Fear death

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Why me, Why me.  Walking up and down the bedroom,rope around my neck, I thought. Help me, Help me. Climbing up the stool I stopped and waited. I'm dead. And with a deep breath I tied the end of the rope to the fan and kicked away the stool. Creak. Silence.2

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I opened my eyes. I was hanging in the air from the fan. My body was twirling in a gentle rotation. My neck was cut in half bleeding rapidly, hung on by a small flap of skin. My face was pale and my eyes were set far back into my head. I felt no heart beat. I was dead.6

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I was dead. It was hard to take in.10

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