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She sobbed until her nose ran and her throat was sore, and she hit her fist against the fragile black desk, cursing the day her thoughts had overridden her logic.   She sought help before she pulled the trigger and read that, "Suicide is not chosen, it happens when pain exceeds resources for coping." and these words brought her back to reality, and those words made her cry harder.

Death would not relieve her pain and pills could only do so much.  There was no escape from life, because even running away couldn't suffocate the guilt and anxiety, nor the sickness inside her head.  There was no hope except for the hopes and dreams of the future-- these were the things that kept her breathing.

She splashed her face with water and stared at herself in the mirror.  Her red nose, bloodshot eyes, cherry lips and thought about the future.  Than she put down the gun, returned the pills to the container, threw away the razor, stepped back from the cliff and walked away...and kept on living.

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