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Persuasive Essay

Decent Essays

When will one reach life's finish line is not an answerable question. Some do not think about the inevitable, but I do. I have wanted my life to end long ago, I have tried unsuccessfully uncountable times to bring my life to an end "She's just seeking attention," I have heard it said. No, wrong, I just did not take enough pills.

I was thirteen when I started cutting my arms, then legs and arms, then cutting and burning my legs and arms. One night, drinking rum and coke alone in my apartment at eighteen years-old, I took out a brand-new razor blade and ran it across my ankle. I put too much pressure and cut down to the tendons. My ankle had a deep gaping wound, I panicked and called 911. I then broke one of the glass panes in my French door to use as an excuse for my injury. The emergency room doctor did not believe my excuse when he saw the scars that were present on my legs. He asked if I was self-injuring, I pretended I did not understand the question. With my ankle stitched closed and my leg put in a half cast, he admitted me to the mental health ward on the third floor of my city's hospital; I stayed ten days. The cast remained on for six months.

I remember once cutting my wrists at nineteen years old. The attending nurse (such a kind person) said, "Next time cut along the inside of your arm, not across the wrist." Okay, thanks so much for informing on the proper way to bleed to death.

In my early twenties, I decided to jump off the building where I had just had a

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