Basically this girl becomes friends with and gains the trust of a depressed boy. She then coerces him into following through with his depression and attempts at suicide. When he gets scared while killing himself with carbon monoxide poisoning in his car in the garage, she commands him to get back in the car and see the deed done. She manipulates him and tells him his family will understand why he did it. They’d be sad, but they’d move on.
This case was a few years ago and she just got her sentence. 15 months. And she cried.
If everyone in the world had a friend like her half of us would be dead. It only takes a sliver of encouragement to kill yourself when you’ve reached the mark.
What she did was evil. What she did was murder.
I really can’t get over this case, probably because of my own past. I know one thing though!!! I’m glad she wasn’t my girlfriend.
I think I’ve become scared of everything I will be. Everything inside of me, all that’s left are dreams. How do you get these things to leave I’ll think.
I know how. I know how.
Here’s a way. We’ll try this way. A drink or two. Do you smoke they say.
We do what we have to to stop it from happening. It’s an it. My kid asked me the other day why they made that movie about the clown the name ‘It.’ I didn’t have an answer.
What’s more scary than ‘it?’ It makes you cry, you don’t know why. Even wine doesn’t bring a smile to these eyes. I’ll drink a little. I’ll drink a bit. We’ll see if we can drown this it out. It never works.
I’ve found an answer, a solution that works for me. It blocks the dreams and they wait for me outside the line of my bedroom shrine. I feel them creep as my toes cross from the safety I’ve made here. But it’s ok. I’ll be ok. Bring on those dreams. Who needs rest.
“I’d have to say the most anxiety-laden moment in a Black person’s experience at a predominantly White church is when the person in the pulpit says, “Turn and greet your neighbor and tell them you’re glad they’re here.”
Black person: Will they say hi? Will they look me in the eye? Will they shake my hand? Will they smile at me? Do they see me? Are they hoping I’ll not turn around? Do they know how petrified I am right now? Am I welcome here? Am I safe?”
“I don’t view depression as waves, at least not for me. My depression feels like white flakes in a snow globe and are activated when something shakes me to my core. I become the center and the space around me becomes my world, a world I cannot see. While blinded I…