09/02/2026
September is Su***de Prevention Month, and I don’t think people will ever truly understand why this month means so much to me unless they’ve lived through the things I have. My name is Faith. I’m 16 years old. And behind that name is a girl who has spent years fighting battles that most people never saw.
I’ve been bullied for what feels like my entire life. I know what it’s like to have someone’s words follow you home. I know what it’s like to look in the mirror and believe the horrible things people have said about you. I know what it’s like to feel completely alone in a room full of people. There was a time when I genuinely didn’t believe I would make it past third grade. I was just a little girl. I should have been worried about school, playing with my friends, and being a kid, not wondering whether I was good enough to deserve a place in this world.
And then I’ve had to experience a kind of heartbreak that I wish nobody ever had to know. I’ve lost friends to su***de. People I cared about. People who had smiles, dreams, families, and entire futures ahead of them. People who deserved to know just how deeply they were loved. Losing someone that way changes you. It leaves you with memories you would give anything to revisit and conversations you wish you could have one more time. Sometimes I think about the people I’ve lost and wish I could go back for just a moment, not to change their story, but to tell them, “You matter. You are loved. Please don’t face this alone.”
Those losses have taught me something I will never forget: you never truly know what someone is carrying behind their smile. The person laughing beside you could be hurting. The person who says they’re fine might desperately need someone to ask again. The person who seems like they have everything together might be fighting a battle nobody knows about. That’s why kindness matters. That’s why checking on people matters. That’s why we have to stop being afraid to say, “I’m here. Talk to me.”
And to the little girl I used to be, the girl who didn’t think she’d make it past third grade, I wish I could sit beside her and tell her everything she couldn’t see yet. I’d tell her that the words people used to hurt her weren’t the truth. I’d tell her that she wasn’t ugly, annoying, worthless, or unlovable. I’d tell her that she would grow up and find pieces of herself she didn’t even know existed. I’d tell her that one day she’d have things she was passionate about, people who would cheer for her, dreams she’d chase, and reasons to wake up excited for another day. I’d tell her that the pain wouldn’t always feel this heavy.
Most importantly, I’d tell her to stay.
So if you’re reading this and you’re struggling right now, please don’t make a permanent decision based on a temporary moment of pain. You don’t have to figure out your entire future tonight. You don’t have to pretend you’re okay. You don’t have to carry everything alone. Tell somebody. Let somebody sit with you. Let somebody help you. And if the first person doesn’t understand, please tell another person. Keep telling people until somebody listens.
Because there is a version of you that hasn’t existed yet. There are places you haven’t seen, people you haven’t met, dreams you haven’t chased, laughs you haven’t laughed, memories you haven’t made, and beautiful moments you haven’t even imagined yet.
I know because I’m living proof.
I once thought I wouldn’t make it past third grade. Now I’m 16, standing here with a life I never thought I’d have. I’m not saying everything is perfect. I’m saying I’m still here. And every day I’m here is another day the people who tried to break me didn’t win.
To every friend I’ve lost, I love you. I remember you. And I wish you were still here.
To the little girl I used to be: I’m proud of you for holding on.
And to anyone who feels like they can’t hold on anymore: please stay. Let someone help you carry it. Your story isn’t finished. There are still pages left to write.
You are not a burden. You are not your worst day. You are not the things people have said about you.
You are still here. And that means there is still hope. 🤍
