Honestly, it was a mix of not wanting to hurt my mother that way and one really stupid thing I did that made me reflect a bit on my life and realize there was still so much I want to do before I go.
One day maybe five or six years ago I was really upset and wanted to cut (I had been doing that for a while), but each time it was taking more cuts and more blood to get the same sort of "high" that dulled the emotional pain.
I think I might have even been addicted to it at that point, and I decided to try a new way of cutting in hopes it would work better.
So I dismantled a new disposable razor and used one of the paper thin blades to cut my arm where I usually did.
Now normally I used a diabetic testing lancet thing and needed a fair bit of pressure, so I applied the same pressure to that razor and it cut far deeper than I meant it to.
I remember sitting there watching it just bleed and bleed, it soaked through two large bandage pads before it finally slowed down and clotted.
I was panicking and wondering what if I needed stitches, how would I ever be able to explain it to my mother, what if they committed me and I had to stay in for a few days....and freaking out about all those things that should be insignificant if I really wanted to die made me realize how much I actually wanted to live...and how much I still had to live for.