April was a considerably rough month for me. I woke up one rainy April morning and decided that I couldn't take the pressures of life anymore. I decided that, for some reason, I had enough.

I began my normal drive to work and decided that I had no desire to make it to work, and quite frankly, I had no desire to make it anywhere. So, that morning, I hurt myself the same way I had hurt myself when I was thirteen. Only this time, I had tried to seriously take my own life.

So clearly, I survived. What helped me survive was a week-long stay at a crisis center in New Jersey. I began the week sobbing at how I couldn't even kill myself right and ended the week wondering why I had tried to kill myself in the first place.

So what did staying in the psychiatric unit for a week teach me? In the simplest of terms, I learned about what I have to live for.

There were moments when I cried at the thought of my younger, impressionable cousins finding out what Stasia had done to herself. There were moments when I thought about how hard it would be for my family to put another soul gone too early underground.

I thought about all the years I put into school and how it would have been all for nothing if I didn't make a career for myself.

I relearned coping mechanisms that I had forgotten from so many years before. For example, I began to color pictures again. I still have the drawings and have promised myself to get at least one tattooed one day.

Movies and music were almost on non-stop; it was so care-free to not be only surrounded by your thoughts all day.

I was the queen of spades. People began to beg to be my partner, and I felt true happiness because I realized that, even though it was just a card game, I was amazing at it, and playing made me feel amazing.

When I was in the hospital, other patients helped me realize that I'm a better person than I give myself credit for, and I try to practice that with other people now. I don't dwell on their mistakes as much as I hope that we can all just help each other become better people.

My stay in the hospital was embarrassing to talk about because I didn't want people to know that I reached a breaking point in my life. But if me being open about this situation saves someone else's life, then I'm all for it. I truly mean that, and I encourage everyone to seek the help they need.

Everyone has demons that they're fighting off, and too many people realize too late that they didn't have to fight the battle alone.