Personal Narrative-Assisted Suicide Book Report

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

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."

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.

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

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.

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I’m not going to begin this story with absurdity, instead I am going to relive a year that went by so freaking fast that I nearly forgot half of it, but what I do remember has left me with a little knowledge and a lot of pain that will last a lifetime. This year is the year the suicides began. First, before I make any person feel a little tearful or for the tough guys only tearful in the inside and never on the outside, let’s go back to the year before; as a freshman.

Chris awoke early and had a cigarette whilst talking with his girlfriend this morning. His father later came to see him in the morning and gave him a hand to do his laundry however Chris got upset with his father and was feeling in a low mood. He came to chat to me for a while and engaged well explaining that he didn’t know why he felt the way that did. He at one point said that he felt suicidal however it was a thought and not something that he would take immediate action on. I managed to change Chris’s mood by making light humour of things and said that if he was still feeling like that to inform staff or let his father know. I explained that this would be something that he could discuss tomorrow at his review. Chris therefore apologised

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.

Since this was the first day after a three day weekend, which cancelled one of our class sessions, we started the class with a review of the last week and how the course would work out. Also, to make the roll call a little more fun, we had to say what kind of food we would bring to a deserted island. For me, I said I would bring my mother’s own version of a “Frikandelle” which is a shredded turkey patty and no one apparently knew what I was talking about. Everyone mostly chose common recipes like pizza and burgers but, after having those things daily for the last three months (excluding winter break), I know I would be better off with something closer to home. After that, we did our daily exercise of rolling our bodies to our hips and lifting our arms to stretch our body.

On average, every day, 121 people die from suicide, which means 44,193 deaths each year just in the United States. On the other hand, for every one suicide, there are at least 25 attempts. Every attempt that “failed” is just another chance to save a life. An unknown source once quoted “Suicide doesn’t end the chances of life getting worse, it eliminates the possibility of it ever getting any better.” There are multiple methods a person can choose from to commit suicide, but this essay will be discussing two specific methods: jumping from the Golden Gate Bridge and physician-assisted suicide.

"Okay yes, it dose take me a while to heal. I don't know why though" He finally whimpers after a few moments.

Smooth, thin, and cold, the sharp object lying in her hands trembled due to her petite quivering fingers. The unforgiving sharp blade effortlessly sliced through her skin, pain and then numbness overshadowed her thoughts. With the world weighing down on her shoulders and with the sense of oppression, the girl carved into her arm without a feeling of regret. Daring, she placed the knife parallel to her veins located under her thin pasty skin. Finally, with resolution, digging the knife into her small arm, the young tortured girl could feel the deadly weapon tearing and mutilating her long tender veins. Gasping for breath, the pain surged throughout her body. However, with agony coursing through her body, the victim would not stop her leisurely stroll to the grave.

I am walking off the school bus after an amazing friday at school like most fridays usually are. I can’t stop thinking about the party at my friends house tonight. I get ready for the party as fast as possible. We are just about ready to walk out the door and my mom asks me to run upstairs and grab something for her. So I run right upstairs full of excitement and on my way back down the stairs I trip on the third stair from the bottom and land on the floor. All of a sudden I feel this sharp pain in my foot. It has happened before so I just get up and say “ow” and figure the pain in my foot would go away in a couple of minutes. At my friends house I try my best to play the games and act like nothing's wrong, but I still have this thought in the back of my head that my foot hurts. After the party, I get back home and realize that my foot still hurts. Soon enough I am at the doctors and I see my x-ray. I have a stress fracture in my foot. That meant no basketball, no running around, and little activity. This is the first time I have broken a bone and it takes me a while to used to the boot, the crutches and the new lifestyle. Overcoming my