"KMS," she types as the caption of a Snapchat she's about to send to her friend, on top of a picture of a stack of homework.

"KMS," for those about to Google it, means "kill myself."

Just like that, because homework, you know, is that hard.

Though you might not take it seriously, and though you might not actually send it with the intentions of that severity, but rather a casual joking matter of how busy and stressed and overwhelmed you may be, have you ever stopped to think about that? About the words that you are saying? The words that quite literally mean, this homework is so hard that I literally would rather not live another second of my life than do it.

What?

I'm sorry, but no. This is our problem. We cannot see past the surface of anything. We undervalue life, we undervalue joy, we undervalue relationships, meaningful conversations, and suffering.

I have attended a more than a few funerals in my 19 years of living. Of those, too many have been celebrations of life for those who left too soon. This is a story about one. It was the funeral of a young man, loved by so many, whose smile lit up every room, and who's laugh was one that was infinitely contagious. It was a funeral of a young man who had come to the conclusion that his life just wasn't worth living.

I can vividly remember walking around the church, at the hundreds of flower baskets that trailed up and down the walls where the line wrapped, while a slideshow of his radiant smile was plastered in every picture.

A baby picture came up, with blue ice cream smeared across his face, and childlike joy plastered from cheek to cheek. I lost it. There was no way it was meant to be like this. It wasn't supposed to end like this.

And at that moment, I knew in my heart it wasn't supposed to be like this. That's not how his life was meant to end. He was loved by so many. His life had infinite value. There was so much good he had left to do.

That's the thing that we don't address enough. Our lives are infinitely valuable.