1 A true story about a girl that committed suicide

Rating: PG-13
Quality: (Quality: Unrated)

Hey guys, I just got this email.  It's....really pretty creepy.  It's been a few years since I worked there, but I actually knew this girl.  We'd sit around and talk about a lot of this stuff, but I never knew she felt this bad.  And to get a forward email about it, that just takes the cake.  But she wrote it herself, and asked for it to be passed along, so.....I guess you could call it a favor for a friend.  And the pictures were taken during the time I knew her; her full name is Anna Khushrenada.  The pictures she's sent are just lovely, and it's painful to know that because of the way people treat others she's dead.  This firey redhead was a role-model for me, and I had been very upset at first to learn of her death.  It's sad that I never gave her my email, that it took years for this to get to me when I should have gotten it directly from her.  But that's water under the bridge.  We worked together at the IUPUI POL.  Here it is:

My name is Anna K.  In a few days, no one's going to be able to recognise my body, so I'm sending along a link for two of my favourite pictures.  No, this isn't one of those chain forwards written "by" three year old children that have been beaten to death that wind up on snopes.com.  I'm nearly 22.  My birthday is in three days, actually, but I'll be dead before then.
Please don't forward this to the cancer society, either.  I'm not dying of some terminal illness that needs research.  Unless you call the way people treat others an illness.  I'm jumping off a bridge along the Monon trail tomorrow on my way home from work.  Haha, my last "will and testament" will be that the abandoned bicycle by the bridge goes to whichever young punk finds it first.
Why am I going to kill myself?
Because you hate me.
Now you're upset, you're affronted, you don't know me, how could you hate me?
Let me tell you a bit about myself.
I was born in eastern Europe, the country doesn't really matter.  It was a broken home, with an abusive father and a drunk mother, yet somehow we made our way to America when I was just four years old.
I was constantly harassed by the other kids at school, from my small frame to my still-European sounding speech, nothing about me went unnoticed by my peers.  Following Columbine, they even made attacks on me.  Regardless, I grew up with dreams of college and touring the world for some academic endeavor, but found instead that all I could do was attend one semester of college before lack of money made me drop out.
Since I didn't qualify for scholarships, and I couldn't get grants, I had to work for my living.  Fortunately, there was a place to work, sponsored by the school, that would be my salvation.  And my undoing.
I'm off the subject, you say.  This is all making me -more- sympathetic.  What could possibly be the problem?
The place I went to work conducted telephone surveys.  Because it is a social sciences firm, the Do Not Call registry doesn't apply.  (The DNC registry applies to Telemarketers.  Asking people questions is not the same thing as trying to take their hard earned money.  I've worked for both, believe me, it's different.)
I spoke to perhaps four pleasant people per my six day work week.  Anyone that asked to be put on the DNC list was gladly placed there, no rebuttals.  Perhaps two people per month took advantage of this opportunity.  The rest were a plethora of abuse.  And, by policy, we had to keep calling back
Did you know that an adult is the only one who has the right to request being placed on the DNC list?  It would make sense, but the number of toddlers that have stumbled over some permutation of "Mommy says people that call without per-miz-shun are gonna burn in Hell.  Don't call back" has been staggering.  And because it wasn't an adult that asked, it's filed as "Child answered phone.  Call back to speak with adult."
Let me tell you about some studies that have been done through where I worked.
When I first started, we were doing a study about drugs and alchohol use in teenagers in Indiana.  We would call, give a detailed description of the questions to wary parents, and ask for permission for their children to participate.  We also asked for a name, any name, real or not, or even an initial, to use in case we were disconnected and had to call back.  This is where most started screaming that we were pedophiles, and were profiling their children.  Never mind that the caller ID held the name of a respected university in the area.  They said they wouldn't disclose their children's names to a stranger.  Meanwhile, their answering machine greets callers with the family's last name, and each member announcing their first name, before the standard message about not being there.  If you won't tell someone who gives you a reason for asking it, why will you record it on a message that anyone can hear?
After a short abscence, I returned to work, this time on a study about taxes.  We called around town to inquire about how people felt on state tax reform.  Again, people were highly abusive towards me, screaming and calling me foul names.  One family even had an air horn which they blared into the phone while I was unable to hang up due to policy about being rude to people.  Very few people answered, and those that did were uninterested and picked responses at random.  One answer won, merely by luck--to raise the sales tax from 5 to 6.  Immediately there was an outpouring of letters to the editor about the horrible nature of rigged surveys, and demands to know where these hokum results came from, demands to know why -they- weren't given the chance to answer.  We -did- give you a chance.  You and your air horn said no.
Well, now they're giving a survey about suicide in young people, and it's being done nation wide.  So when they wind up calling you, I want -all- the nation to be able to say they know someone who's committed suicide.  Please pass this on to at least three friends.  Remind the world that the way you treat others has an impact.  And when you see the sirens near 38th street, you'll know that there's one less person that'll call you.
I've been told to burn in hell for calling people so many times, at least all of you can take comfort from the fact that all suicides -do- go to hell.
Anna K.
http://i78.photobucket.com/albums/j96/storyofannak/annak2.png
http://i78.photobucket.com/albums/j96/storyofannak/annak.png

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