I'm happy that you grew to understand what people like me go through.

When I'm depressed and stressed, I think about suicide as a way out. But thinking about suicide actually makes me more depressed, more hopeless.

Suicide used to be an option for me. Then I tried it- failed - and when my mom found out she cried so hard she vomited. I really love my mother. She's the person whose emotions I feel most in synch with. When she's in a bad mood- I can tell. When I was a kid, she could make me cry with a look of disappointment. My worst nightmares have always been dreams of her dying. So seeing her bent over the kitchen sink while I stood a few feet away crying through the numbness of my depression really changed my perspective on my own suicide.

I've experienced what most suicidal people never will - a taste of the aftermath of my death and I didn't like it one bit. So: Suicide is not an option anymore.

But the thoughts still come up again. It is overwhelmed panic where the only way out seems to be six feet down. The thoughts resurface, but that path feels as equally closed off as all the others, and I feel even more trapped like I am standing in a box barely big enough to hold me.

But at least I am alive. And at least my mom is happy.