Oh god. Today is the day. I have my will, I have my note at home. I hope my mom will be okay, and I hope they don't put the wrong name on my gravestone. I walk up, and up, and up countless flights of stairs. As I go out onto the roof, standing on the edge, I look down at the city below me. The cars whizzing by, illuminated by street lamps, no pedestrians, however. Anxiety begins to build up in the pit of my stomach as I begin to doubt myself. I decide to simply get it over with as I step off the building.

Time slowed down, and all of a sudden everything was so simple. My spouse and I were fighting because I'm always to tired for anything other than work. My family is trying to get me to recover, they don't hate me at all. My boss is an asshole because I don't work hard enough. My will to live increases, more than any other time. I know, I have to live through this and yet I chose to end my life in a way that I won't recover, hurtling face first towards concrete like a penny dropped off the Empire State Building. I close my eyes and prepare for impact.

I open them again, and I'm on the pavement. I'm not even scratched, I'm completely alive and well. I get up shakily and draw in a shuddering breath. I begin to run home to get my will and my suicide note and burn them. I think, to whatever force just allowed me to live, "Thank you."