By Anistacia Aragon
Suicide is, unfortunately, a common cause of death—but not a common topic of conversation. Globally, more than 700,000 people die by suicide each year, which is roughly one person every 40 to 45 seconds. These are not just numbers—they are people, families, and communities forever changed.
After Tyler’s passing, my grief quickly turned into something even heavier. Because I was the last person to text him, I experienced intense cyberbullying. I was blamed for his death and called things no one—especially a 15-year-old girl—should ever have to hear. I remember sitting in my room, staring at my phone, watching message after message come in—each one more hurtful than the last—feeling like the world had already decided who I was, and that I didn’t deserve to be here.
At the same time, the world shut down due to COVID-19, and isolation only amplified the pain. The bullying was constant, and I felt completely alone. My mental health reached its lowest point, and over the course of five months, I attempted to take my own life three times.
After my final attempt in July of 2020, I made the most important decision of my life—to reach out for help. It wasn’t easy. It didn’t fix everything overnight. But it was the first step toward choosing to stay. Opening up to my loved ones didn’t erase the pain, but it reminded me that I wasn’t alone—and that my story wasn’t over.
When I returned to school that August, I made a choice: I would no longer be reactive to what happened to me—I would be proactive in creating change.
In 2023, I produced a fashion show for suicide awareness and prevention, raising over $4,000 that was donated to local suicide prevention programs in New Mexico. The show brought together 150 models and 21 designers, and more than 80% of participants had either struggled with their mental health, experienced suicidal ideation, or lost someone to suicide. It became more than an event—it became a space for healing, storytelling, and community. After one presentation, a student came up to me and said, “I didn’t think anyone understood how I felt until today.” That moment reminded me exactly why this work matters.
Since then, my program has expanded to serve students of all ages. I now present in grades K–12, covering topics such as self-love, positive self-talk, healthy coping mechanisms, mental health awareness, and cultural appreciation. Over the past six years, I’ve had the opportunity to speak in over 100 classrooms across New Mexico.
The newest branch of my initiative is “Raíces y Resiliencia,” which focuses on helping individuals find peace through dance. As a Ballet Folklórico dancer since the age of two, and a teacher for the past four years, I wanted to create a program that could offer others the same healing outlet that dance gave me. This past year, I founded a Folklórico group in Las Cruces, offering low-cost classes and creating an accessible space for self-expression. The program has since expanded into school outreach through after-school programs, community workshops, and performances, ensuring that culture, movement, and healing are available to all.
Everything I do today is rooted in where I started—January 8th, 2020. In loss. In confusion. In a version of myself that didn’t think she would make it through.
But I did.
And because I did, I made a promise to turn my pain into purpose.
What began as a young girl walking into classrooms to talk about kindness has grown into something far greater than I ever imagined. Through “I AM” and its newest branch, “Raíces y Resiliencia,” I’ve been able to create spaces where people feel seen, heard, and valued—whether that’s in a classroom, on a stage, or through the movement of dance.
From producing a fashion show that gave a voice to over 150 individuals, to speaking in more than 100 classrooms, to building a community through Folklórico in Las Cruces—every step of this journey has been about one thing: making sure no one feels alone in their struggles.
Because I know what it feels like to be that 15-year-old girl—grieving, blamed, isolated, and searching for a reason to stay.
So this is bigger than a title. Bigger than a crown. Bigger than a competition.
This is about changing the narrative.
It’s about teaching the next generation that kindness is not optional, that mental health matters, and that healing is possible. It’s about reminding people that their story is not over—even when it feels like it is. Because the truth is, suicide doesn’t just take lives—it leaves behind silence, stigma, and unanswered questions. And the only way we break that cycle is by choosing to talk about it, openly and compassionately.
If my journey has taught me anything, it’s this: we don’t have to wait for change—we can become it.
And I will continue to use my voice, my platform, and my passion to ensure that no one ever feels like they have to fight their battles alone.
Because someone out there is still searching for a reason to stay—and together, we can be that reason.
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