Imagine this. You're in your room, sitting at your desk, wiping the tears from your eyes as you attempt to write the letter that explained everything. Your suicide letter.

You write about how you're never happy anymore, that this is the only option, and that you're sorry. You write that it was about you, not your family, friends, or anyone else.

As you finish the letter, you think that nobody would care, that no one's like would change. Right? So you take the pills, the whole bottle, and fall into a darkness, taking your last breath.

Your sister comes in to wake you up the next morning, When you don't wake up, she gets worried, and calls your mother in. She realizes what happened when your mother screams.

Your father runs into the room, and sees your body, your note. He blames himself and starts crying. He punches a wall, while your mother sits there, holding you.

Your sister is still just standing there, frozen. She can't accept this. She refuses to believe what she is seeing. She starts shaking you, trying to wake you up. When your father calls the police and takes her away, she starts screaming at you to wake up.

School starts. Your desk is empty, and your best friend texts you, asking where you are. They get no reply.

A police officer comes into the classroom, with a grim look on his face. He tells that class of your death. The class gasps, everyone starts crying, and your best friend faints.

It's your funeral now. Everyone is there. People who barely knew you are there, sobbing. Your best friend is by your coffin, looking at you. She is devastated.

Your family is there, trying to be brave. Your little brother, only three years old, keeps asking your mother why you won't wake up, and why everyone's watching you take a nap. Your mother doesn't know how to tell him that you're never waking up.

Fast forward two months. Your room is still there, untouched. No one can bring themselves to clean it out.

Your sister sits in her room, with a gun in her lap. She can't cope with the pain of losing you, and she kills herself.

Your mother has crippling depression, and hasn't been okay since the day you died.

Your father starts drinking, and mentally abandons your family, unsure of what else to do.

Your little brother keeps asking when you're coming home, not realizing that you never will.

Your best friend, she turned to drugs to cope. Her family sends her off to rehab, not knowing what else to do with her.

Everyone in your school is affected, and no one knows how to deal with you not being there every day.

Everyone. Is. Affected.

Now, imagine this. You're writing your suicide letter. You take a long look at it, crumple it up, and throw it away. You go downstairs, tell your mother exactly what is wrong, and get help.

Everyone's life stays the same, except yours. Yours gets better.