I was 12 years old. I remember banging on the bathroom door, shouting for her to open up. She was crying, I was angry--truthfully, I was annoyed. I knew the bullying was bad but that day it reached new highs. She kept saying if she had a hit list she would put herself at the top. I couldn't understand it--why would anyone choose death? Suicide just wasn't something that happened, it didn't make sense. But of course it happened (it happened to my great-grandmother, after all). Of course it didn't make sense. "Don't be selfish!" I shouted through the closed door. Eventually she gave in, and we moved on and never spoke about it again. She survived, and years later so would I when roles were reversed and I needed a guardian angel to tell me not to go. The voices of our inner demons are loud and can be overwhelming. Sometimes you just really need that one voice that's louder than the rest to convince you that you matter--that you're important, that you're special and unique and "the world would not be the same if you had not been born into it."