When my uncle lost his life to suicide, no one sugarcoated his death to me. I was 13, yet I was told all the details of it. I was only told the details once, which is why 10 years later, my mom was shocked when I could recount exactly what I was told.

The gruesome details are what we remember. But I had a woman get mad at me for a story I wrote about a young man's death for telling how he did it.

Like I have said before, I write memorial stories about those who commit suicide because I believe everyone deserves to be recognized for the life they lived after they die. But I also don't want anyone to wrongly think suicide equals fame.

Suicide is gruesome. It's not short and sweet, sending you off to a perfect dreamland with ponies and rainbows and fame here on earth. And, to tell you the truth, if I could scare someone out of doing it, I think it was well worth it.

By attempting suicide, half of your skull could be missing, you could be unrecognizable, slowly bleed to death or become severely mentally impaired for the rest of your life. It's painful.

Honestly, I think suicide is something several of us have thought about at least once when we think, "Everything would be easier if I just wasn't here. I just want the pain to go away."

But then I thought about the actual pain of doing it.

And I knew, what if, in the middle of it, I change my mind. And there's no turning back.

Trust me, when your life flashes before your eyes, you'll wish you could turn back. I know a man who committed suicide by slitting his wrists. And, while investigating, the police found that he had tried to stop the blood. He tried to clot it; he tried to save himself...

Because, in the middle of it, he changed his mind.