Some of them don't. I've lost three friends to suicide growing up. One of them was my best friend when we were thirteen. Her home life was the worse I've ever seen, even to this day. I should've seen it coming but I didn't. I wish I could've helped her, but I didn't. So many people failed her like they failed my other two friends. If they would've had just one adult to fend for them, maybe things wouldn't have gotten so bad and they'd be here. Maybe we'd still be friends and laughing about the fun times we had. "Maybe", the most useless word in the English language, only matched by it's translated synonyms.
I made it and I really can't tell you how. I really can't. If anything, probably because of the "Who would take care of my little sister?" thought. I didn't really meet an adult who cared until I was sixteen. The age when I had become incredibly suicidal. He saved my life. I can't even begin to describe how messed up I was when I was first put in his class. Believe it or not, I think I've actually gotten better since then.
I got a little carried away with it; sorry about that.