“Don’t jump!”

I yell out.  I don’t know if I’m being heard.

“You have so much to live for!  So many things you have yet to accomplish.  Your life isn’t over, it’s just beginning.  You haven’t found love, you haven’t found your career, you haven’t found happiness.  Those things all seem so unattainable now, but I promise you, all of that is possible.

The sadness that you feel now will end.  You will finally feel hope and love.  You will notice everyone who cares about you, and you will know that their love is genuine.  Those feelings of hurt that you think are neverending.  That pain you force onto yourself.  That can end.  The countless times that you told your parents that you were fine, but you knew that wasn’t true.  The times you melted in the summer heat while wearing sweatshirts and pants to cover your cut up wrists and legs.  The lies that you told your parents, that this was the last time, that you wouldn't hurt yourself again.  The blood soaked tissues that you hid at the bottom of your trash can. Those cuts, those scars.  They are symbols for everything that you’ve been through. They are a representation of your strength, your will to go on.  Don’t let that be in vain.  Prove to everyone that you are stronger.  That you can beat this."

I hope that I am heard.  I hope that she can understand. 

"Suicide may seem like the best option.  You have considered it more times than you can count.  Thoughts of how you would do it, the possible methods of self-destruction.  You have thought about what you would leave behind.  How you would fit all of your thoughts and feelings onto a single letter addressed to your parents.  Everything that you've experienced, everything that you haven't shared with them until now."

My words are sharp and powerful.  They reach into the soul and make her contemplate her choices.  They make her think about every decision she's made leading up to this moment.  She is on the edge, looking down on the city, watching people go about their days, not even noticing the depressed teenager on the roof. 

She thinks about her parents.  They're sitting at their business meetings, not even realizing that their daughter won’t be there when they get home. 

She thinks about her future, her true love that she's leaving behind, without even saying hello.  She is leaving everyone behind, without even giving them a chance to help.  She imagines the words of encouragement they could give.  You can beat this.  You will survive another day at school and be able to do that class presentation.  She imagines the warm hugs and encouraging smiles from her friends.  Their love brings her strength.  It brings her hope.  Hope for better days.  Days where she can be free of self-harassment and anxiety over a math test.  When she can just be happy.  That hope for happiness gives her life. 

And then I blink.

I can see the light for the first time.  The street beneath me, the racing cars driving past.  I can hear the comforting voices of my family in my ears.  I picture their loving faces in my mind. 

And, as I step down from the edge of the roof, I decide to live.