I’m smiling, but I just can’t see it with all the tears running down my cheeks.
Yeah, I’ve figured out how I can now kill myself without having to even leave my room, I just need to decide whether to do it or not. I’ve managed to set it up already so that is not a problem. Could I go through with it? And would it actually work? I’m not sure.
I have rope in my room, one end of it is tied to my bed. The other end is currently lying on the floor (the noose is also tied just to let you know) but my plan would be to hang it round a bar off my wall which can support my weight. I also have a stool/chair thing in my room which I can use to get up to the noose once I put it around the bar. Then I can jump off. There might be a strange case where the bar somehow doesn’t support my weight, or the bed moves to stop me hanging myself, but I think if I put stuff on top of my bed to weigh it down then everything should go fine.
Apparently my suicidal thoughts should be going down now. In fact I got another letter from my CAMHS person today who claims that I’m having no suicidal thoughts. I wont even bother writing about that, what is the point? We all know I hate my CAMHS counsellor. I haven’t even heard from the new one I am meant to be getting, is there any point in waiting?
My family still don’t care. My friends don’t care. I’m not even sure what the point in writing about all of this is. It is the same each time. My family don’t love me, my friends don’t care, I’m lonely, I’m depressed… the list goes on. I don’t think they would cry if I died, I don’t think I could cry if they died.
I feel ill. Physically and mentally. Anyone who thinks depression isn’t a serious illness should jump off a cliff, I’ll jump off with you. I wish I didn’t have depression. If I had the choice I would trade it with cancer because at least I know it will end at some point, dead or alive. I don’t want to live anymore.
Yeah, whatever mental illness I am suffering from, it is definitely getting worse again! Today I decided I would cut myself 49 times, one for each day I have been on this medication that is doing absolutely nothing for me. My suicidal thoughts are on the way back up after I thought the medication was making them go down, my cutting is also on the way back up and I’m still feeling as sad and as isolated as ever. As someone who is sitting real exams in a few weeks, this could not have come at a worse time. So today, what happened?
I went to counselling today. I decided I would give my counsellor the silent treatment. This was the first time I had seen them in 4 weeks (they didn’t want to see me sooner), and also the first time I had seen them after receiving the strange letter. I hate them. I said to my friend earlier in the day that I wouldn’t mind if my counsellor jumped off a cliff, obviously I don’t mean that, I think I let my emotions get the better of me as I would never want anyone to commit suicide, but I think that shows how much I hate them. I didn’t want to talk to them and I wanted them to know it. I want my new counsellor to come as soon as possible.My counsellor just made me feel worse, while sitting in that room listening to them try to get an answer out of me I knew I was going to go home and cut. I wasn’t planning to do anything like I did but I could see something coming. I got home after counselling and was normal for a few hours… or normal for me. I went to my room and cried for a bit then played a game on my phone. I haven’t been able to concentrate on exam revision very well for a while so it is not surprising that I didn’t get any done. But after I had dinner it went downhill. I decided that I had to do one cut for every day this new medication had failed me, so I checked out the calendar and counted how many days I had been taking it. 1, 2, 3… 47, 48, 49! 49 days of failed medication! I have been on my medication for 7 weeks and I don’t feel worse. I guess I deserve these 49 cuts.
I did two cuts and thought I wasn’t going to reach 49. I stopped for about 5 minutes. However, I am someone who doesn’t give up easily so I kept going. I reached 7 cuts quite early on before realising I shouldn’t be doing a tally of my cuts, let alone attempt to reach 49 cuts. I distracted myself with my phone again but I was constantly feeling sadder every minute as I thought about how my week had gone so far. I don’t know how but I made it to 10 cuts while still on my phone. Distracting myself was clearly not working. 12. 15. 18. 20. I had got to 20 cuts when I decided enough was enough.
I attempted to do some revision but it failed. I did two more cuts which takes my total to 22. I still have 3 hours left in the day and I have no idea what I will do. I don’t know whether to stop, I don’t know whether to try to reach 49 cuts. I am confused.
CAMHS… The way I talk about my counselling, the nations counselling service for children and teenagers, you might think it is closer to hell than helpful. I’ll be fair and say I have experienced some good aspects of CAMHS in the few months I have been under their service, but at the same time I have had experiences that have only made my mental health worse. Yes, it is time for me to revisit the tales of my dreaded counsellor who managed to invent 13 people and allowed me to go home with a plan to kill myself. Today, I’ll talk about my experiences with CAMHS.
Well, when I first got the letter for my CAMHS counselling session I was excited. I had been dealing with depression and suicidal thoughts for months. In my eyes CAMHS was this miracle service that could end my depression and keep me on the right track to lead a “normal” life. I had read stories on the internet about people who had gone to CAMHS and received no help but that did not worry me as I had also read stories of the complete opposite. I knew if I did not get help soon (I was already seeing my GP but they not meant to be as good with mental health as CAMHS) I would probably end up doing something I would regret… or something I wouldn’t be able to regret. I started with CAMHS straight after New Years, it was on the first week of 2015.
I met my counsellor, I didn’t like my counsellor, they are probably the reason why I hate CAMHS so much. But at the time I met them I had only talked to one other person from CAMHS who I met at the hospital, and they were not nice to me. So now I had met two people from the same organisation who weren’t helpful, in fact they both made me feel worse. What did my counsellor do you might be thinking, I’ll tell you.
We’ll start off small. My counsellor is meant to talk through my problems with me, and when they have an idea or solution they also talk through that with me. Maybe these health professionals are also meant to jump to strange conclusions, but I doubt it. One time early in my counselling I was asked if I had ever drank alcohol, and I said yes as most teenagers have drank alcohol. I was then asked how often I drink alcohol to which I replied I don’t really drink alcohol very often. I am not sure whether my counsellor decided I am hiding something but even after talking to my dad about it she believes I drink regularly. I was in the room when she talked to my dad and my dad said I don’t really drink alcohol. This is one of the mysteries of CAMHS. The same happened when she asked if any of my friends drink or take drugs, and I said I do have friends who smoke occasionally. Apparently this means my friends have drinking and drug problems. That doesn’t make sense to me, another one of the mysteries of CAMHS.
My counsellor does make up things that I’ve never said quite frequently. They have managed to invent 11 friends I’ve never had while at the same time invent a dad and a sister that I’ve never had (unless I have a second dad and sister hiding somewhere). They’ve managed to make up events that have never happened such as panic attacks, which is why they have probably diagnosed me with mixed depressive and anxiety disorder, something they have never discussed with me and something I believe is wrong. If they make up so much stuff how can I believe their diagnosis? In fact I have my own rule which is whatever they diagnose me with is wrong. The worst part about all of this is that they broke confidentiality and sent all the wrong information to my parents in a letter. Fortunately the letter also had my name on it so I managed to get it before my parents, they never saw it.
This is not the worst thing about my counsellor. Imagine having a plan to kill yourself, trying to receive help, and the one person who is meant to help you the most has decided you don’t need help and sends you home with a plan to kill yourself. That is not quite what happened but it is close. One time, my counsellor could not be bothered to talk to me so they gave me a questionnaire to fill in while they left me alone in the room. The questionnaire had over 100 questions and took me a while to complete. Some of the questions were related to suicide, and one asked me if I had a plan to kill myself. I said yes. At the time I did not actually have a plan to kill myself but I was very suicidal and wanted some help, I was foolish to think my counsellor would help me. They read the questionnaire after and asked me about my plan, they then went to talk to their supervisor and came back deciding that I don’t need any help. They sent me home. That has taught me not to go to my counsellor when I actually do have a plan, I’ll go straight to the hospital instead. Maybe there they can actually help me.
And they can. The hospital is where I have experienced the better side of CAMHS. Twice I have gone to the hospital to see an out-of-hours CAMHS person whilst being under the service, the only other time was before I started with CAMHS and met a horrible person but I tend to forget about that. The first time I met a man who worked for CAMHS, this was when I had been prescribed some new medication which was making me more suicidal, a common side effect for teenagers apparently. This man so kind to me, we talked about video games for a while when we were meant to be talking about my suicidal thoughts, but actually that made me less suicidal. I don’t know whether that was his plan but it worked. He also realised it was the medication making me more suicidal and gave me a plan to stop the medication, and spoke to my counsellor asking to start new medication as soon as possible. That was a great experience. During this same visit to the hospital my parents arrived and started shouting at me, and a woman working at the hospital allowed me to stay in a separate area away from my parents. That may sound small but it meant so much to me. This visit to the hospital was the first time I realised that CAMHS was there to help me.
The second visit to the hospital was also a good experience, or at least as good as it can get while being suicidal. I had stabbed myself and was wanting to see a mental health worker to talk to about my suicidal thoughts. They told me an out-of-hours CAMHS worker was on their way. After waiting all night for this CAMHS person to appear, they finally did in the early hours of the morning. Our conversation did not seem long to me although it was over an hour, we talked about how life was for me an general and why I had come to the hospital specifically this time. They were very kind to me and they helped me a lot, we came up with a care plan that my CAMHS counsellor never did. I have actually requested that I have regular meeting with this person instead of my current counsellor, which would probably be the greatest thing CAMHS could do for me at that point.
So while my CAMHS counsellor is horrible and probably makes me feel worse, I know that there are people in the service who can help. When I look at CAMHS reviews online they always get very positive reviews or very negative reviews, and I can see why. CAMHS seems like a great service but it always depends who you talk to as that is the main thing about the service, it is mostly about talking. To anyone who has to start with CAMHS I would recommend trying it out, you can always request a different counsellor, or stop all together. At least if you try you might get help and you might get better. Now I’m hoping for my counsellor to be changed soon, the sooner the better…
This post is part of my Blogging A to Z April Challenge. The theme for yesterday was meant to be “CAMHS” but I fell asleep very early and could not publish it, so I’ve published it this morning. Later today I was focus on depression, the main theme of my blog. Watch this space!
Today was just an average day, cutting, suicidal, hospital… Oh I didn’t mean average for you, I meant average for me. I don’t really know where to begin. I’ve been taking Fluoxetine since Wednesday but since starting I have began to feel more suicidal each day. Friday was the first day I noticed my suicidal thoughts were getting worse, which was the day I bought some numbing cream to help me cut deeper. I was considering cutting my wrists which was why I had spent most of my Friday out of lessons looking on the internet for the best way to attempt it. Despite it being a commonly unsuccessful way to commit suicide it was a method I could attempt. There were no firearms in the house (like most houses in the UK), I did not have any pills to overdose and I simply did not feel like leaving the house to hang myself. Depression is meant to make you tired and unmotivated, but I never knew you could be suicidal whilst unmotivated to kill yourself. Fortunately Friday passed without any attempt, only some cuts on my forearms.
Saturday was torture for my mind. Have you ever spent 12 hours focused on something? For example, 12 hours of thinking about work would fry your brain. Now imagine spending those 12 hours thinking about how much you want to die. Torture, right? Well, to me it wasn’t torture, to me it was just another day. I probably do not spend that much time thinking about suicide regularly but suicide comes to me every day. Saturday was far worse than Friday, which is why I am so surprised there was no attempt. To be totally honest, I can’t even remember Saturday.
And today, Sunday. This is where the story begins. I must have woke around 8am although I had woke in the night a few times. I was not tired, I was not unhappy, I was just in that emptiness mood. You will know when you have felt it, or not felt it, because you can feel absolutely nothing. I ate breakfast while I took my daily dose of Fluoxetine, with thoughts in the back of my mind telling me it will make me feel even worse. Whether or not it would have started working in time to effect my next decision is a mystery.
I went to my room to pack a bag. Just a small backpack, large enough to hold all of the items I would need. I took a notepad and pen for writing down anything I needed, a bandage and compass for if I feel the urge to self-harm, and a rope. There was enough rope to hang myself, and hopefully enough to give me a large enough fall to break my neck. Yes, I was thinking of suicide. Only my mum was awake at the time so she was the only person to see me leave the house. My mum knows about my suicidal thoughts but she also knows I like to see my friends (wait, I have friends?) which is why it was easy to convince her that I was not in any danger. That might be something which is harder to do next time.
It was a long walk to the park, I was only focused on one thing though. I was still debating whether to go through with it in my mind. Was it the right decision? Who will miss me? Who will even find me? All of these questions made me doubt myself even more. After 20 minutes of walking I had reached the park, the park with lots of high tress suitable for anyone who wants to “hang out”. Although when I reached the park the thought that I might not want to do this was taking over. I still searched for a suitable tree. The tree must be tall enough to allow the large drop that will break my neck, while there must be the perfect amount of branches, enough to let me climb up but not too many that will break my fall. I found one. I took a quick look around to make sure no one was watching, if someone interrupted my plans at this point I would be very angry. I started to climb the tree as I saw the perfect branch sticking out. I got closer and closer… but I couldn’t reach it. Oh no, I’m a failure. I could try and jump for it but the risk was I would miss and break my leg was high, meaning I would be unable the hang myself for many weeks.
I climbed down from the tree, at which point my mind turned from suicide to needing help. I was not sure how long I would be in this frame of mind, but also not sure who could help me. The GP surgery was closed, my trusted friend was away for the weekend, I hate my CAMHS counsellor and I don’t even want to think about my parents. A short while of silent thinking gave me one idea, I could ring 111. For those who are not in the UK, and even those in the UK, 111 is the number you can ring for non-emergencies. This was kind of an emergency but I didn’t care, I would just ring the number anyway.
Ring, ring. Hello? Hey, can you tell me your name? And your address? And your phone number? I’m happy they didn’t need my credit card details! They needed to make sure they had my correct phone number as they informed the local hospital of my suicidal intent, who would ring me back within the next hour. The lady who answered my call was very nice, it was so important to me that the person I was talking to was genuine and caring towards me. My regular readers will know that if someone is not nice towards me I will absolutely hate them, not that I hate my readers, I was referring to my CAMHS counsellor. When the hospital rang me they asked me a few questions to see how safe I was, and as they were concerned about my mental health they thought I should see them right away. It was not such a big deal that an ambulance was needed, I could walk to the hospital all by myself.
On the way to the hospital my mind was at war again. The peaceful guardians versus the suicidal squad. I kept considering whether I should turn around and finish what I had started but thankfully my peaceful side was winning. I knew I had to distract myself somehow so I put on some music. Nas (how many times have I told my readers to listen to hip hop and rap?). The songs kept me going, and my personal keep-safe song Thugs Mansion came on, which reminded me I still have some time left on this Earth before I visit Tupac and Malcolm X in Thugs Mansion.
I did arrive 20 minutes later than I should have, but I didn’t kill myself on the way. I call that a positive, I’m not sure what the man I saw called it. The doctor was quite rude, or at least unconcerned that I was going to kill myself, and he seemed to be in a rush to get rid of me. He made me sit in the waiting room while he made arrangements to move me onto some real help. The chairs were blue! Why blue, all chairs seem to be blue. They are blue in my GP surgery and they are blue at CAMHS, I wonder if they has been scientific research to prove blue can make patients feel better. I always thought blue would make you sad. The doctor came back and gave me a letter to hand to the reception at the children’s unit. A 17 year old guy turns up alone to the children’s unit, I wonder how that will turn out.
It turned out normal in fact. Well, not really. The reception were confused why I had been brought here, and they were wondering what to do with a suicidal teenager in a room full of little kids. They had nurses running around headless trying to figure out what they would do to me. One kind nurse had taken me to a quieter area to ask me questions, I liked this nurse. They were never rude to me and they did not ask too many questions. They politely asked if I was hungry or thirsty but I turned down the offer. They left me in the room for a while to help the other clueless nurses work out where to put me. Another nurse came and asked me the same questions as before, which is pointless unless they are testing to see whether I was lying the first time. Or testing whether I had bad memory. It’s a strange test nevertheless. One nurse figured out exactly how to help teenagers. They came into my room and gave me the hospital Wi-Fi password. The best thing that had happened all day! Although by now I was worried that they would keep me in hospital for a long time. Suicide was still racing around in my mind, what could I do?
The kind nurse who I met first finally took me to the mental health unit. Seriously? I could have guessed that within five minutes of arriving at the hospital. Instead it took almost two hours and a bunch of scrambling nurses to get me there. Well, I don’t know who to blame but I cant blame this kind nurse who has taken me here. The receptionist was informed who I was (do I now have a reputation?) and they told me to wait in the waiting area while the assessment doctor arrived. He was quite quick, I guess someone understands how suicidal I am. We went into another room, which takes my room entering tally for today over a million! He asked me the generic suicidal questions. Do you have a plan? How long have you felt like this? Do you take drugs or alcohol? When I told him about the Fluoxetine I could tell he was onto the same thing I was onto. Yes, the Fluoxetine must be increasing my suicidal thoughts. As a doctor he did not want to jump to any conclusions that could harm me so he continued asking a few more questions about home, college and friends. Nothing stood out to him and he made me wait back in the waiting area.
It had been three hours of hospital time, and many more hours prior to that. I was still suicidal but all the kindness shown by the hospital staff was making me calmer. I felt like I had found a place where people actually care whether I was alive, a place where I can sit and play games on my phone in peace. I knew I would have to leave at some point, but at least I could be happy (happy for me, it means not totally depressed). They asked if I wanted to see my parents and I said no, I didn’t want to see my parents. I don’t want to talk to people that don’t care about me. For those wondering, the hospital had rang my parents, it was not the other way around. The hospital had to speak to my parents though, so they would have to come to the hospital. I did not know when they were arriving.
But when they arrived, I knew. My dad came into the waiting area and started asking loads of questions in his intimidating voice. Why are you doing this? Why did you come here? Why won’t you tell us what is wrong with you? Hey, I can explain what is wrong with me, my parents raised me wrong. I don’t know what love feels like because my parents never gave it to me. Obviously I didn’t say that to them, it is not in my personality to burst out randomly with things. Neither my previous personality nor my depressed one. I was depressed again. I stormed out of the waiting room and hid around the corner, my parents did not come after me. I could hear the nurses discussing what had happened. Parents came to teenager when teenager did not want them, why weren’t they kept apart? The kind receptionist allowed me to wait at an unoccupied bedside for a while. Again I was asked if I wanted any food or drink, I declined.
Time passed, and it was a long time. Time is slow when you are suicidal, and time is slow when you are in a hospital. This was the ultimate slow time. I hadn’t had any extremely strange delusions in a while but this stood out to me. I looked at the clock on the wall and it looked back! Okay, it wasn’t that strange. Everybody knows how a clock ticks, right? Well, this clock does not move like that. As soon as I looked at the clock the minute was spinning out of control. My mind was completely lost. What was going on? The clock controlled itself after a few seconds and settled in the correct position. Certainly a strange experience.
The doctor returned and wanted to talk to me again. He sat me back down in that room and told me a few things. He explained how one of the side effects of Fluoxetine was increased suicidal thoughts, he explained how that was possible in not so scientific terms and he explained that it was the most likely explanation for why I was so suicidal over the past few days. It doesn’t explain why I’m suicidal, but why I was more likely to act in the past few days. I was happy to accept his reasoning. We then went through what would happen to me next. I was not going to stay in hospital! That was both saddening and a relief. I liked the kind staff of the hospital but I didn’t want to stay forever. The doctor also told me that I would have to stop this medication, which was no surprise. I will discuss new medication with my CAMHS counsellor when I next see them, but for now I need time to let the Fluoxetine get out of my system. This meant the increased suicidal thoughts could remain for the next few days so I would have to stay at home where people can watch me. I left the room when he brought my parents in, and he told them the same.
I was now on the way home in the back of my parents car. It was a long day for me but at least I know that the suicidal thoughts will lessen and that there are some kind people in the hospital who care about me in case I ever go back. As we drove away my dad pointed out a building and said “that’s where you were born”. In my mind I thought to myself “I wish I wasn’t”…
If you are going to self-harm you should at least know how to do it properly, make sure you read the whole post before attempting so you know exactly how to self-harm, as if you attempt it incorrectly you might suffer fatal consequences. What will you need? The interesting thing about self-harming is that you don’t even need anything but this post will focus on cutting so anything sharp will do. We will refer to your tool of choice as a knife throughout the post for simplicity.
So your first cut… it is often the hardest. You are not how deep to cut, how many cuts to do or how hard to press. You will not be used to the pain of cutting and as you draw the knife across your skin it will feel like agony. Afterwards you will probably do a few softer cuts to make yourself feel better.
If gets easier though, and you still think you can control yourself. Each session the cuts get deeper and you find it easier to draw blood. The cuts heal but turn into scars. When you have enough scars on your forearm you start to go up the rest of your arm, and then onto the legs and stomach. Every part of your body that you are able to cover up will be covered with scars.
And you will cover them up. You will hide your cuts and scars from everyone you love. You can still wear t-shirts, but you must wear a jumper or jacket over it so that your arms are not on show. When summer comes you worry about what to wear so you either wear long-sleeve shirts in the blazing heat or you stay inside, which leads to more cutting.
At this point you are addicted to cutting. You have already avoided your friends in the summer due to your cuts, but now you begin to skip lessons at school or college just so you can cut some more. You’ll hide in the toilets and watch the blood trickle down your arms as your education slips between your fingers. Your addiction causes you to get bad grades in your next test, but you don’t worry because you will always have your knife with you to comfort you during these times.
What was once one cut turns into ten cuts, then twenty cuts, then thirty, then a hundred. You are out of control. If you are not thinking about cutting it is probably because you are cutting. You no longer feel normal, you feel like a machine programmed to inflict harm onto itself. You battle against your mind daily, you try to stop cutting but it is no use. Cutting has taken over, you see no way of escaping. You will read books about self-harming and look for miracles online to help you stop but it is no use.
You now carry your knife with you wherever you go. Do you have 5 minutes before next lesson? Cut. Are your friends not looking for a few minutes? Cut. Have your parents left you in the car? Cut. Every opportunity you have will turn into a cutting session. On the rare occasions you cannot use your knife you will look for other objects to cut yourself with. Needles, compasses, paperclips. You can use everything. Cutting does not hurt as much as it used to.
You forget what days were like before you started cutting, you wonder how you managed. You are alone in your own little world of cutting, you cannot seem to find anyone else who cuts without revealing your own secret. Your body is slowly being destroyed, you enjoy it while at the same time hate it. You don’t even own your body, cutting does. Cutting is in your work, your dreams and in signs on the street. Imagine your worst nightmare has come to life, but is in the form of cutting. You wish you had never started, you wish you could turn back the clock and tell yourself not to cut. I wish that too, but then I started cutting and now it is too late.
So you want to self-harm? I’ll tell you exactly how to self-harm. Put the knife down and walk away. That’s the only way you can succeed. That’s the only way you can beat the devil.
2 months of blogging already! I’ve brought to you my troubles, my poetry and my opinions but quite interestingly I have brought some helpful advice along with me. This post will show you my “most helpful posts” so far based on the view numbers of my help articles. I hope you take something useful out of this, the advice I give is tried and tested by either myself or professionals. Enjoy!
5) Unusual Methods To Combat Self-Harming [Part 2]
Views: Dominoes in a standard set (28)
Fifth on the list is the second part of my three part series where I looked at unusual methods to combat self harming. I am someone who self harms so I understand the reasons why someone would self harm, but also why they would want to stop. This post looks at four methods to distract yourself or remove the urge to self harm, including things you can do with other people or by yourself. In fact, two of the four methods on this post I still use from time to time so they can work for some people.
Click here to view the post.
4) Unusual Methods To Combat Self-Harming [Part 1]
Views: Number of studio and compilation albums by Elton John (47)
One of the first posts on my blog, and since my blog was so small at that point it surprises me that this post made it onto the list. The first part of my unusual methods to combat self harming series looked at four methods to stop yourself from self harming. While they are unusual methods, many people who have tried to get help with self harming will have heard one of the methods on the list. Ice…
Click here to view the post.
3) How To Sleep… For Insomniacs
Views: Age of boxer Mike Tyson (48)
Who remembers when I kept writing posts related to insomnia? Well, I think I only did three but this was one of them. This post takes advice from professional self-help books as well as my own experience, so that anyone with sleeping difficulties may find it easier to get some rest. While it may be a slightly shorter post than most others it does include a poem at the end, either you will enjoy it or it will be so boring that you will fall asleep. Win-win situation.
Click here to view the post.
2) How To Help Someone During A Panic Attack
Views: Number of countries in Africa (54)
This post attracted a lot of people to comment on my blog as well as reblog the post on their own blogs. What are the symptoms of a panic attack? How can you stop them? Should you see a doctor? This post answers those three important questions so that you can help yourself or someone else during a panic attack. Anyone can have a panic attack, be prepared!
Click here to view the post.
1) How To Tell Someone You Are Suicidal
Views: Traditional retirement age in the UK (65)
This blog is no stranger to suicide posts. To me it feels like I write a post about it every week. My readers will know I often feel suicidal, so I have been in the situation a few times where I have to tell someone. Telling someone is the hardest part of getting help which is why it is so important, and I am not surprised that this is my most viewed help article. This post does answer a lot of important questions. Bookmark it, print it out, just stay safe.
Click here to view the post.