things i may or may not be ambivalent about: ramirezdahmerbundy: The suicide note. A...

11:57 16th Jun 2012

Notes: 15069

Reblogged from rabbitring

ramirezdahmerbundy:

The suicide note. A collection of words written impulsively in a crazed frenzy, or carefully, thoughtfully agonized over, so each word fits and flows seamlessly. Highly choreographed, overly manipulated, driven by madness, or calmly articulated - it doesn’t matter. Each note is the same, each note is different - a last word leaving no room for rebuttal. Suicide notes are meant to explain, revoke sympathy, provide understanding, answer questions, or create new ones. They beg for forgiveness, confess deep, dark secrets, or attempt to hide things. Some point fingers, sharing the truth and thus setting off a spree of investigations.
Excerpts from some famous suicides:
Jules Pascin: “Lucy, Pardonnez-moi,”
Hunter S. Thompson: “Football Season is Over. No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax This won’t hurt.”
Sylvia Plath: “Please call Dr. Horder.”
Dorothy Dandridge: “In case of my death, to whomever discovers it, don’t remove anything I have on - scarf, gown or underwear. Cremate me right away. If I have anything, money, furniture, give it to my mother Ruby Dandridge. She will know what to do.
Virginia Woolf: “I feel certain that I’m going mad again. I feel we can’t go thru another of those terrible times. And I shan’t recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can’t concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do.”
Spalding Gray: “It’s an old story you’ve heard over and over. My life is coming to an end. Everything is in my head now. My timing is off. In the last two years I’ve had at least ten therapists and all those shock treatments. Suicide is a viable alternative for me instead of going to an institution. I don’t want an audiene. I don’t want anyone to see me slip into the water.”
Wendy O. Williams: “I don’t believe that people should take their own lives without deep and thoughtful reflection over a considerable period of time.”
Clara Blandick: “I am now about to make the great adventure. I cannot endure this agonizing pain any longer. It is all over my body. Neither can I face the impending blindness. I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen.”
James Whale: “The future is just old age and illness and pain…. I must have peace and this is the only way.”
Sid Vicious: “We made a death pact, and I have to accomplish my part of the deal. Please bury me next to my baby. Please bury me with my leather jacket, jeans and motorcycle boots. Goodbye. With love, Sid.”
Per Yngve Ohlin: “Excuse all the blood.”

The suicide note. A collection of words written impulsively in a crazed frenzy, or carefully, thoughtfully agonized over, so each word fits and flows seamlessly. Highly choreographed, overly manipulated, driven by madness, or calmly articulated - it doesn’t matter. Each note is the same, each note is different - a last word leaving no room for rebuttal. Suicide notes are meant to explain, revoke sympathy, provide understanding, answer questions, or create new ones. They beg for forgiveness, confess deep, dark secrets, or attempt to hide things. Some point fingers, sharing the truth and thus setting off a spree of investigations.

Excerpts from some famous suicides:

Jules Pascin: “Lucy, Pardonnez-moi,”

Hunter S. Thompson: “Football Season is Over. No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax This won’t hurt.”

Sylvia Plath: “Please call Dr. Horder.”

Dorothy Dandridge: “In case of my death, to whomever discovers it, don’t remove anything I have on - scarf, gown or underwear. Cremate me right away. If I have anything, money, furniture, give it to my mother Ruby Dandridge. She will know what to do.

Virginia Woolf: “I feel certain that I’m going mad again. I feel we can’t go thru another of those terrible times. And I shan’t recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can’t concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do.”

Spalding Gray: “It’s an old story you’ve heard over and over. My life is coming to an end. Everything is in my head now. My timing is off. In the last two years I’ve had at least ten therapists and all those shock treatments. Suicide is a viable alternative for me instead of going to an institution. I don’t want an audiene. I don’t want anyone to see me slip into the water.”

Wendy O. Williams: “I don’t believe that people should take their own lives without deep and thoughtful reflection over a considerable period of time.”

Clara Blandick: “I am now about to make the great adventure. I cannot endure this agonizing pain any longer. It is all over my body. Neither can I face the impending blindness. I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen.”

James Whale: “The future is just old age and illness and pain…. I must have peace and this is the only way.”

Sid Vicious: “We made a death pact, and I have to accomplish my part of the deal. Please bury me next to my baby. Please bury me with my leather jacket, jeans and motorcycle boots. Goodbye. With love, Sid.”

Per Yngve Ohlin: “Excuse all the blood.”