Malin skrev en text på bilddagboken för ett tag sen som jag tycker är otroligt stark och viktig så jag tänker publicera den här nu. Nu kan jag ju tyvärr inte be Malin om lov, men jag är säker på att hon skulle vara okej med det.

What about the person that has to find your body, surrounded by blood?
What about the terror and pain that they’ll have to remember for the rest of their lives?
What about them having to feel guilty for being “too late" every day of their lives?
What about them holding your body and screaming in agony as they can’t even get the strength to leave you to get a phone to call for help?
What about the depression that you’ll leave them in?
What about them having to walk away, their clothes soaked in your blood and their tears?
What about them yelling at your paralytic body “Please live! I love you! I need you! Please."?
What about all the tears you’ll cause people that you aren’t even aware of?

What the fuck about them?

Life is so fragile, and we fight for it every day —even against our own hands.
When you kill yourself, you’re also becoming a muderer.
You’re killing pieces of the people who love you.
You’re tearing holes into their hearts that can’t even seal with time.

So what about them?