#suicideattempt poems on Hello Poetry

Everly Rush 1d

Beep

I fell like silence breaking,
a scream that never made it out,
the wind folding around me
like arms that never did.

Now, I wake in a room
stitched with wires and cold light,
where the air tastes of bleach
and every surface hums with life
that isn’t mine.

The machine speak in beeps
soft, exact, unfeeling.
Beep.
I’m still here.
Beep.
I failed.
Beep.
I failed.

They say the sound is good.
They say the beeping means I’m stable.
But it only reminds me
that death didn’t want me.
That earth opened its arms
and still let me go.

The noise wraps around my head
like a shroud of neon thread.
It winds through the hollow
in my chest,
settling where the fall had emptied me.

I hate its voice,
its small, insistent hope.
It has no right to be so calm
when everything inside me
is still falling.

I close my eyes,
but there’s no peace.
Just the beep,
beep,
beep,
dragging me back
from the edge I chose.

And I want to ask the silence
why it let me go.
Why it handed me back
to this world of white and wires,
to these strangers with clipped voices
and pity in their eyes.

But silence won’t speak here.
Only the machines do.

Beep.
I’m still alive.
Beep.
I’m still alive.
Beep.
God, why?

14:22pm / I just want absolute quiet and chocolate and to sleep forever.

#hospital #suicide #suicideattempt #after #sad #beep #machines #depression #depressed #sadgirl

Everly Rush 3d

After

Now I’m here.
Still breathing, somehow.
Skin full of bandages.
Bones that don’t work right.
Machines that beep
like they’re disappointed I made it back.

They say I’m lucky.
That I survived.
That it wasn’t my time.

But if it wasn’t,
why does it still feel like
I left the real me on the concrete?

Dad didn’t come.
She did,
but only to sign papers
and shake her head.
Her words still burn:
”Guess you’re not even good at this.”

I thought it would feel like a clean slate.
Like waking up would mean
something changed.
But it didn’t.
I’m still the same hollow girl,
just stitched back together,
like that’s enough.

They gave me a new journal
with blank pages
and hopeful prompts.
But I don’t want hope.
I want to know
why being alive
still hurts more than falling ever did.

I don’t know if I’ll write again.
Maybe this is it.
Maybe this is the only thing
I had left to say.

I jumped.
And I survived.
But that doesn’t mean
I’m okay.

10:47am / I have a horrible pounding headache

#suicide #suicideattempt #depression #depressed #sad #hospital #broken

Everly Rush Jul 22

The Jump

I wasn’t brave.
Don’t let them say that.
I was just tired
in a way no one could see.
Tired like my bones were made of grief.
Tired like I’d been screaming underwater for years.

It wasn’t about dying.
It was about ending.
Ending the weight,
the buzzing silence,
the way I could still be in a room
and still not exist.

I went to the roof.
You know the one.
Above the library.
It was cloudy
the kind of sky that doesn’t look down on you,
just swallows you whole.

I didn’t cry.
There were no shaking hands,
no last minute second guesses.
Just this strange calm
that felt like finally breathing
after holding it for too long.

I stepped.
And for a second
I swear
I felt free.
Then everything went black.

17:31pm / Let down by Radiohead was playing

#sad #depression #depressed #anxiety #suicideattempt #suicide

Everly Rush Jun 23

Contagious

You wanna know what happened?
You see these scars?
Yeah, that’s me.
But you’re too scared to get close.
I can tell by the way your eyes flicker,
like you’re afraid I might break.
Spoiler alert:
I’m already broken.

They ask, “what’s happened?”
Like they want the story.
Like they care.

”Tried to take myself out.”
It’s not a sob story,
it’s a fact.
But they don’t get it,
don’t want to get it,
so I shrug it off,
say it casual,
like I'm talking about the weather.
Like I’m still not choking on the air in this room.

The other students?
They avoid me like I’m radioactive,
walk wide around my desk
like I’m a virus,
like my grief is something that can infect them.
And maybe it can,
but no one’s brave enough
to catch it.

Teachers?
They say, “are you okay?”
In that soft voice
like they’re trying to piece together
a jigsaw puzzle with no picture.
They look at me,
wait for me to cry,
wait for me to say something,
that makes it all make sense
but I’m not here for their comfort.
I just want them to stop acting like this is some mystery.
You can’t fix me with a question.

And my therapist?
Oh, she’s a real piece of work.
Digging, digging,
like there’s some treasure under all this rubble.
She keeps telling me,
”Let’s unpack that.”
Like I’m luggage.
Like I’m just some suitcase of sadness
that’ll be lighter if I open it up enough.
But it’s endless,
layers and layers of pain
and the more I peel back,
the more I realise
there’s no clean way to fix it.

I tell her what I think she wants to hear.
I say it,
because I’m tired of hearing myself say nothing.
But she’s not listening.
No one’s listening.

You wanna know what happened?
This is me.
This is what happened when you’re tired of waiting for someone to see you.
Tired of asking for help.
Tired of hoping the world will stop pretending you don’t exist.

Yeah, I tried.
Yeah, it didn’t work.
And that’s the punchline.
I’m still here.

But don’t worry.
You can keep avoiding me.
I don’t need your pity.
I don’t need your worried looks.
I’m fine.
I’m fine.
I’m fine.

And I’ll keep saying that
until it feels true.
Until I can believe it for myself.
Or until I can’t anymore.

But for now?
For now, I’m just the girl
with the scars on her arms,
and I’m here.
And that’s the part
you can’t ignore.

18:17 / I don’t even know what to say anymore. This girl is tired.

#depression #suicidal #suicideattempt #anxiety #dysfunctional #broken #scars #tired

Everly Rush Jun 18

Oh, What a Tragic Mess That Would’ve Been

Oh, don’t worry—
I didn’t die.
What a relief, right?
Because that would’ve been
”a tragic mess to explain.”
That’s what she said, word for word.

Not, ”Im glad you’re okay.”
Not, ”You matter.”
Just— wow, what a mess that would’ve been in the boarding school bathroom.
As if I was just
another inconvenience to mop up.

Imagine that scene—
a ******* cold tile,
27 stitches worth of silence,
and not one ******* hug
when I came back.

My arm still hurts.
Parts of it are numb,
like the feeling crawled from my brain
into my skin.
Like my body’s trying to forget,
but my nerves won’t let me.
It’s sore and dead and too alive
all at once.

I’m fifteen.
But I feel ancient.
Like I’ve already lived
through a war no one talks about.

Step mother told me,
”No one's going to help you.”
“No one’s going to believe you.”
Like she was proud of that prophecy.
Like she wanted me to drown
just so she could say
”told you so.”

And Mum—
the original vanisher—
she looked at me
and threw down the match:
”I don’t want to be your mum.”

Cool.
Love that for me.
Really sets the tone
for a happy childhood, huh?

So now I live at school.
In a dorm, in a room,
in a body that won’t forget
the blood, the cold, the shaking hands,
the locked door.

They say,
“You’re going to get therapy soon.”
Like that’s supposed to fix
a life built out of
people who left.

What if I sit down
and say all the things
I’ve kept under my skin,
and they just blink?
What if I unwrap my wound
and they say
”Oh. That’s it?”

I write because it’s the only way
I don’t scream.
I rhyme because the truth
sounds less deadly in a rhythm.

And yeah—
if this poem makes you uncomfortable,
then good.
Let it.
Because I sat on that bathroom floor
and almost didn’t get back up,
and all they worried about
was who’d have to explain it.

So next time you say,
”You're lucky you didn’t go through with it,”
remember:
I already did.
I just happened to survive.

6:41am / I’m still not okay

#broken #suicideattempt #suicidal #depression #anxiety #dysfunctional #stepparent #stepmom #abandonment

mikey Oct 2024

catch me?

you said will you be there to catch me and I said okay
and i was there over and over again
I haven't been a kid since year seven
cause the ledge is always waiting to swallow all my friends

we don't talk anymore but i still think of you sometimes
because i held you tight, because i kept you alive
you asked me to catch you
and now I don't know how to let go

you asked me to catch you
and now I don't know how to let go

#suicide #suicideattempt #sh #selfharm #losingfriends #sad

Willow Branche Feb 2020

Letter to a Suicidal Friend: “Why do I matter? Why should I stay?”

Why do I matter? Why should I stay?
Because where you leave your pain and suffering, many people who are still here will pick it up... Yes, you may feel like no one cares or they wouldn’t notice if you left, but you are wrong. You're worth much more than you realize. Every persons life is important and meaningful because of how we are all connected. Look around... how many people are in your world? How many people have you come in contact with? Even if they never met you in person, even if they've never said a word to you; your death would affect their life.
One of my brother’s best friends died when we were in high school. Geoff was never a huge part in my life, but he was in my world. He was always over my house because my brother and his were best friends and they were swim/water polo teammates. His death was caused by meningitis, not suicide, but even so, it impacted so many people and took everyone by surprise. When they announced his name over the loud speaker that day at school, I felt a part of my heart break... Because I knew that right then, his parents, sister and his older brother were in so much pain... Because I knew all of his friends, my brother included, were crying, mourning and thinking of all of the times they had had with him. Even to this day, almost 10 years later, people still post things about him on Facebook. Every year on his birthday, I see people sharing photos and memories. I see his brothers posts on the anniversary of his death and my heart breaks over and over. I watched his brother collapse and scream — crying over the loss of his brother. I'll never forget that sound. I can never forget that image. His parents had a complete mental break down. His mom was actually institutionalized afterwards because she was a danger to herself. His father became an alcoholic very soon after Geoffs death. No one could comprehend what life was going to be like without Geoff. Even people like me, someone who only knew him in passing, were affected by his death. You may think that you are worthless, that no one will miss you, that this pain will never end, but you aren’t, they will, and it will. Trust me love. I’ve gone through 27 years of fighting mental illness, loss, and suicide attempts. I know exactly what you’re going through, but committing suicide would destroy a lot of people. This is a part of the reason I hold on. So, Please don't give up. It gets better.

#suicide #suicidal #depression #anxiety #suicideattempt

Alice Swatridge Dec 2019

Grey&Blue Days

A dose of 30 paracetamol
And lithium to help keep sane
You lie in a bed with drips
Vomiting out your pain

The veins on your arm stick out
Blue against dark red scars
There are bags under your eyes
Black like a sky of stars

I hold on to your thin arms
And I hope it doesn't hurt
"Don't hurt yourself again"
But my words are lost in your shirt

You're home sometimes, or not
A long, long stay away
I miss you when you're gone
And you missed my birthday.

#mentalillness #hospitalisation #lovedones #suicideattempt #imagery