I find it hard to breathe as hot tears roll down my cheeks. My chest becomes tight with every inhale and I can feel my legs shaking uncontrollably. The sleeve of my sweatshirt has become my tissue, as there is nothing else around me in the car. My blanket is in my lap and my hands are trembling underneath. I’m terrified, and it shows. 

We sit in the parking lot of the hospital for roughly twenty minutes. In complete silence I slowly process what is becoming of me. I am a mess. Mascara trails ran down my face and my nose was red with distress. I took deep breaths, trying to calm myself down, but how can one feel calm when their life had almost ended for good?

My mom looks at me with tears in her eyes. “Ready?” She asks. How could I ever feel ready enough to spend the next three days away from home, locked in a room with nothing but my thoughts. I was terrified of what would happen if I were to leave that car in that moment, so I didn’t move. I sat completely still, fearing to make any sudden movements. With an occasional shuffle made from someone in the car, we sat pondering our thoughts. And at that moment, I knew what I needed. I needed my grandparents. 

We drove directly to their house. Within two minutes flat, we were parked in their driveway. My mom held my hand as we made our way inside, and I felt nervous to hear what my grandparents would have to say to me. Yet at the same time, I just needed to feel their touch. I was tired of listening to people give me reasons to be alive, at the end of the day I just wanted to feel it physically. To be held by people who have always given me reasons to keep pushing through. 

My grandma was sitting on the couch, my grandpa right next to her. At that moment I couldn’t bring myself to do anything but cry and run into their arms. I felt all of my worries slip away as she simply held me and stroked my hair. My grandpa talked me down and helped me gain perspective on what was truly going on in my head. It felt so easy to talk to them, and looking around the living room, I had never felt so at home. 

I spent hours sitting on that couch, fearing the decision I had almost made. I had listened to them not give me reasons to live, but simply help me with what I was going through. They cleared my mind before filling it with more words and information. I felt so peaceful in that moment. I felt my grandma’s fingers travel up and down my wrist, my hands. I began to carefully listen to what they were saying. “We need you to stick around Miss Sydney.” Those words rang in my ears like an alarm. I could hear them begin to echo as I truly soaked them in and understood what they meant. They needed me. To provide laughter, to lighten the mood with sarcasm, to show up to family dinners, to simply be there. I needed to stick around, for the long haul. 

I had never done that much crying as I did that night. The night I almost killed myself I did a lot of thinking. I thought about my future, what I want to accomplish. I thought about what I have to look forward to, things to bring me hope. I thought about people who needed me to stick around, to be here for them. I thought about ways to help me cope, how I can get past this. I also thought about how I couldn’t wish this onto my worst enemy. I had never seen my family so scared, and I had never felt more broken. That night I felt grateful for the support system I have, and how they will always be here for me. More importantly, that night I felt peace for the first time in months. Sitting on that couch with my grandparents did more for me than help me work through a tough time, it saved my life. 

Depression is a real thing. Suicidal thinking exists and should be treated as serious as a physical disease. That night, December 29th, I could have died, but I didn’t.  I’m alive and I plan on keeping it that way, for the long haul.