This topic is incredibly hard to talk about. But if it can save one life, it is worth it.

When I was 15, I was diagnosed with depression as well as an eating disorder and body dysmorphic disorder. Not exactly the best way to start out high school. I was reeling from the death of my grandpa, who was one of my best and most cherished friends. Things got worse as the year progressed. When I was 16, my best friend suggested I see someone about it. So I began going to therapy. And although it did help, I still had a hard time articulating what I felt. But life was still doable.

At that age, I entered into a pretty serious relationship. Already in an unhealthy mental state, this was the opposite of what I needed. It was rocky. I was emotionally and verbally abused. I was told I was fat, that I wasn't pretty enough to date based on my looks, and that I was stupid. Quite frequently. All by my boyfriend. My friends asked me why I didn't just leave him. He told me many times that if I did leave him, he would kill himself. All of these things culminated into immense pain and it got to the point where I was tired of feeling. I felt too much and I wanted it all to stop. So I made a plan.

I was going to kill myself.

I was going to swallow chemicals.

I took it so far as to write a suicide note that spoke to each family member. I talked about why I wasn't good enough for each one of them and why they deserved better. The next few weeks were very difficult. I remember sitting on the floor crying and telling my mom that I had thoughts of suicide. I think it was then when she realized how serious the situation was.

I still don't really know to this day what stopped me from doing it. At the time, I thought i was too much of a coward to go through with it. But whatever happened, I decided to live.

A few days ago, my mom pulled something out of her purse and asked me to read it. It was the suicide note I wrote. I don't know how she found it or how long she kept it, but when she showed it to me, I broke down. All of those feelings came rushing back, and yet it was like I was looking at my suicidal self through a snow globe. I could see the pain that I was going through but I could also see the other side.

I was glad Mom showed that to me. It made me realize how far I've come in eight years. It made me grateful for what I have now and all the things that have happened since then, both good and bad. And as hard as it was and as dark as I felt, I am glad my life has turned out the way it did.

Eight years ago, I made a choice. As difficult as it was, I chose to live through the pain. And slowly, the pain has healed. And I am so glad.