I'm not saying what happened to me happens to everyone, but it's important to know that it could have been you. And to all those who were me, and I was them, keep on going. Living is the best action to take.

When I was 14 I was surfing the popular social network, Instagram, on the 'explore' page, clicking on random pictures. One got me quite taken back. The tags read “depression”, “cutting”, and “suicide”. As of today there are over six million posts on Instagram that are tagged “depression” and over four million posts with the tag “suicide”. Like any other curious teenager I traced the post to it's profile. Most of their posts were bleak and dark. In the biography on the top was a date. I knew what it meant. March 23 was the day of her planned suicide. There was also a number. I copied it into my phone and decided to text it.
“Hey,” I typed.
“Hi. Who is this?” she asked.
I paused before typing, “My name is Autumn,” I paused again. “I found your profile on ig.” Send. Then I added, “Don't do it.”
“You wouldn't be texting me if I didn't.”
“You're right. I wouldn't be able to.” I couldn't think of anything else to say. It was true. But I knew she wouldn't have put her number there if she didn't want help. She wanted someone to talk to. Me. I was going to do it. I was going to stop her from taking her own life. “You wouldn't have put your number there if you didn't want help.”
“You can't help me. I am going to do it. I don't deserve to live.”
“I know you are here for a reason, everyone is. It's just that you haven't found what that is yet.”
“Yeah right.”
“I have to go. But I'm going to text you everyday to see how you are doing.” I got no response.
I kept my promise. Everyday after school I would text her. But I felt like I wasn't making any progress.
March 23 seemed to be playing tug a war with me and it was winning. I asked her why that day. Why so specific? She told me that was the day her mother died. When I heard that my chest felt bruised, yet hollow. To that all I could say was, “I’m sorry.”
The day is March 22. The day before a teenage girl planned on taking her life. I was doing everything I could to stop it. But how much could I do to help someone over three hundred miles away? I felt that if I couldn't do this, if I couldn't stop her, that it would be me killing her. One last chance. That's all I had.

I was bigger than all the other kids, I had always been that way. Taller and wider. I was a kid, what was I supposed to do about it? The only people that had a problem with this was my father and, at the time, his girlfriend Tricia. I called her the She-Beast. I had a passion for hating her. As did my mother and my grandmother, although it wasn't as strong as mine. The first two years, easy.
The She-Beast had two sons, Devlin and Zach. Devlin wasn't so bad. Zach was a demon child. He was the source of many problems of mine. But he wasn't the only one.
I remember being in the car and my dad teasing me on my 'rolls'. Not something you say to an elementary student. It wasn't a 'so what you're chubby' kind of thing. It was a 'blink the tears away, fast' kind of thing. I bet the She-Beast wouldn't have said that to the demon child.
The demon child. He was annoying beyond belief. I swear he did everything in his first grade power to annoy me. It wasn't just that. He would say things about me at school. Things such as me trying to get him sick and how much I weighed. First, that is not true, I just forgot to put an ice pack in his lunch. Second that was none of his business.
At school I just wanted to be accepted. How was I supposed to do that with him saying things? I already didn't have any real friends. My best friend was Jamie. But I didn't tell her these things like I was supposed to. Instead I told my mom and grandma. My favorite people. The only people I had. There was nothing they could do about it. If they told my dad I would get yelled at for telling them something that wasn't their business. Inside me sat an empty, hopeless heart. This powerlessness continued into middle school.
By the time middle school came the She-Beast and her children were gone, but the pain wasn't. The bus is when a lot of it happened.
“Hey! The big one. Yeah you, move out the way fatty,” said one seventh grader.
“And here comes Autumn Castillo weighing in at three tons.” The one that said that was supposed to be one of my brothers friends. So I told my brother. He didn't care.
In seventh grade one kid said that t I looked just like Charlie Shupernickle (protecting identities.) I didn't know who that was. But then my friend said, “He's calling you fat.”
The fat jokes didn't hurt as much as the times where I was told to kill myself. My brother told me that one many, many times. Not only did I cry, I tried. So. Many. Times.
The best decision I made was never pulling the belt I put around my neck hard enough. I had met my best friend. That's when everything changed. Because of her I found why I was here.
                                                                            
If I could do it, so could Mckenna, that was her name. I texted her that day just like any other day, but this time with a little extra hope. I got nothing, not until the next day.
March 23. The day. Hope energized my racing heart. The first text I sent, “Don't do it. Please.”
Nothing.
“You have so much to live for, you just gotta find it.”
Be-de-bop. My phone buzzed. With my breath held, I opened the text, “I've decided to stick around a little while longer.”
Oxygen seeped into my lungs and relief filled my heart. “I'm proud of you!! What changed your mind?”
“You. Well and my other friend. Thank you.”
I let out a deep breath while nodding my head. To myself I whispered, “Alright.”