When Dennis was sixteen, he crept out to the barn one night and found the captive bolt pistol they used to euthanise the cattle. He pressed it to his forehead, breathed in deeply, and let his finger flutter against the trigger.
He didn't kill himself that night, but he wrestled with the thought for long after. When it returns to him, he reminds himself that he isn't a livestock animal whose dead body can be fashioned into food or material. His dead body will be an inconvenience. He'll be miserable while he lives butâthrough silent labour and selfless supportâat least he will be useful.
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Forgive yourself for the way you behaved when you were in pain. You didn't mean to drag your loved ones down with you. You were only thrashing and flailing and trying to not to drown. They didn't leave because you were a bad person. They left because they couldn't save you and had to save themselves. It's not an indictment of either your worth or their love. You didn't ask too much, they just couldn't be what you needed and had to make space for someone who could.
In another life, where you had had the help you deserved, where you had had the space to breathe, where something had been different, it wouldn't have happened. Sometimes, it's all just a consequence of circumstances outside of our control. None of you deserved any of this, and you all get to hurt and grieve and be angry that it all fell out this way. But don't be ashamed that the pain got the best of you. You didn't fall short any more than they did. You just became overwhelmed.
woke up with Stick Season in my head thinking about Sam's first winter break at Stanford. he drinks like he's Dean, but his tolerance has never been as high so he's perpetually hungover and increasingly depressed. he's always felt alone but he's never been stuck on an empty collage campus with nothing to do except drink and think about the month they spent in Vermont when he was fifteen and how he thought he was in love with Dean even though they wouldn't kiss for the first time until that summer. it doesn't even feel like winter in Palo Alto and it separates him from the passage of time too
Dean's actually in Vermont. Dad doesn't remember that this is the same shitty motel where he spent a January trying not to touch his little brother. he drinks himself to sleep and fucks women whose names he doesn't catch on the bed Sam should be sleeping in. one morning he wakes up and Dad's gone on his own hunt. he didn't leave Dean instructions. Dean sits and thinks about cleaning his gun and killing himself, but he doesn't move for hours. no one notices
The way that since playing disco elysium, my suicidal thoughts have been genuinely a little easier to deal with. Cause yk what, Harry Du Bois had a way worse deal going on, and he somehow made it out alive, and he might just be polygons and good writing, but if he can pull himself together after six years of booze and speed and ideation to solve a murder, I can pull it together enough to go buy oat milk and fill in an online form for HR.
i recently wrote an essay about the lack of education on suicidality/self-harm and it made me realize that we should be listening to what suicidal/self-harming individuals want people to know about mental illness
so: please send asks sharing about what you wish people knew about mental health/illness!! they can be as specific or as broad as youâd like!
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The Gates of Hell are slammed shut, and Sammy is gone. Lost without the one thing Dean built his life around, Dean is trapped in a cycle of grief full of drinking, hunting, and burrying himself in memories; and heâs ready for it to finally kill him too. But one part of him still wants to live. Itâs small, so small Dean barely even feels it, but itâs strong. Strong enough to keep him from pulling the trigger every time he stares down the barrel of his gun. Strong enough to pray. Strong enough to summon Castiel, who heâs been estranged from since the day Sam died. But it might not be enough. They didnât exactly part on the best of terms, and Dean never was good at letting others in. Not when heâs convinced theyâre better off without him.Â
Keep reading for a sneak preview!
As much as it hurts thinking about Sam, Castiel is worse. Dean shuffles to push himself off the bed, but flops back seconds later in defeat.
Hard as he tries to fight it, he canât help but thinking of his former best friend. The way they left things. The way the tiniest part of himself still clings to the stupid hope that he could get the angel back, and that maybe things might get better.
Ha! As if.
Dean will be alone until he finally dies.
Thereâs a familiar rustle.
Dean snaps his head up and blinks. His vision is pretty blurry already, but he knows heâs gotten more wasted than this. Heâs not one to see things that arenât there. And right there by his bed, completely disheveled but still wearing the same damn trenchcoat Dean could never imagine him without, stands Castiel.
âHello Dean.â Castielâs voice is gruff, and hoarse, and, as much as it doesnât make sense to be, very real.
âCâ Cas?â Dean stutters out. âWhââ
He canât finish that question. He doesnât know what question heâs asking. Eyes adjusting to having something to look at, Dean finally notices the angelâs expression. Castiel is looking down, away from Dean, hurt.
The angel stiffens at Deanâs voice. Right, itâs a freaking wreck. Exactly like Dean is.
âI wasnât sure if I should come,â Castiel admits. âGiven our last encounterâŚâ
Dean stares dumbly, brain struggling to string together the clear but unbelievable picture of whatâs happening right in front of him.
âLook, you were the one who prayedââ
âYeah, that was ân accident, man.â Dean can feel the alcohol slurring his speech and hates himself a little more for it.
âOh.â
âWhatâve you been up to, anyways?â
âFighting angels, mostly.â Castiel sighs. He goes on, voice droning through the noise in Deanâs head, but he doesnât absorb anything more than the vague sense of angelic bullshit he has no part of. The angel trails off, raising an eyebrow at Dean as if expecting him to be able to offer anything.
âGood for you, whatâre you doinâ here?â Dean grumps.
Castiel frowns. âI guess⌠I just thoughtâŚâ
Dean stares back.
Castiel sighs once more, sounding as defeated as Dean feels. âNever mind. Iâll be off, thenâŚâ
For a second, nothing happens, to the point where Dean thinks Castiel might actually stay. But just as he lets himself believe, just as heâs about to open his mouth to try to say something real, the angel flies away. Dean stares at the space after him, no trace of the angelâs fleeting presence at all.
Back then I tried so hard to be different, try to be unique and better than my sister because everyone around me has always praise and have their attention on her. (Mostly my dad) always saying how smart and how many hobbies she has that they always love to see⌠Seeing her play instruments, go through ballet, and overall be happy for her or always worry for her by some stupid health reason.
Why do I keep doing this to myself? Because I feel like no matter what I do I would forever be in her shadow, itâs hard. REALLY hard, and when news broke out that sheâs autistic my mom told me that my sister didnât need to keep thinking on whatâs wrong with her or why sheâs weird. WHAT ABOUT ME?! Iâve always thought what was wrong with me, but have they even asked about me or even checked up on me? NO. So at the end of the day Iâm just rotting in my room, isolating from everyone because thatâs my only talent. Hiding from everyone and use my imagination to escape this reality, itâs what Iâm good at.
