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That same piercing screech in her voice every time at the hospital. Do something! When I slit my wrists. Help her! The last time too. Somebody help her. Help us! You're helpless, both of you. All of us.
Julie Anne Peters
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Julie Anne Peters
Age: 72
Born: 1952
Born: January 16
Author
Engineer
Writer
Jamestown
New York
Helping
Hospital
Every
Hospitals
Something
Helpless
Time
Somebody
Screech
Help
Slit
Lasts
Piercing
Last
Slits
Voice
Wrists
More quotes by Julie Anne Peters
I hear you. I just don't believe a word you say.
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It was all about hate. There should be laws. We're there laws? Can you legislate against hatred?
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She responds by kissing me harder and longer and deeper. She loves me too. She's just afraid.
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...When I asked [my dad why the sky was blue] he said it was because God's a boy. If God were a girl, the sky would be pink. 'What about sunrise and sunset?' I'd asked. Dad had looked dumbfounded. 'You kids. You think too much.' It frightened me how shallow the gene pool was that Liam and I were wading in.
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I don't have to answer. Until you know the question.
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Miracles don't happen. You make them happen. They're not wishes or dreams or candles on a cake. They're not impossible. Reality is real. It's totally and completely under my control.
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Cut the ending. Revise the script. The man of her dreams is a girl.
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It was her way of saying, You should kill yourself.
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What you see, isn't always what you get
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I don't have alot of people to talk to. Not alot of people are worth my time.
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His invitation lingers. So does my question. Why me? I don't know the answer. When I look at myself in the mirror, all I see is a starving, stunted bird who never grew wings and lost all reason to sing.
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They didn't guarantee you'd come out a whole person.
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I think about my choice. Either outcome is bleak. If I stay and live through high school, go to college, get a job, what will ever change? This blackness inside will never go away. I don't make friends I'll always be alone. If I go, at least there's hope of peace. Chance of a new and better life on the other side.
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Our eyes met across the crowded room, like in the movies, except we didn't share a knowing smile and race into each other's arms. Instead I fell into the trash can.
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No one ever found out what was happening inside me. How the pain was eating me away. No one ever came to my rescue, or stood up for me.
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Yet, when we talked, when we were together, she seemed so familiar. Seemed to know who I was, where I was coming from. She knew me better than I knew myself, I think. She was easy to be with. And I wanted to be with her, like all the time.
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As they were carting him off on a gurney, all I could think was, I wish that was me.
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This is my vision-what I imagine I'll pass through on my way to the light. The blue sky, the clouds, the rays of light.
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I suppose I'll be remembered as dull. Timid. No one ever knew me. People came. They went. I was kind, I think. Not sympathetic, but considerate of others. I always gave up my place in line. I loaned out pencils and paper, or let people take them from me. I never reported a sexual assault.
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