I hate when people tell me they know how I feel and that they understand … whenthey can’t know, because they haven’t been in my situation. They may try to understand but they can’t because they don’t know how I feel. The problem is no one ever says or tries to “understand” when I tell them I tried to kill myself.

It had been months that I was feeling alone, empty, helpless, scared and just numb. I wanted to die. I wanted to disappear … get away from the world. I had thought abut what I could do.

It was a Tuesday night. For a couple weeks I had tried to figure out what to tell people. I need to have a final goodbye. So I wrote a letter for everyone who I couldn’t leave without a reason. I finished cleaning my room and when I was in the kitchen, I scribbled “Love ya, Sorry. Bye.” on a piece of paper and taped it to the fridge.

I had stared to carry out my plan when the phone rang. It was my dad. He was worried about me – didn’t seem right at dinner. I cried so hard and told him. He rushed away from work, staying on the phone the whole time. He took me to the hospital, told me how much he loved me and how he understood.

I awoke in a hospital bed staring, my best friend beside me. I don’t know how he knew I was there. But he didn’t leave my side all night. Even through all the doctors asking me “why” and me not having a “good” enough reason, people supported me. The phone rang … somehow, that was my reason, and I’m happy about that.

I now have new ways to deal. I have help and people to watch out for me. I just wish that it didn’t take an attempt on my own life to see it. I knew all the help was out there but I hadn’t realized how much being around meant to me until I almost wasn’t.

The best I’ve done for myself was to answer that phone.

Female, 17 years old