For such an “open minded” group of people, tumblr is the most unsafe place ever for people who have differing opinions. The number of people who have been bullied so badly they’ve had to delete is disgusting and pathetic. If by being open-minded you mean “let’s repeatedly preach tolerance but then have zero tolerance for people that we have deemed evil for ignorant and misinformed reasons” then yeah, this is a great place.
It’s been a few hours, you’ve just been hanging there. You’ve been quiet, too quiet. Usually there’s music playing, or your foot steps could be heard. But today, you’re quiet. Your little sister, who doesn’t normally come to greet you because you lock yourself away, decides to see what you’re doing. She assumes you’re taking a nap, or doing some homework quietly. She runs up the stairs, eager to see, but she comes to an immediate halt. You’re not doing your homework, nor taking a nap. Your music isn’t playing and you aren’t walking around. You’re hanging there, completely still, now just like her. At this moment, her whole world shatters. Everything she has ever known, looked up to, loved, is hanging there by a thread. At this moment, her life has been changed forever. At this moment, she wishes she was hanging with you.
Before you decide to take your life, imagine who will find you. Imagine them walking into a room, and seeing you just hanging there. Whether it be your little sister, little brother, mother father, grandparents, a friend. Imagine what will happen when they find you. No, they will not say “Finally, they’re gone.” No, they will not say “I’m happy they did that.” No, they will not say “I never loved them anyways.” They will die. Their hearts will break. They will hurt, more than you ever could. They will cry, scream, and break down. They’ll believe it’s all just a dream, praying to wake up. Except, they won’t feel that for a few seconds, or a few days, not weeks, nor months. They will feel that until the day they die. Everyday will be hell. They’ll think of you ever second. They’ll hate themselves for not being able to help or save you. They’ll wish they could die too. They’ll want to give up, just to be with you. They won’t be ever be happy again. They won’t smile. They won’t go back to their daily routine. They’ll die every time they walk past your room, or see a picture of you, or think of a memory with you. They’ll think, but stay quiet. They’ll visit your grave, feeling a knife go through their chest every time. And every morning when they wake up, no matter how long it’s been, they’ll wake up to thinking they’ll see you, only to be let down once again. And every night, they will cry themselves to sleep, because even though they refuse to admit it, know you’re gone forever.
Before you decide to take your life, think of your family, burying you. Yes, your own mother and father are planning your funeral. It’s supposed to be the other way around, but it’s not. They’ll have to call the cops, sign a death certificate, pick out clothing, buy a tomb stone, a casket, pick out flower arrangements, and more; All for their child’s funeral. The morning of your funeral, everyone who loves you is wearing black. Tears are streaming down their face, while their heart is breaking. Everyone who you thought didn’t need you, or didn’t care, are waiting in line to see you. They aren’t waiting in line at a party, or a graduation, or at a wedding reception. They’re waiting to see you, hands folded, lifeless, in a casket.
Before you decide to take your life, think of everyone you will be hurting. Don’t you dare say no one, because absolutely everyone will be affected. Your grandparents, won’t have a grandchild anymore. Your parents, won’t have a child anymore. Your brother or sister, won’t have a sibling anymore. Your pet, won’t have an owner anymore. That person you sit next to in class, won’t feel your presence anymore. Your teacher, won’t have a student anymore. That time your grandparents told you no, will haunt them forever, thinking it is their fault, that you are now dead. That time your parents yelled at you, will haunt them forever, thinking if they didn’t yell at you, you would still be here. That time your sibling said they hated you, will hate themselves, because they believe you would still be alive if they said they loved you instead. Those kids who made you feel bad, will wish they were dead too, because if they just smiled at you instead, you would be here. That teacher that said you didn’t meet her expectations, will feel like a failure, because you would still be here, if she believed in you. Everyone, who has ever been in your presence, will hurt, because if they showed you they cared, you would still be here.
Before you decide to take your life, think. Don’t just think of yourself, think of the consequences for everyone else. No one’s life will be the same again. That person who God made specially for you, won’t have you. That happiness that was waiting for you, will never show again. Before you decide to take your life, realize that you may be ending your pain, but you’ll be starting a lifetime of everyone elses.
If you are feeling alone, and think that suicide is the only way out:
My ask is open, and I’m always here. I’ll never judge you. I’ll try to help you.
If you are thinking of taking your life, call:
You stupid motherfuckers, don’t you dare not reblog this. Because this deserves 100K notes more than pictures of your favourite gay couple or cute cats, and yet it has 243 notes. 243 fucking notes? Fuck that. Fucking signal boost this.
I wish she had seen this.
You could save a life tonight with just one reblog
I know I was about to overdose when I read this. Seriously, everyone should reblog this. You never know who it’s going to help in the moment.
this is important. my good friend in High School found her father after her hung himself, her and her brother were always scarred and never acted right. they are both great people, especially as they’ve left that funk and matured quite a bit, but you can see the sadness in their eyes every day and it’s been over a decade.
When I was 21 I tried to commit suicide and the only reason I am here is because my best friend found me before it was too late. And as I was lying in the hospital the hardest thing to deal with was not the fact that I didn’t succeed, it was seeing the hurt and sadness in my family’s face. It was having to see them cry because I almost left them. It was having to see the pain in their eyes because of them thinking they had failed me in some way. I know the pain and numbness you feel inside is hard and I know that it feels like it will never end, but believe me, taking your own life is not the answer. Because whether or not you see it now, you matter and you are loved
“There comes a point where Susan, who was the older girl, is lost to Narnia because she becomes interested in lipstick. She’s become irreligious basically because she found sex. I have a big problem with that.” - JK Rowling
Can we talk about Susan’s fabulous adventures after Narnia? The ones where she wears nylons and elegant blouses when she wants to, and short skirts and bright lipstick when she wants to, and hiking boots and tough jeans and big men’s plaid shirts when she feels like backpacking out into the mountains and remembering what it was to be lost in a world full of terrific beauty— I know her siblings say she stops talking about it, that Susan walks away from the memories of Narnia, but I don’t think she ever really forgot.
I want to read about Susan finishing out boarding school as a grown queen reigning from a teenaged girl’s body. School bullies and peer pressure from children and teachers who treat you like you’re less than sentient wouldn’t have the same impact. C’mon, Susan of the Horn, Susan who bested the DLF at archery, and rode a lion, and won wars, sitting in a school uniform with her eyebrows rising higher and higher as some old goon at the front of the room slams his fist on the lectern.
Susan living through WW2, huddling with her siblings, a young adult (again), a fighting queen and champion marksman kept from the action, until she finally storms out against screaming parents’ wishes and volunteers as a nurse on the front. She keeps a knife or two hidden under her clothes because when it comes down to it, they called her Gentle, but sometimes loving means fighting for what you care for.
She’ll apply to a women’s college on the East Coast, because she fell in love with America when her parents took her there before the war. She goes in majoring in Literature (her ability to decipher High Diction in historical texts is uncanny), but checks out every book she can on history, philosophy, political science. She sneaks into the boys’ school across town and borrows their books too. She was once responsible for a kingdom, roads and taxes and widows and crops and war. She grew from child to woman with that mantle of duty wrapped around her shoulders. Now, tossed here on this mundane land, forever forbidden from her true kingdom, Susan finds that she can give up Narnia but she cannot give up that responsibility. She looks around and thinks I could do this better.
I want Susan sneaking out to drink at pubs with the girls, her friends giggling at the boys checking them out from across the way, until Susan walks over (with her nylons, with her lipstick, with her sovereignty written out in whatever language she damn well pleases) and beats them all at pool. Susan studying for tests and bemoaning Aristotle and trading a boy with freckles all over his nose shooting lessons so that he will teach her calculus. Susan kissing boys and writing home to Lucy and kissing girls and helping smuggle birth control to the ladies in her dorm because Susan Pevensie is a queen and she understands the right of a woman to rule over her own body.
Susan losing them all to a train crash, Edmund and Peter and Lucy, Jill and Eustace, and Lucy and Lucy and Lucy, who Susan’s always felt the most responsible for. Because this is a girl who breathes responsibility, the little mother to her three siblings until a wardrobe whisked them away and she became High Queen to a whole land, ruled it for more than a decade, then came back centuries later as a legend. What it must do to you, to be a legend in the body of a young girl, to have that weight on your shoulders and have a lion tell you that you have to let it go. What is must do to you, to be left alone to decide whether to bury your family in separate ceremonies, or all at once, the same way they died, all at once and without you. What it must do to you, to stand there in black, with your nylons, and your lipstick, and feel responsible for these people who you will never be able to explain yourself to and who you can never save.
Maybe she dreams sometimes they made it back to Narnia after all. Peter is a king again. Lucy walks with Aslan and all the dryads dance. Maybe Susan dreams that she went with them— the train jerks, a bright light, a roar calling you home.
Maybe she doesn’t.
Susan grows older and grows up. Sometimes she hears Lucy’s horrified voice in her head, “Nylons? Lipstick, Susan? Who wants to grow up?” and Susan thinks, “Well you never did, Luce.” Susan finishes her degree, stays in America (England looks too much like Narnia, too much like her siblings, and too little, all at once). She starts writing for the local paper under the pseudonym Frank Tumnus, because she wants to write about politics and social policy and be listened to, because the name would have made Edmund laugh.
She writes as Susan Pevensie, too, about nylons and lipstick, how to give a winning smiles and throw parties, because she knows there is a kind of power there and she respects it. She won wars with war sometimes, in Narnia, but sometimes she stopped them before they began.
Peter had always looked disapprovingly on the care with which Susan applied her makeup back home in England, called it vanity. And even then, Susan would smile at him, say “I use what weapons I have at hand,” and not explain any more than that. The boy ruled at her side for more than a decade. He should know better.
Vain is not the proper word. This is about power. But maybe Peter wouldn’t have liked the word “ambition” any more than “vanity.”
Susan is a young woman in the 50s and 60s. Frank Tumnus has quite the following now. He’s written a few books, controversial, incendiary. Susan gets wrapped up in the civil rights movement, because of course she would. It’s not her first war. All the same, she almost misses the White Witch. Greed is a cleaner villain than senseless hate. She gets on the Freedom Rider bus, mails Mr. Tumnus articles back home whenever there’s a chance, those rare occasions they’re not locked up or immediately threatened. She is older now than she ever was in Narnia. Susan dreams about Telemarines killing fauns.
Time rolls on. Maybe she falls in love with a young activist or an old cynic. Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe Frank Tumnus, controversial in the moment, brilliant in retrospect, gets offered an honorary title from a prestigious university. She declines and publishes an editorial revealing her identity. Her paper fires her. Three others mail her job offers.
When Vietnam rolls around, she protests in the streets. Susan understands the costs of war. She has lived through not just the brutal wars of one life, but two.
Maybe she has children now. Maybe she tells them stories about a magical place and a magical lion, the stories Lucy and Edmund brought home about how if you sail long enough you reach the place where the seas fall off the edge of the world. But maybe she tells them about Cinderella instead, Sleeping Beauty, Rapunzel, except Rapunzel cuts off her own hair and uses it to climb down the tower and escape. The damsel uses what tools she has at hand.
A lion told her to walk away, and she did. He forbade her magic, he forbade her her own kingdom, so she made her own.
Susan Pevensie did not lose faith. She found it.
I do, Tinkerbell. You’ll find yourself doing great things in Storybrooke, I hope.
I’d say the same for you, you know. You have your son back now, and you’ve proven there’s still good in you. You’ll do great things, Regina.
Thank you, for saying that.
If you keep worrying about the future, you’ll never enjoy the present. This child has brought something to you. Love. Revel in that. Revel in being a mother.
Maybe she didn’t miss the signs. Maybe she just chose not to see them. Chose to focus on the good moments. Chose to just let herself revel in his love and be happy.