To Sentra, with love

 
 
Mr. Psychologist
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<.<
Jesus...

Bad luck just doesn't cover this anymore, I hope you pull through and given how resilient you seem I'm sure you will but it's probably time to prioritise your health over work, if you can, It would be better for all of you if you were still around for the long haul rather than burning out in the next few months.

I really wish you the best, it might be worth looking into a lawyer on a no win/no fee thing to try and get some compensation for having your lungs destroyed by asbestos, even if the worst should happen that would leave a safety net for your family. But pull through this alright, I'm sure you will.


Chakas | Heroic Unstoppable!
 
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I like hugs and making the world a better place. That and guns. Lots and lots of guns.
Stay cheerful. A strong will to live can do wonders. Be happy. Count your blessings. List the things you want to stay alive for and get yourself hyped about staying alive. If not for anything else, do it for the comedy, food, and music. They are three of the best damn things in the world. You can't beat a good Mexican meal or some absurdly spicy sushi.


Korra | Mythic Inconceivable!
 
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uhhh...

- korrie
Shit...I'm so sorry. I hope, really hope that you can battle this and get better.


Juuzou | Mythic Inconceivable!
 
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Sandtrap
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Rockets on my X
I come home from work to all this.... good lord. It makes me think though.

Sentra does have a point. He is right. It is attention whoring. But I need it. I need to feel like I'm not alone in this. Friends are hard to come by for me, and while my family is always there for me, they are my family. So much depends and rides on my actions. Personally, I don't want to show them the sorry state of mind I'm in. Not with this riding on top of me.

So, you can say what you like Sentra. You can call me out on it. Because that's what it is. I need attention. I don't want to feel alone with this. And so I throw my woes out to the void of the internet. It is, one horrible mess after another. So if you want, call me an attention whore.

But know that you're wasting your breath. You can't say anything that would hurt me or make me feel any worse. Because life has bestowed death on me. The greatest of insults. The end of the road. You can't say or do anything that would make me feel any worse than what I sit here, and face right now.

As I sit here, still in my work gear, and I eat my bowl of yogurt, and I take this cocktail of drugs from the doctor, I can feel it. When I breathe. My throat is on fire as air passes through it because it's enflamed. There's a slight pain in my lungs, in my chest. And I keep coughing.

I'm trying to cough up the bile that's beginning to form in my lungs. My body is acting like I'm drowning. And I'm tired. I'm fighting two infections at once. My own self doubt is eating away at me, and I can't help but wonder even if I survive this, where will I go with my life? How could I make it worth living? Worth something.

So yes, I'm an attention whore. But be happy Sentra. In three weeks, most likely less, I will likely be dead. And you won't ever have to hear from me and my troubles again. A voice across the internet, across a screen, will go quiet. A buzz in your ears that annoys you will go dark.

Tell you what chum. If there's an afterlife of any kind, I'll be waiting for you. I'll buy drinks. And we can talk about what embarrassing lives we lead, and what simple little thing toppled it all and killed us.

But you are right in your points, at least. The more folks that give me their best wishes, the worse I feel. I can't sleep at night because this is on my head. At the very best, three weeks.  21 days. In 21 days or less, this is likely the end of the road for me.

So I'm going to stop posting my woes. I got the attention I wanted, and it didn't help.


Septy | Mythic Inconceivable!
 
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See you Cowgirl,
Someday, somewhere
I come home from work to all this.... good lord. It makes me think though.

Sentra does have a point. He is right. It is attention whoring. But I need it. I need to feel like I'm not alone in this. Friends are hard to come by for me, and while my family is always there for me, they are my family. So much depends and rides on my actions. Personally, I don't want to show them the sorry state of mind I'm in. Not with this riding on top of me.

So, you can say what you like Sentra. You can call me out on it. Because that's what it is. I need attention. I don't want to feel alone with this. And so I throw my woes out to the void of the internet. It is, one horrible mess after another. So if you want, call me an attention whore.

But know that you're wasting your breath. You can't say anything that would hurt me or make me feel any worse. Because life has bestowed death on me. The greatest of insults. The end of the road. You can't say or do anything that would make me feel any worse than what I sit here, and face right now.

As I sit here, still in my work gear, and I eat my bowl of yogurt, and I take this cocktail of drugs from the doctor, I can feel it. When I breathe. My throat is on fire as air passes through it because it's enflamed. There's a slight pain in my lungs, in my chest. And I keep coughing.

I'm trying to cough up the bile that's beginning to form in my lungs. My body is acting like I'm drowning. And I'm tired. I'm fighting two infections at once. My own self doubt is eating away at me, and I can't help but wonder even if I survive this, where will I go with my life? How could I make it worth living? Worth something.

So yes, I'm an attention whore. But be happy Sentra. In three weeks, most likely less, I will likely be dead. And you won't ever have to hear from me and my troubles again. A voice across the internet, across a screen, will go quiet. A buzz in your ears that annoys you will go dark.

Tell you what chum. If there's an afterlife of any kind, I'll be waiting for you. I'll buy drinks. And we can talk about what embarrassing lives we lead, and what simple little thing toppled it all and killed us.

But you are right in your points, at least. The more folks that give me their best wishes, the worse I feel. I can't sleep at night because this is on my head. At the very best, three weeks.  21 days. In 21 days or less, this is likely the end of the road for me.

So I'm going to stop posting my woes. I got the attention I wanted, and it didn't help.


Mega Sceptile | Heroic Unstoppable!
 
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I come home from work to all this.... good lord. It makes me think though.

Sentra does have a point. He is right. It is attention whoring. But I need it. I need to feel like I'm not alone in this. Friends are hard to come by for me, and while my family is always there for me, they are my family. So much depends and rides on my actions. Personally, I don't want to show them the sorry state of mind I'm in. Not with this riding on top of me.

So, you can say what you like Sentra. You can call me out on it. Because that's what it is. I need attention. I don't want to feel alone with this. And so I throw my woes out to the void of the internet. It is, one horrible mess after another. So if you want, call me an attention whore.

But know that you're wasting your breath. You can't say anything that would hurt me or make me feel any worse. Because life has bestowed death on me. The greatest of insults. The end of the road. You can't say or do anything that would make me feel any worse than what I sit here, and face right now.

As I sit here, still in my work gear, and I eat my bowl of yogurt, and I take this cocktail of drugs from the doctor, I can feel it. When I breathe. My throat is on fire as air passes through it because it's enflamed. There's a slight pain in my lungs, in my chest. And I keep coughing.

I'm trying to cough up the bile that's beginning to form in my lungs. My body is acting like I'm drowning. And I'm tired. I'm fighting two infections at once. My own self doubt is eating away at me, and I can't help but wonder even if I survive this, where will I go with my life? How could I make it worth living? Worth something.

So yes, I'm an attention whore. But be happy Sentra. In three weeks, most likely less, I will likely be dead. And you won't ever have to hear from me and my troubles again. A voice across the internet, across a screen, will go quiet. A buzz in your ears that annoys you will go dark.

Tell you what chum. If there's an afterlife of any kind, I'll be waiting for you. I'll buy drinks. And we can talk about what embarrassing lives we lead, and what simple little thing toppled it all and killed us.

But you are right in your points, at least. The more folks that give me their best wishes, the worse I feel. I can't sleep at night because this is on my head. At the very best, three weeks.  21 days. In 21 days or less, this is likely the end of the road for me.

So I'm going to stop posting my woes. I got the attention I wanted, and it didn't help.
Don't go... don't give up. Please, if not for your sake, for the people around you instead. You're clearly a kind hearted guy, and I don't think this world will benefit with good people like you giving up so quickly and dying before you can even try to impact the world.


V | Mythic Inconceivable!
 
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Just message me.
vienquitonm is my discord
Sentra is simply a version of Verby without the edgy personality.


 
Cheat
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Hmm...
Locked on request. Good luck, Sandtrap.