Personal Narrative-Assisted Suicide Case Study

My mother was diagnosed with a tumor in her abdomen. This took a tremendous toll on me over the course of the next year. I was regularly traveling from Dallas to San Antonio to be by her side and take her to appointments. Being an only child and my father working in Italy, I was her main support system. Family is everything to me. My mother is my everything. This sudden shift of my focus was reflected in my poor grades. I matured quickly during this time and learned to be successful with a rigorous academic course load. Most importantly, I learned to never give up when all hope seems

I somehow knew what my aunt would say to me when I answered the ringing phone in my hand. There was an unexplainable, sickening feeling in my abdomen that told me something was wrong. Hesitating, I frantically tried to think of what else it could be before finally clicking “answer.” The cold surface of my phone pressed up to my ear, and my aunt spoke words that I will never forget.

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

When I was a sophomore my mother was diagnosed with cancer and as a result, I have spent most of my college career dealing emotional with the result. She is free of disease as of right now but it was a long and tumultuous journey to get there. I practically spent 2 years without a mother because she was so sick and I had to take her role. I organized family events, cooked them meals when I could, did their shopping all while going to school three hours away and having constant fear that my mother and the love of my life was going to die. That is only my personal struggle with it, not even taking into account her trauma or my fathers or brothers. It almost seems selfish to reflect on this because it was nothing compared to what she was going through. I went through stages where I was horrified and so scared and then I was angry and selfish. I wanted my mother back, I wanted her to make me dinner when I came home from college and send me care packages again. I wanted her to go shopping every weekend like she used to and spend money on things that weren’t hospital bills. I wanted to call her and hear something other than how she couldn’t get chemotherapy that week because she was so weak and was rushed to the hospital for a blood transfusion. I was tired of talking to people about it and people asking if I was okay. I felt like a broken record, “Yes, I’m okay. Yes, school is

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'.

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

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.

Amelia lay on the cold dirt her warm sticky blood seeping through my fingers it’s coppery smell filling my nostrils as I applied presser to the hemorrhaging gunshot wound. “You have to stay with me sis you’re the only family I have left.” My twin sister dying was not an option it just wasn’t.

“My ex-girlfriend was taken away by the cop and taken to the local jail. My ex-girlfriend’s Dad showed up and I rode back with him to their house. Finally my parents came and picked me up. I went home and maybe got two hours of sleep, if you even call that sleep. The next morning, I went back to my ex-girlfriend’s house and she was later released from jail that day. For the longest time, we would just sit there in silence, because, what do you say? It was time to comfort one another. I not only felt bad about the whole situation, but I knew no one was going to believe me, us. Believe that a girl purposively jumped into the moving vehicle. I later learned that the girl who died had been suicidal. Earlier that day, before the accident,

48-year-old James Davenport was driving while distracted, due to sending and receiving text messages, while driving Bus No. 44. He made a sharp left turn, crossed a concrete median, and crashed into another school bus on Asheville Highway near Governor John Sevier Highwayon December 2014. The impact killed six-year-old Zykia Burns, seven-year-old Seraya Glasper, and 46-year-old teacher's aide Kimberly Riddle. All three were dead when emergency crews arrived at the scene.The 48-year-old died June 1,2015. "Due to Mr. Davenport's death, we are legally unable to pursue any criminal charges against him," explained Hixson in a press conference Friday. "We always want to seek justice; that's why we're here, that's why we do what we do. So the fact

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.

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