Personal Narrative-Assisted Suicide Prolog

I got a call from Eric Dresse nigh Sup around 9:48 pm , He informed me that he was involved in a forklift accident , while he was preforming his dutyes at night and that he hit one of the support beams by the rigisters with his forks , he informed me that he was distracted while oprationg the equipment by a noise that came from the back later he found out the it was cused by one of his employees michles while he was moving one of the shopping carts with proudects in it , he infromed me that the wheel of on of the shopping crats came off , I infromed Eric to saty off the equpments untile I arrive at the store , around 10:30 I arrived at the store and I ijnspected the Beam and the equpment involved in the accident , and took pictuers

Despite what other arguments might think, I believe the description in this book was exceptional, in how it hooked me right in. for example, in the text, the way the author effectively describes the way the guardian stabbed Andy, and the blood flowing from the wound. for example in the text it states,`` The knife entered just below his rib cage and had been drawn across his body violently, tearing a wide gap in his flesh. He lay on the side-walk with the March rain drilling his jacket and drilling his body and washing away the blood that poured from his open wound. He had known excruciating pain when the knife had torn across his body, and then sudden comparative relief when the blade was pulled away.`` when I read this I pictured Andy being

“You have to face it; she's gone. I know it’s hard, but please come with me” Caroline said.

Cozy coffee shops, warm summers, friendly hugs…1.2.3. Disastrous events occur all the time. We are always aware that someone, somewhere in the world, is hurtling forwards into tragedy. Tragic endings leave behind unanswered questions, unfulfilled dreams, unspoken thoughts. Those who love you are left behind, in the dust of your presence, spent to forever remember only your memory, not your existence. Crisp slices of toast, piping hot cups of tea, fresh strawberries…1.2.3. We all tend to forget an end exists. We spend our lives compiling as many happy memories as we can, fully enjoying the good days, deeply mourning the sad ones. When tragedy strikes, only then are we reminded that the end is there, and we scurry and try once again to make the most out of

Focus. Take a deep breath. Don’t look at everyone around you. Keep your head down. Look at the blue mat on the floor, creasing in wherever you put your feet. Glance at the clock, there are 4 minutes remaining. Put on your jacket, before you start shivering. Remain sitting in the chair. In just 3 and ½ minutes you will climb. When that happens remember to breath and stay focused. Don’t glance at the audience around you, and especially don’t pay attention to the slight pain of your shoes pinching your toes. When the timer hits 2 and ½ minutes start putting on your shoes. They are made of rubber and red felt. Right, then left. The timer has 10 seconds left. Stand up, take off your jacket, and start walking backwards towards the climb. Place your

If you don't like the post, keep that to yourself, but I hope you'll find it helpful. You can also contact me on pvt.

This past fall my grandpa was with my grandma at the Super 8 motel. He was sitting outside on a bench and all of a sudden he passed out. No one was out there when he got dizzy and passed out. They do not know how long he was out there. My grandma walked out there and saw he was passed out on the ground so then she called an ambulance.

It happened so fast. When you die, there's no silent moment of clarity, where your life flashes before your eyes. No one sits down next to you and swaddles your head with their arms in their lap. You simply just bleed out, lying there in pain unnoticed. You're probably asking me in your head, well how did you, Clara? Well, actually I didn't. I'm more like 'a survivor'.

"Did the hit you received yesterday knock out all of your brain cells?" She snaps, "You don't give patients false hope, not when it's a bad case like that."

Place yourself in my shoes 5 years ago. Staring at the wall, twiddling your thumbs, thinking “god, there must be something I can do…” Your mind wanders to dark places when left in a room with just thoughts. The monsters you buried, shoved down, tucked away...slowly claw to the surface. Each word they throw hits you like a dagger. They blare in your mind and echo in the empty. They consume you, at ease, you hadn’t a fight left to put up. Now the tone changes. Their whispers circle you like ribbons of smoke, gentle coos. They dribble in like sweet honey… only, this honey is laced with cyanide. They promise escape. They lure you in, and suddenly the weights on your chest are lifted. How come you never thought of this? If you can’t get rid of the pain, get rid of yourself. Wave your white flag, admit defeat. You start planning, all of the resources are at your fingertips “Painless ways to kill yourself” You eagerly type in. The number for the suicide hotline is your first result, you scroll past it. Euphoria. STOP. How did you get here…? “Help is out there.” “You’re not alone.” I got help aka A pile

My father had his talk with the principle the day after I was attacked, and no one said a word why the man needed emergency surgery and was in critical condition. Mrs. Steiner stopped by the house to see if there was some way they could come to an… She didn’t have a chance when my mother back handed her and started smacking her around real good. My father and Dale needed help to get her hands from around Mrs. Steiner’s throat and was happy for the help. The woman was as slippery as they come and was nothing but an older version of Mildred. The people who had helped get my mother’s hands from around her throat were police officers. Mrs. Steiner was now yelling that she was attacked and my mother should go to jail where she belongs.

The nurse and I were in a little room in the ER of a big small town hospital. I was at the hospital because I tried to kill myself and we were waiting in this room until I was mentally stable enough be transferred to Peel Children’s Centre. The nurse was supposed to be preparing me for the transfer, but really that just meant going through my belongings and asking me accusatory questions.

Despite an early morning awake, I found myself tiredly exhausted by midafternoon. My sister took over the deli for servicing that day, reassuring me I needed to rest. Although I appreciated it, I felt apprehensive leaving the deli if even for a day. The pain causing my sinuses to be inflamed was plausibly the only reasoning I had to keep myself indoors and secluded. Laying my head back again my bed pillows, I rubbed my face drowsily. I had taken some medication from previous allergy related pains before, so I felt inclined to sleep but was having great difficulty in doing so.

By the age of seven, I became used to the smell of tequila off my father’s breathe, which then usually coincided with his absence for the next few days. It was a regular for my father to be home one day, and gone for the next two weeks. I considered it beneficial when he was gone, as the house was less chaotic and it was easier to do my homework. I didn’t want my father around; his presence was dangerous. While on a bender, my father had stolen my entire college fund that I had been saving up so he could use it as drug money, brutally beat my mother, totaled his car, and accused me of stealing his car keys. I was about eight during the time of most of these occurrences. Eventually, I had considered his addiction an aspect of my childhood.

“Look, this is why I came here. It was to tell you that… she died last night.” There was silence for awhile, even the bustling sound around us seemed to quiet down and slowen.