"My heart broke for you."

I was 19 years old, and I had completely broken down. Again. The world around me that I thought I knew was crumbling to pieces. 

"You're worthless. You're good for nothing. You're worthless." 

These words rang over and over through my empty mind. 

I had just begun my third semester in college, and in every class, I found myself writing my suicide letter. The date would be the anniversary of my dad's suicide. Halloween. Might as well make it dramatic. 

The week before Halloween, I showed a therapist my letter. I convinced him that I wasn't serious. That it was all a joke.

He let me walk out in this state. 

When Halloween came, I got drunk. I ran up this street, with no shoes, no jacket, no dignity. Three cops stopped and asked me what I was doing, if I'd come off my meds, if I needed to go to the hospital. I walked away. 

A woman got out of her car and asked me if I was all right, asked if I wanted food. I ran away. I was shaking, sweating, biting back my last tears. In my mind, I wasn't allowed to cry. This was what I deserved. 

I started to walk out in front of a car. 

The car came to a stop, and someone got out. It was the same lady from before. She rushed out of the car, threw her jacket on me, and held me as a cried. 

She said, "When I saw you, my heart broke for you." 

She gave me new life. 

She gave me a seed of hope to plant. 

Today, I am 22 years old. After various hospital stays, various treatments, I am still on the path to recovery.

To this very day, I still hold her words close to my heart. Every time I dream about ending the suffering I endure every day, I envision that angel who saved me. 

I remember her holding me as I cried. 

I remember how truly promising life can be even when the room is dim.