This was written with the people who are gagging on the very air they breathe in mind. If you are that person, then this was written specifically for you, right now, in this very moment.

I would like to start by acknowledging the burden that you’re hauling. Whether it be mental illness, tragedy, grief, guilt, worthlessness, hopelessness, or a solemn longing for the end, know that these feelings do not make you weak, nor do they make you any less worthy of living. You are a mathematical impossibility. The way your genes aligned, the sheer statistical impossibility of your conception, the way you are, and the events that have led you to this point, are all such an improbable circumstance that you yourself, in the exact way you are, happen to be a miracle. Billions of years of evolution, an infinite number of choices made throughout history, millions of loves, billions of moments… all of this has culminated in you. You are not a mistake. In fact, you have been shaped by elements, by war, by disaster, by love and hope and faith and justice, by all of human history, to survive. So though you may not feel strong, you are the product of millions of years of tenacity and strength, arriving in the present.

Keep this in mind as you read on.

That piece above was something I wish I’d said to a friend before she committed suicide several years ago. An amazing person, who many people considered an infinite good, was lost forever to us and to the rest of the world, which wasn’t as blessed as we were to know her. We know why she made the choice she made, and after several years of reflection, it seems important to share my thoughts on suicide itself.

So, let me explain what will happen after you commit suicide.

First, someone has to find you. Your mother, your sister, your father, your grandparents, your roommate, your neighbor… Someone will find your body and 911 will be called. An ambulance will arrive, and there will be dozens of people praying that they can resuscitate you, and that this was a mistake, and that you will be okay. Your family will follow you to the hospital, and they will be inconsolable in the emergency room. And when you are declared dead, there will be emotional breakdowns for weeks, and for the following years.

Those who love you will not be able to exist. Your family will be wondering what they missed, what went wrong, and what they should have done. Your friends will think of the last thing they said to you, and wish for the rest of their lives that they’d said something different, because maybe, just maybe, something different would have made you stay. Any notes you left, any things you’d given away, will not be enough. The memory of you will never be enough to replace your living, breathing self.

Yes, people heal. If you’re thinking to yourself “they’ll move on and be better off without me”, this isn’t true. This will be the demon that they will carry for the rest of their lives. It will be your older sister’s secret. Your mother’s reason for therapy. Your father’s nightmares for years. The reason for your friends to not be able to trust that the ones they love will wake up the next day.

Your death will fracture the lives of the people you love, who loved you. Suicide doesn’t make pain stop— it makes everything stop. And while that may sound appealing to the tired or those who feel like they cannot carry on anymore, that means this: there is no rest, no happiness, no shaking it off, no being okay. As far as we know for sure, suicide is the immense pain of ending your life followed by a blackness so black that you cannot be cognizant of its occurrence. However, this will not be the end of you. You’re going to always be carried on by those who loved you, but not as a source of joy. It will haunt them until the very day they die. You will be the ghost that torments them. There is nothing romantically tragic or graceful about suicide. Whenever suicide is committed, it destroys the well-being of everyone around them.

If you wanted to commit suicide tonight, I want you to think of a fire that ravages a forest. This fire is the situation inside you that is trying to consume you. Eventually, this fire will be controlled again. But yes, this forest will be charred and black. However, the trunks of these trees are still breathing. Saplings were planted because of fire, and eventually the ashes will be consumed by the life that springs up through and around them.

You will come back from this, if you only keep breathing.

One day, you could hold your child, your grandchild, your niece or nephew in your arms. You could fall asleep next to the love of your life, or visit ruins so old that God himself could have made them. You could stand on a mountain peak and scream your name into the sky, or have an office with a desk upon which sits a beveled name tag. Children could one day run to you, yelling your name before they grab a hold of your legs. You could have a teenager say that you are their inspiration. You could see your name in print or your picture on Times Magazine. You could own a home all your own, or be a prominent member of a church community. Your art could hang in museums or your plays could be staged. You could write the next great code, or save a life. You could find true rest and peace, the kind that death promises to give you through lies, in self-love and knowledge of your own strength.

However, none of this can happen if you are not here.

So if you must lie down and cry, let yourself. If you feel like you cannot do anything, let yourself. If you are grieving so heavily that you want to scream and curse God and kick, let yourself. Reach out to a friend or a loved one. Get help. Even if you are told to become an inpatient, it means you will still have a fighting chance.

Scream, cry, kick, bite, wallow, fall, be completely still. Do whatever you need to.

But do not kill yourself. Not tonight.