I was sixteen when I first became subject to suicide’s seduction. Instead of dreaming of prom and boys, I was constantly contemplating all the reasons I should take my own life. When I would lose control of my emotions and the ability to hold back tears, I sometimes thought of ending my life.

Ending the pain was the only thing that could quiet the screaming of my mind.

Suicide became my sanctuary, and it spiraled so out of control that it was no longer only a reoccurring thought, but instead my best friend, my lifeline to hold when everything was falling apart.

I remember slumping down the halls of high school, feeling as if I was a ghost among the living. I was surrounded by so many, but never in my life had I felt so alone. It seemed as if everyone was smiling while I was dying, right before their eyes that stared, but never seemed to blink.

They knew something was wrong, it was inevitable not to. I had dropped twenty pounds over the span of two weeks, and my cheeks were constantly stained with crusted tears.

The bags under my eyes seemed to seep to my skeleton, and my stare was so cold I made the walls grow warm with envy.

Yet, no matter how obvious my struggle became, the less and less people offered their support. Maybe it was because the severity of my signs scared everyone, maybe it was because no one wanted to get too close out of fear that my blood would end up on their hands. I will never know for sure, but what I am sure of is that this can be prevented from happening again.

Mental illness is complex and terrifying, that’s indisputable. But, lowering a casket into the ground that imprisons a young girl who replaced the world in her hands with slits in her wrists is even more horrific. I am lucky enough to have found help before it was too late, but that was something I sought myself.

I knew my time wasn’t done in the world, and every day I am so grateful I succumbed to that realization, because if I hadn’t I would have never been admitted to the university of my dreams, my baby brother would have never been able to meet his proud sister, but most importantly, I never would have realized just how beautiful life is after staring death in the eyes for so long.

Of course, many are not as fortunate as me. They are not able to escape the strangulation, and eventually they become another victim of a beautiful life cut abruptly by an ugly disease. Suicide will always be around to slither and stalk, but with the knowledge of recognizing warning signs and offering support its strength can be diminished to prevent another teenager’s life from ending, right before it’s about to begin.