The first time I tried to take my life I was 17 years old. I wrote a note and made a plan. I collected what I needed to execute said plan, and I headed to a nearby park where I made a suicide attempt.
But a strange thing happened that warm June day. While I gave in and attempted to give up, I didn’t die. I woke up, very much alive.
And though a part of me was relieved, I was also terrified. Nineteen years have passed and I am still terrified. Why? Because things didn’t change when I got up and woke up.
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