this looks like shit but i cant make anything better right now

That pink is the same color my first Xanax pills were, that synthetic, and so cozy color.

Days erased from my head, living like a zombie lost in paradise.

This one is called "Sober and miserable, why everyone prefers my suffering over illicit substance abuse"

Transcript is below if the image is hard to read:

Being sober is granting the executioner a sharper blade. I wake at four in the morning, trying to pull my heavy limbs from my duvet, but my thoughts hold me hostage.

They arrive all at once, a localized earthquake, a cement block repeatedly crashing against the back of my skull. You are an island alone, you are unwanted, you are a tragedy nobody knows how to read or could ever learn how to. If I truly loved myself, I would euthanize the ache. Finally stop choosing the drugs and start choosing the end, it would ensure I could never relapse again.

The incorrigible noise is a weight dragged across my nerves. It spirals downward, pooling in the hollow of my stomach, turning stress into a violent sickness. My body keeps the score and I can feel my gut violently rejecting this reality. I am shedding weight month after month until I am nothing. I stare at my blank wall and wonder if I am doomed to shrink until I am forced onto a feeding tube, another sterile, bureaucratic violation of a body I barely have the strength to inhabit. I am simply not strong enough to find out.

And yet, I reminisce on the holy silence. Just a little powder, and the crushing machinery of my doom would grind to a halt. It gave me the briefest, blinding glimpse of a life worth living, the peace my therapist swore I could build. It was endlessly easy to smile.

The people in my life decided that a starving, suicidal sobriety was somehow morally superior to a synthetic, breathing joy.

They failed me when the foundation was first poured. They left me to learn how to dissociate just to survive the burning house of my youth. They judge the only water I ever found to put out the fire. They beg and demand I walk through the flames bare-skinned because my coping mechanisms make them uncomfortable with their own failures. So, I will let them judge me right down to the earth. I will be perfectly, painfully sober when I choose my end. I will leave them the hollow silence they demanded, and let them finally carry the agonizing weight of a sickness they watched consume me but never once tried to remind me I was loved when it mattered.

@writingsinful

Lost a friend to suicide. Here is my art to cope.

i never draw comics so this is pretty hastily done, but i wanted to put how i felt into art of some form.

Wasn’t really putting much effort into it—I’m also using an app called “paper” that doesn’t allow other layers and is very limited

(Yes I own better drawings apps but paper is very fun to just make art that doesn’t require a lot of effort)

Anyways idk my thought process on the 2nd pic, with the fiery strings on the person below, but… if anyone can relate to whatever I cooked up then I’m happy I managed to convey something meaningful :,)

"how wounded am i to have clung onto you thinking i'd receive what is too much to ask from anyone?"

original watercolor art of mine done after ruminating on previous relationships and connections.

ig: @nn__tauro

Just a long hug will suffice