I wrote about internalised ableism, suicidal ideation, internetting whilst insane, candy crush and Robin Williams for the first issue of DH because yeah.
U can read more stuff (that isn't me being a whiny piss baby) here, including an interview I did with Kate Zambreno, one I did with the Coven, another with Angela Deane and a bunch of other cool shit that doesn't involve me (thank god) like that's the cool thing about being an editor. Cool shit beyond your own ego. And my own ego is fucking repulsive so.
But yeah, me writing about killing myself (I kno I'm bored of hearing about it to!!!) enjoy??!!
My suggested searches are ‘how much prozacs does it take to…’ and the genie off Alladdin has just killed himself.
Tweets saved in my drafts include:
I really want to kill myself but I also really want a sandwich. Also why is my bus so late.
I will literally pay someone to murder me in my sleep.
I do not post either, I post one that says:
‘Candy Crush has taught me a lot about the inevitability of failure’
I play Candy Crush on the bus to work five minutes after I find out that the Genie off Aladdin has just killed himself. I fail at level twenty-three of Candy Crush for the twenty-third time. I have just turned twenty-three. (I have had my manuscript, Christ the Wolf, rejected considerably more than twenty-three times). I was hoping all that would add up to 666 because that would be sort of cool I guess, but it does not. Facebook notifies me of that boy I’m friends with on Facebook who’s not actually alive anymore is a member of Freecycle and that I should join too. In March I wrote a four-thousand-word essay on some other dead people I knew, it’s now July so I guess that’s not getting published. Shrug. I think I want death more than I want success. But I’m not that good at either, so it’s whatever I guess.
Tweets that I have published include:
-If anyone wants a ted talk on maintaining a kooky internet presence whilst chronically depressed/suicidal, I'm here and 100% available.
-My blog is less of a portfolio, more of a museum to the rapidly deteriorating state of my mental health. And I am 100% okay with that.
-I thought my skin had a seam, like a jacket, or a pair of jeans, I remembered it didn't-and started to cry.
-I'm not happy. I've never been happy. But maybe happiness isn't the point.
-The banality of mental illness, unchecked to do lists over literary epics.
-My theme song is Sean Kingston singing the word 'suicidal'. On repeat. For all eternity. I'm fun.
And the internet is a sort of eternity, black hole, deep sea, I once said the internet was like an ocean and all the fucked up shit in the deep web was like those David Attenborough sea monsters, and ppl looked at me like I was smart or something, but idk. It is a loop. A spiral. And that essay I wrote on being a survivor, on being a Woody fan girl, keeps looping, keeps on linking to my blog, and those film stills of Woody talking shit about Sylvia Plath, suicide and the college girl mentality keeps looping on tumblr.
I fail again at Candy Crush and the sweets keep pulsating and I’m looking at them like ‘what do you want from me man?’ I post on tumblr:
“i have nothing to offer anyone anymore, not that anyone wanted anything i was offering then but u dont wanna turn up with no bottle even if no ones gonna drink it anyway
i just want to die at this point”
Maybe not the best thing I wrote (Christ the Wolf is the best thing I wrote) but I’m still writing and that’s something yeah? I actively resent that the whole #kill-ur-self agenda hasn’t worked out for me yet. And I write a note about the throbbing beans on Candy Crush, I think I can use it in an essay or something. (I don’t) And I think about the Maurice Sendak quote that goes something like ‘I hope I die before you die so I don’t have to miss you’. Too many people have died, I know that to be true, but who was I thinking of in particular? I forget. I forget a lot of things. Maybe it’s the meds. Or maybe it was the drugs. (I miss drugs). I don’t know. I do know that missing pet posters are the saddest, that when you die young you don’t stay pretty you just become a corpse faster, that I’m technically both a genius and a retard (two words that have lost all meaning by this point) and that I’m really fucking bad at Candy Crush. I go to sleep, I go to work, I eat breakfast, I get the bus, I clean my teeth. I want to die. But maybe not necessarily in that order.