I didn’t feel like it glamorized or romanticized the main character’s suicide. Suicide is not glamorous or romantic. I saw it first hand and for me it was dark, horrifying, lonely, sad and final.
How do you fight to stay alive when your own brain is telling you to kill yourself?
I convince myself that it could be worse, that I haven’t hit rock bottom yet, that I’m not even close.
Although it took such a pivotal moment in my life for me to engage in this way of thinking, living in the present truly taught me how to accept moments for what they are and to enjoy the little things that happen day to day.
Write to everyone you’ve made a difference to. Every single person who’s lives you’ve touched.
So there I was, the 24-year-old big sister, sitting at her desk and painting my nails sky blue, trying to casually talk to her about you know, suicide and rape and drinking and mental health.
The last damn thing our culture needs is some shitty Netflix program glorifying the post-mortem justice myth of suicide.
I’m here for you, 24 hours a day.
I got the sharpest knife from my kitchen, turned on the hot shower, took my clothes off, and said a deep prayer.
There were 13 episodes, and each of them revolved around a different crime. Robbing. Stalking. Mugging. Murder. Rape.