During my final year of college, my life began to spiral. I grew up in a home filled with constant conflict—daily arguments, emotional strain, and an atmosphere that never seemed to lift. For me, dysfunction became normal. I couldn’t imagine a happy family because I had never experienced one.

Over time, the weight of it all became too much. I was exhausted from pretending everything was okay. I lost hope that things would ever change, and I believed I was destined for a life of sadness. I looked into the future and saw nothing but darkness. With no peace at home and no one to turn to, I made a painful decision: I would end my life.

Influenced by stories in the media, I planned to take an overdose of sleeping pills. Since I couldn’t buy many from a single pharmacy, I went from shop to shop, gathering enough to ensure I wouldn’t wake up. I hid them in my backpack, thinking I’d quietly leave this world.

That night, I slept peacefully—believing it would be my last. The next morning, I smiled like always. I didn’t want anyone to suspect anything. I got dressed, boarded the bus, and headed to college, thinking it would be my final day. On the outside, nothing seemed unusual. Inside, I was falling apart.

Throughout the morning, I battled with mixed emotions—part of me wanted to escape the pain, but another part of me longed for something better. I kept checking the time, waiting for break. I opened my backpack repeatedly to make sure the pills were still there.

Then, something unexpected happened.

A group of students entered our classroom and announced a sudden protest. We were told to leave our bags and gather outside. Reluctantly, I left my backpack behind. After several hours of discussion between the student leaders and the principal, the protest was dismissed. Tired from standing in the sun, we returned to class.

As I walked in, I saw my desk mate holding my backpack. She looked at me—confused and concerned. When I asked what she was doing, she didn’t respond with words. She slapped me, then silently held up the pills.

She hugged me tightly and burst into tears. I was shocked. I had never shared my pain with anyone. I always wore a smile. She had opened my bag looking for a snack, like she usually did, but instead found a cry for help I didn’t know how to express.

That moment changed everything. Someone finally saw me. I was both relieved and ashamed. I had to go back to the same broken home, but something inside had shifted.

Things at home got even worse—my father left us for a time. I was struggling to pass my final subject, and it felt like the last straw. On the day of the exam, I had a 102°F fever. I gave it my best but walked out unsure if I’d passed.

As I waited for results, something unexpected arrived—a Christian magazine addressed to me. Inside was a verse: “I will show you wonders.” I don’t know who sent it or how it came, but it felt like God Himself was speaking directly to me.

When the results came, I had passed. Against all odds, I made it. That verse wasn’t just a coincidence—it was a promise. That was the beginning of my journey of faith. Jesus met me in my darkest moment and gave me a new beginning. Just as He promised, I am blessed today by the wonder-working power of Jesus Christ.

Today, I’m not the girl with a backpack full of pills. I’m a woman with a heart full of gratitude and a life filled with purpose. Jesus saved me, and He continues to guide me.

If you’re in the dark, there is hope. Try Jesus. He is good.