[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]