Still Here
I used to think my life was as perfect as it could get. I fully believed in my religion, I was happy. I had friends, laughter, I felt like I had a purpose. But then my world shattered in one sentence. One line that started the change. Little did I know that nothing would ever be the same for me again.
It was an average quarantine day, when I got the text. “She has a plan to kill herself.” I found out through a screenshot that my best friend was planning to die. She didn’t set a date but she said she’d take too many pills and it would be over.
Ever since that day I felt an imminent dread looming over me, like my best friend would drop dead at any moment. For all I knew, she might have. She was getting thin, too thin. She wasn’t eating, hardly sleeping, and her arms would always be covered in long sleeves or gloves. At first I thought it was a style choice, then I saw the scars.
Don’t ask me why I just sat and stared, then looked away while blinking back tears. I didn’t know what to say or how to say it, so I just kept near her. As her voice faded, mine overcompensated. I’d ramble and rant enough for the both of us. She’d laugh sometimes, that sound was the only thing keeping me sane. Being around her, hearing her few precious words made everything feel okay again. But I always had to go back to my “home”.
My home didn’t exist at that point. All I felt was panic and fear that I wouldn’t be able to see my best friend the next day. For others that fear might seem irrational, but for me it was a terrifying reality that very well might happen.
Months and months went by of this terror building up inside me. I was too young to know what to do, who to talk to, so I stayed silent. I prayed, but my god didn’t answer. I prayed every night, I even offered to die if it meant she’d be whole again. But each morning I woke up, dreading the day to come. I lived like a zombie, the literal definition of survival mode. The only time I felt like myself was when I was with my best friend, because I could see her, I knew she was safe at that moment. I could let myself relax when I was with her, those moments were the only things keeping me going.
After nearly a year of experiencing this, I finally got a therapist when my parents divorced. My best friend was put in treatment, they’d be well monitored and I could communicate to them with emails. Slowly, so slowly, things got just a little bit better. I could breathe a little easier on my own. I started taking care of myself again. When I finally saw my best friend again, I nearly sobbed on the spot. I hugged them so tightly. I nearly broke down when I saw them eat in front of me. They actually ate something. I held back the tears because I didn’t want to freak them out, but inwardly I was a glorious wreck.
Much has happened since then, and much more happened during that time that I can’t bring myself to go into deep detail on. The main thing is, I still have depression, but I’m in therapy and am actually talking. More importantly, my best friend is amazing. They are so strong and I’m so proud of them. I was the only one to stay with them through their heartbreaking journey, but I'm so glad I did. They are my other half, my soul sister.
We are both still here.