They say prevention is better than the cure, but how do you cure a house once its foundation is already ash?

Think about the boy who just wanted the dark thoughts to stop. He thought he was striking a match to burn away his own suffering, but fire does not respect boundaries. It did not just consume him. It crawled beneath the bedroom door, raced down the hallway, and swallowed his entire family.

That is the brutal truth about the flame. You think you are blowing out the candle just to get some peace, but you may be setting the rest of the house ablaze.

I am not going to stand here and pretend I have walked in your shoes. I will not offer you empty clichés or insult your intelligence by acting like I know even half of what you are surviving today.

I don't.

But I need to be completely candid with you: no matter how deep the trench is, no matter how suffocating the misery feels right now, ending your life is not an escape route.

It is irreversible.

And the devastation does not end with you. It is handed to the people left behind; the unanswered questions, the guilt, the anger, the memories, the unbearable wondering of whether they could have done something differently.

And worse, you rob yourself.

You risk the future you have not yet met. You trade every tomorrow, every possibility that the script could flip, every person you have not yet loved and every version of yourself you have not yet become, for a permanent ending to a temporary chapter.

I know it hurts right now. More than words can hold. But please, don't let a storm convince you that there is no sky beyond it.

Stay. Just stay.