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I wasn't originally going to put this on my blog, but Dr. Hanson said we should never write something we wouldn't publish, so here we go...

4-9-09
Two nights ago, my friend tried to kill herself.

I didn't know this. Her roommate didn't know this. Neither did her mother, her sister, or her aunt who she considers more of a mother to her than her own. Her roommate and I just thought she was sick after she threw up all over their room, but neither of us would have guessed it was her body’s last attempt to rid itself of the more than 40 pills she had swallowed earlier. We didn’t find out what she had done until around 8:00 the following night when her aunt called, asking one of us to go sit with our friend until someone could come and take her home. Since her roommate couldn’t get away from work, I volunteered.

When I walked into her room, she looked up at me and said, “I wish it would have worked. I’m such a failure; I can’t even do this right.”

For the first time in the four years I had known her, I didn’t know what to say. I sat there, holding and rocking my friend while she told me through her sobs that she was so tired of pretending to like her life. She was tired of living for everyone else; she was tired of putting on a mask every day. She just wanted it all to end.
She’d been planning this for months. She was ready, prepared. She had goodbye letters written out to her mother and aunt, and had another with detailed instructions taped to her bed for when her roommate came in to find her lifeless body. She told me she’d wanted to do it at home, but she couldn’t bear the thought of her little cousins or aunt’s foster kids finding her like that.

It’s very difficult for me to write this, just as it was very difficult for me to listen to her talk about how much she wanted her life to end. In October, I lost one of my oldest friends in a car accident. She was 21, on her way to being an elementary teacher, and had two little sisters, parents and a husband who loved her beyond words. A few weeks after that, I came far too close to losing my 19-year-old brother—the number one guy in my life—in another car crash. Last week, my best friend from high school and her husband welcomed their first child, a little boy. I am in awe of his little miracle, and I’ve never seen them happier.

Recently, I was diagnosed with HPV; something that I will never be rid of. I will have this virus in my body for the rest of my life. HPV has been known to cause cervical cancer, and I am awaiting the test results that will tell me if I have it or not. Life has never been more precious to me than it has become in the last year. I want to be there for my friend; I want to be supportive and sympathetic, but I cannot understand why she would do this. Life is so short and fragile as it is; how can there truly be nothing in this world worth living for?

All I can think about is how selfish it was for her to do this to the people around her. Her roommate would have been traumatized thinking that maybe, if she'd gotten there just a little sooner, she might have been able to save her. Everyone around her would have blamed themselves, myself included, and spent their lives wondering if there was something—anything—they could have done to prevent it. I am so angry with her, and it feels wrong. You can't be angry with someone who just tried to end their own life. But how can she take something so amazing for granted?

I honestly believe that somewhere, there is something—or even someone—who can make her life worth living. It wasn’t her time; she must still have a purpose in this world. I hope one day she realizes this as well, because this crazy, heartbreaking, terrible, wonderful race is all we have. And I know it can be worth all the pain, if she will give it the chance.

Since then, my friend has been receiving help and treatment, but she won't be coming back to school, and I doubt we will really see each other much anymore.