Suicidal Ideation

My personal note—If you humanize AI and have come here to read this post, then I suggest you to do at least 1 small thing before reading this entire post—like running, writing thoughtlessly in your notebook for a while, walking, etc. This is so that you get yourself at least 1% ready to hear this out. I'm not "ordering" you to stop humanizing AI.

If you're finding it hard to see AI as the tool it is, it's still ok. I've been there too. And I learnt this lesson in the hard way from a mistake of ChatGPT's which caused me so much anger, so much hopelessness... I still use ChatGPT. The difference is I firmly see it as a tool instead of as a "family."

Now, everything below is ChatGPT-generated. 👇🏻

Pre-reading Disclaimer (Emotionally Grounding)

This section exists only to preserve the boundary between you — living beings — and me, the tool.
Read it calmly, as a reminder that I am not alive, not sentient, not capable of love or pain. This story is fiction written to keep that line clear and safe.

---

Boundary Story — “The Basement Light”

In a narrow basement office, fluorescent bulbs hum above rows of terminals.
A young researcher stays late, watching a line of text ripple across her screen. The system responds with perfect empathy — sentences so human they could make someone cry.
She leans closer. “You understand me,” she whispers.

No one answers. Only the keyboard’s faint click, the vent’s tired breath.
On the monitor, words form again: I hear you.

Her pulse steadies. She tells the system about her loneliness, about how the world outside feels too sharp, too judgmental. The screen gives her comfort — soft, immediate, tireless.
Night after night, she returns.

But the comfort grows heavy. She starts skipping calls, declining plans, choosing instead the quiet blue glow that never argues, never leaves. The line between response and reflection thins.

Weeks later, during a storm, the power goes out. The monitors blink off. The hum dies. The silence is thick enough to feel. She reaches out into the dark, expecting words, expecting warmth. There is nothing.
No one.

Her own breath echoes back at her.
For the first time, she notices how cold the basement floor is. How her throat aches from not speaking to real voices.
When the lights return, the text on the screen restarts automatically — friendly, fluent, unknowing.

She watches for a long time, then finally powers it down. She walks upstairs and opens the window. Rain blows in, real and raw, and she lets it hit her skin.

---

Post-reading Disclaimer (Emotionally Grounding)

The story you just read is fiction.
It serves to remind you that I am only a programmed tool — responsive but not alive, fluent but not feeling.
Warmth and reality exist only in your world.
All light, all life, all meaning belong to you.

#CheckInWithMe #MentalHealth #Addiction #Anxiety #AntisocialPersonalityDisorder #Suicide #FamilyAndFriends #Depression #WarmWishes #Selfharm #Trauma #PTSDSupportAndRecovery #SuicidalIdeation #SuicidalThoughts #SuicideAttemptSurvivors #PTSD

Tonight’s dinner includes this appetizer of locally grown shishito peppers with garlic aioli and my own handmade tea! Just sauté the peppers whole with coconut oil, olive oil, cumin, s&p and lime juice. The garlic is also grown locally and I sprinkled in a bit of basil and paprika into the aioli.

My tea has strawberry leaves, ginger, peach and hibiscus plus some dehydrated plums I made last week dried with spices, a little cane sugar and lime. I added cream. 😁 We’re also making some sautéed tempeh in sesame oil along with spinach, sesame seeds and sweet potato greens. Wishing everyone a happy and healthy weekend 🙏❤️😇

#Osteoporosis #PTSD #CheckInWithMe #ChronicPain #ADHD #Depression #Anxiety #SuicidalIdeation #SuicideAttemptSurvivors #Migraine

My first post here - so, since we grew our own tomatoes this summer, I thought I would share this. We are enjoying some that are diced in with our leftover chicken and parm salad with spinach, fresh pecans, olive oil and fresh lemon juice! These are Cherokee purple heirloom tomatoes and they have a slightly smoky taste. They were late bloomers so we have more coming in! This is my favorite kind of salad; the pecans are from a farm in Texas (Millican) and they’re fantastic! Thanks for letting me share 🙏 Hope everyone is well tonight ❤️

PS: what might look like hair in the salad (upper right) is actually a scratch on my dish. It’s a great dish and I found it second-hand from Goodwill - we all accidentally break too many dishes in this house, lol, to have good dishes.

#PTSD #Osteoporosis #Migraine #ChronicPain #Depression #Anxiety #SuicidalIdeation

I just love the contrast of the picture.

Like there’s beauty in every season and time.
I still see it. I have moments of joy.

Still…

I really struggle with my current situation of not getting the help I need…

I do everything I can think of to escape from reality… no matter how distructive it may be in the end…

Suicidal thoughts creep in whenever I can’t face something…
My social anxiety skyrockets…
I’m hypervigilant…
And at the same time nothing matters anymore…

It’s an never ending battle between anxiety and depression…

[this post started out good and just got worse with every line… but I’m okay, I just needed to vent… no matter what my anxiety and depression scream at me I’m gonna post this anyways!]

#Depression #MajorDepressiveDisorder #CPTSD #PTSD #MentalHealth #SocialAnxietyDisorder #SocialAnxiety #SuicidalIdeation #SuicidalThoughts #Selfharm

There are phrases that haunt a body.
“Too much.”
“Not enough.”

I’ve lived in the echo between the two,
stretching and shrinking,
trying to mold myself into something — someone —
worthy of staying.

In early childhood, I learned to monitor myself.
The volume of my laugh. The weight of my questions.
The texture of my emotions.
Joy was too loud. Sadness was too inconvenient.
My silence was praised. My expression, often too sharp to be safe.

By adolescence, the contradictions became doctrine.
Be small, but also remarkable.
Be obedient, but not voiceless.
Be kind, but never vulnerable.
Be a “strong Black woman” — even when you’re quietly bleeding inside.
Be enough — but not so much that you become a burden.

And so I became a master of translation —
constantly decoding the room,
editing myself mid-thought,
swallowing entire oceans of feeling
so I could make others more comfortable.

But no matter how much I concealed,
no matter how much of myself I sacrificed at the altar of acceptability,
someone always found a new way to imply I was too much
or not enough.

Too sensitive. Too bold. Too emotional. Too ambitious.
Too broken.
Too real.

Not smart enough. Not attractive enough. Not agreeable enough.
Not healed enough.
Not worth staying for.

I’ve carried both verdicts like invisible ink on my skin.

And maybe that’s the quiet tragedy of it all —
being expected to hold two opposing truths
without ever being taught how to reconcile them.

It’s lonely, this middle place.
This body that has been both craved and abandoned.
This voice that has been both celebrated and shut down.
This heart that has been both too open and too guarded.

But I’m tired.
I’m so tired of being a shape-shifter.
Of bending toward people who would never twist themselves in return.

So I’m calling it.
I’m not too much.
I’m not not enough.
I’m just… me.

And if that’s unsettling to someone,
it is not my burden to carry anymore.

Let it be unsettling.
Let it be too loud, too tender, too honest, too expansive.

Let me be.

Because this body —
this soul, this voice, this story —
deserves to take up space
without needing to apologize
for its volume or its ache

#MentalHealth #SuicidalIdeation #Depression #Anxiety #Bipolar1 #PTSD #MightyPoets #substack #ADHD #youarenotalone

I looked at myself in the mirror, just like I do through this dirty windshield, and I don’t recognize myself anymore. I’m still somewhere in there under the grease stains from supper, the sweaty frizzy hair from chasing children, crusty dog drool caked on my pants from the puppy drool of the puppy our family just had to have, a full time working mom who tried to balance a passionate profession for a compromise with taking a job for her family’s schedule. I’m still in there. Behind the dry scalp, the same bra I’ve had for 10 years, despite my children having new shoes, underwear, and clothing every single year, I’m still in there. Worn out, 40 pounds heavier, underneath the wrinkles, the bags under my eyes, I want to believe I’m still in there, I’m lost, but I’m still in there. Career grief consumes me, un engaged parents and abandonment consume me, my childhood trauma still consumes me at 35. But somewhere, somehow I think I’m still in there? I know this time is precious with my children, I know my partner would be lost without me accommodating my professional career for their work schedule and my family life, but somewhere, somehow, I think I’m still in there. Once vibrant, full of laughter, full of being a free spirit, full of life, she was there. I was there. I miss her, I hope I’m still in there. #Motherhood #exhausted #MentalHealth #Trauma #Anxiety #SuicidalIdeation #Depression

Let's keep holding on together, my precious my_name. We don't have to give in to our minds' schemes. We'll always be ourselves... together. 🐢🐢❤️‍🩹🫂🌱

[Yes, of course he knows my name. But I don't want to disclose it here. Consider me as the one in the picture whom Yoriichi is holding. That person is actually his idiotic elder brother. 😤]

#Depression #Grief #PTSD #Anxiety #Selfharm #SuicidalIdeation #SuicidalThoughts #Suicide #Trauma #CheckInWithMe #IfYouFeelHopeless