All names have been changed to protect the privacy of both the author and the girls described.
I was in eighth grade the first time.
I was best friends with two girls, Sarah and Alison, and we were always together. We all sung in the school choir, sitting together regardless of vocal group and giggling madly at whatever inside joke we had that day. The three of us were heavily invested in the arts – aside from choir, Sarah was an artist, Alison and I wrote, and Alison spent her afternoons at the dance studio. All of us had happy, loving families who were more than happy to have the other two over to spend the night. Everything seemed great and we were convinced we’d all go to high school together, and do everything we could to stay friends throughout it all.
Everything changed with a phone call.
It was late at night, that much I remember. I was reading in my room when my mom brought me the phone, saying it was Sarah. When I said hello, Sarah was in tears.
“It’s Alison. Something’s wrong.”
She tried to tell me what was wrong, but was crying so hard I couldn’t understand her. Eventually, her mother came to the phone, telling me that Sarah had received a text message from Alison. All it said was “Tell Sarah and Taylor I’m sorry.”
Immediately, I hung up and called Alison’s house. Her father picked up and, through my own tears, I explained everything I’d found out from Sarah. He hung up and went to find his daughter. I received a call a few minutes later, and it was from Alison.
She did her best to make light of the situation, joking that “they’re going to put me in a straitjacket so I can’t hurt myself.” I didn’t laugh. She quickly backpedaled, saying that her parents were taking her to the hospital so she could get help. We didn’t talk much, but she promised to call me as soon as she could.
When I saw Sarah at school the next day, we gave each other the biggest hugs we could. I can’t say what was going through her mind, but I felt like a fool. Alison had tried to kill herself the night before and neither one of us had seen it coming. Sure, she’d had her bad days, but she’d always seemed so happy and carefree afterwards. She’d even cut in the past – I’d seen the scars – but she promised me she didn’t do that anymore. And, like a fool, I believed her.
The second time was my senior year of high school. I’d met Hannah the first day of our sophomore year and we’d instantly connected. Over the next three years, she became the closest friend I’d ever had. We shared everything with each other. It was no secret between us that she’d had a tough past: after about a year, she’d confessed that she used to cut, suffered from depression, and had tried killing herself twice, once in middle school and once freshman year. I was horrified – not because she’d attempted suicide, but because she thought so little of herself that she thought she’d be better off dead. But she told me she didn’t think that way anymore.
Hannah’s current life wasn’t without difficulties, however. Her parents were emotionally abusive and often drove her to the point of tears, which led to many late-night text conversations reassuring her that one day she’d be in college and that I was there for her to talk to and, even though she doubted it, that things would get better. But other than reassurance, there wasn’t much I could do, and one day at the beginning of senior year she stopped responding. Her mother called me to let me know that they were checking her into the hospital for “suicidal thoughts and behaviors.”
This, I remember much more vividly. It felt like someone had sucked all the air from my body. Once I’d coaxed her mom into giving me the information about where she was staying, I tried calling the hospital. Non-family visitors weren’t allowed. “Just lie and say you’re her stepsister,” her mother told me. I could have, and to say I wasn’t tempted would be a lie. But over the past few years I’d grown stronger in my faith and found it to be a source of great comfort, and refused to lie. Hannah and I wrote letters to each other throughout her two-week stay, describing what we’d been up to. It was just an act, a distraction. Neither one of us wanted to think about what would have happened if Hannah hadn’t been hospitalized again.
As soon as Hannah got released, she came over to spend the night. We spent hours talking about it, and after some crying and hugging, we turned our attention to really catching up. Slowly, we settled back into a rhythm. We went to classes like normal, attended theatre rehearsals like normal, and hung out like normal. Amidst the flurry of college applications and SAT practice, Hannah got a job. Her parents finally eased up on her, and things slowly became easier. But the cutting and bouts of depression? They still haunted us both.
I lost touch with Alison freshman year of high school. We were reunited sophomore year of high school, but we had both changed too much to be as close as we once were. As far as I know, she won her battle and is finally happy. To this day, Hannah is still my best friend, and is finally on her own.
But every now and then, I still think about it. How I didn’t notice, how I didn’t feel as if I’d done enough, how useless it made me feel. And what if I slipped up and said something that drove them to that point again? The guilt and paranoia ate away at me, worsening anxiety I’d already developed (due to scholastic pressures). I can’t count how many mornings I woke up with a sick feeling in my stomach or how many times my stomach plummeted because of a text that things were bad again.
Dear reader, if you ever find yourself in this situation (which I sincerely hope you don’t), please learn from me. Be there for your friend during this extremely difficult time, but realize that there’s only so much you can do. Try as we might, we can’t change everything. Find ways to comfort yourself; for me, it was my faith and my music. Don’t beat yourself up if you can’t immediately remedy a bad situation. And remember that moving on, for you and for her, takes time.
Take a deep breath. It gets better.
If you are having thoughts of suicide or think someone you love is, don’t hesitate to call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255. If it’s not safe to call, a chat option is available at www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org. Calls and chats are confidential and free.