[MUSIC PLAYING]

I remember when my father asked me to stay, stay up all night to watch fireflies.

I didn't want to, but he was right. It was the most magical thing I'd seen.

My mother asked me to stay, stay patient until the chickens got here. I just wanted to pull them out of their eggs and play. I was so glad I waited. [CHIRPING]

This kid I knew asked me to stay on his team. We lost the game, but he became my best friend.

And when I became a teenager, everyone kept telling me to stay. Stay focused. Stay out of trouble. Stay faithful. And all I could think of was the stress, the pressure, the expectations.

Things I used to be excited about now seem nothing like I'd imagined--pointless, heavy. And then people asked, "How are you?" And I said, "Fine." And people said, "Is there anything I can do for you?" And I said, "No." I tried to smile and hide my darkness.

I remember waking up on my 17th birthday wanting to end my life because I felt so much pain, because I felt nothing.

So I decided to tell others how I feel, bring everything hidden into the light, because I knew one of them could help.

I remember my dad holding me, my mom, and my sister. Now they ask me to stay around for another moment, for another agonizing week, month, even if I couldn't see that tomorrow will get better. And I realized that somewhere in between my new dark existence and all those beautiful moments that I've experienced in the past, I forgot something.

I didn't have to stay alone.

The pain doesn't fully go away. It still takes many endless conversations, therapy, prayers, medication. But as time goes on, I choose to stay hopeful. I choose to stay; to experience small, simple things I love; to see new places, meet new people; to discover who I am; to be surprised; to be loved. You can choose to stay, too. [MUSIC PLAYING]