January 10, 1939

[Breaking News: Due to the potential vulnerability of young people listening to this broadcast, all posts regarding suicide will be deleted if seen as disrespectful or unnecessary. Suicide is tragic, traumatic and painful. The suicide rate has increased by 3.4%, an all-time high. With the Virus affecting more than half the world, what more can we do? Doubt kills more dreams than failure over will. We have to have hope. If hope is lost, what is there to offer?]

The pain is increasing in waves. I feel like I have been asleep for a very long time. I do not remember what I last remembered, but I know it was not good. Each peak robs my ability to speak, my body burns. It's as though my blood has become salty like the ocean water, intent of destroying me from the inside out. One bullet? All I can do is writhe, the occasional whimper escaping to echo off the walls. I hear Adobe sometimes.  Eventually the pain settled, and I was able to feel again. There are noises again, mostly made up of my name. I try to push it away, it is too much for my ears to handle. They keep screaming at me because I did something wrong. Someone tries to pry my eyes open. They are not patient. I close my eyes because the lights are too bright. It is too much for my eyes to handle. I keep my mouth shut because there is nothing to say. Everything has already been said.