Almost two years ago, the place I once called home began crashing down beside me while I was surrounded by flames. Who knew that with my suicidal ideologies I would clench on to my life as my lungs began to fill with smoke. When I was standing outside in a blizzard with a t-shirt, pyjama pants and no shoes on screaming while on the phone with 911, I watched all my childhood memories, home, and everything I've ever owned burn in front of me. The firefighters, the media, the company who salvaged anything they could and the town couldn't stop saying how lucky my step dad and I are to be alive; that we should not be here today, but we have an angel watching over us. The girl who who was hospitalized for attempted suicide and depression four months before this incident was begging for her life and is so thankful to be here today. I have learned that I am meant to be here, that I have a purpose. Who knew that being so close to death because of something I had no control over would make me love life, and everything about it. It was the fire that took everything, but gave me everything all at the same time.