I know what it's like to be a teen trying to decide whether to live or commit suicide.
At 16-years old, I was ready to kill myself rather than hear and feel glass cutting my mind and feeling the blood oozing from each cut. As I experienced my mind as a battlefield, I was exhausted from seeing Hitler beckon me to hell, ready to give up after first seeing baseballs and later knives and long shards of glass flying at my face when I closed my eyes to sleep, and more.
At death's last disputed barricade, I in final, silent desperation cried, "God, if you're real, please help!"
I then heard three gentle words say, "Rest, My Child."
I immediately fell into a peaceful sleep, free of the torment that held me in insomniac terror.
Before those words entered my spirit mind, I had little sleep in a long while, with sleeplessness stealing my last reserves over 72-hours. It was literally impossible to sleep, to find any peace, and I was willing to die rather than experience any more torment.
For me, it's hard to fathom why so few of us are willing to ask if God is real or to ask for help. Our best thinking got us into these incurable messes and 'thinking' our way out with the mind that got us there was a little unlikely.
For details of this story, look for the chapter of my book that says, "Rest, My Child."
Here's the link to my book of miracles. Give peace a chance: