my body. Neither can I face the impending blindness. I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen.”
James Whale: “The future is just old age and illness and pain…. I must have peace and this is the only way.”
Sid Vicious: “We made a death pact, and I have to accomplish my part of the deal. Please bury me next to my baby. Please bury me with my leather jacket, jeans and motorcycle boots. Goodbye. With love, Sid.”
Per Yngve Ohlin: “Excuse all the blood.”
dancingwithdepression:

  Be quiet! Don’t say such things! Look, I’m not you, I have no idea what it’s like to be in your shoes… But I do know that while life can be a bitch sometimes, it also has its good moments. The most important thing right now is that you stay alive!
Oh Axel xD
inalltheoceans:

Not watched this film in soooo so long.

- gif. suicide.

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lets-get-infinite:

I solemnly swear that I am up to no good on We Heart It. http://weheartit.com/entry/20839826
"You’re too much of a child still for me to leave you all alone. Another bitch will raise you wrong if I do." Queenie