One thing I do when I am feeling sad is....

Self-harm, unfortunately...

when im sad i look up a try not to laugh video. i know i will win because i cant laugh when im sad

Sometimes I write out how I'm feeling, if I have even the meager morsels of energy to translate the pain onto the page.

Pain and pen go hand and hand. Writing is the most authentic expression of my voice, the only medium by which I can channel the INCESSANT SCREAMING AGONY INSIDE with unfettered frankness and speedy, right-to-the-flippin-point intensity.

i know sadness, pain, depression, loneliness, and despair far far far far far far far far far more than i wish i did. ive never known anyone lonelier than me. im a seriously depressed mofo and i'd be better off dead and that's the damn truth.

what would be difficult if not impossible for me to write about positive feelings, hopefulness, happiness, joy. i have no idea what real intimacy is like, have zero idea what mutual love is like and fulfilling romantic companionship. i have zero clue. never had it and im sure i never will. f___ this life. i hate it. i hate feeling my pain. I HATE IT ALL. i wish i had never been born.

but i was. and for the moment I am still here, so for now i must write. no other choice. it's the only way i can really talk. talking for the sake of really really talking-- not with a sliver of an expectation but that there's anyone listening. the page is the blank canvas onto which I bleed out and spill my guts. it's not about being heard. not about creating anything beautiful, logical, coherent, or pleasant to look at. it's all about cutting myself open, a blood-letting ritual, exposing the truth of what is there inside me, sounding the truest voice inside me, an open line of communication between what's inside and the page before me, just letting the river flow out with all the discordant chaos and violence of suffering all the insanity of emotion all the darkness all the twisted grotesque anguish and seething storm of killer heartache-- just letting it all out at the highest volume-- to the max--.unimpeded outpouring in a feverish wildfire, filling the page with nothing but the truth the whole truth so help me God the full disclosure, what is burning and churning to scream out from inside.

With my pen, with my keyboard I open myself up, offer my uncensored confession, telling the page everything, filling it up, marking it up with an onslaught of blood sweat and tears spattered and smeared everywhere scattering in a riot of rushing written music.

I tell the page everything. The page has no thoughts, makes no judgment, and puts up no barrier. It starts off blank, expressionless and then quickly I transform it into a fertile font of my every deepest impression and expression and what once was blank and faceless now is the mirror wearing the face of my soul bared unabashedly naked riddled in all its scars its millions of sores its gashes galore every scratch every decaying bruise every fresh bleeding sore. the page holds the most accurate portrait of me ever captured of me within the frames of a single 3-dimensional snapshot.

Sometimes I try to imagine what advice I would give to someone if they told me that they were feeling exactly the way I was, and then give myself that same advice and do my best to follow it and remember that I am just as worthy of feeling okay and better as anyone else.

Go to the gym or a walk

Listen to music or talk with my best friend or my babysitter.

draw all over my legs

hide. push people away - try and forget about whatever made me sad

Watch tv or I think about it. Sometimes write how I feel about it

get deeply sad until i play a videogame which might help me think to other things or simply masturbate untill im left with no energy and go to sleep as i stay awake untill 6 or 7 Am every god damn time