Losing A Friend to Depression
I stood in what used to be her bedroom, and felt a subtle, intangible haunting; she was nowhere to be seen, but she was everywhere. In the photographs she taped to the wall, in the poems she framed, in the light blue carpet, in the books, and in the air. Everything smelled and felt exactly as she once did. Pieces of her were scattered, taped, collected and condensed to this single room and I couldn't help but feel she was echoing off the walls. But then I noticed I had this aching feeling everyday, despite where I am. I constantly magnify the little things to find her reflected in them; she echoes everywhere I go.
The way she had to die is a constant shadow that follows and haunts me still, and I regret my inability in the past to recognize the signs when it mattered the most. If I had been able to recognize and identify the symptoms, she might still be here.
I wish I could have told her there were so many other options and that I could have reminded her that I was there for her. It seemed unimaginable to me that it could be difficult just to get out of bed in the morning because of something more than physical exhaustion, by weight within that was holding her down.
But it was difficult for us, as her friends, too. I personally did not understand when she would be in a great mood one hour and then emotionally drained the next. I wish so much that we had been aware of what it meant to have depression so that we could have understood this part of her life. She couldn't see the light that we could, even though it was just a little bit farther. I wish she knew we were there to hold her hand and guide her to it, especially throughout the darkest times.
When I look back now, I feel a tiny wind get knocked out of me every time I remember all of the moments we shared when her depression was so prominent, the times when it was so obvious but I was too naïve to notice. I have so many regrets on the way I handled the situation and still feel a deep regret every time I think of her. I think about it everyday and what I could have done to change the present and all the pain that has led up to it. I remember her colorful, thin0beaded bracelet and the way it looked on her delicate wrists. I remember how she told me she would wear it when she had something to hide beneath it. But above all, I remember how confused and scared I was.
I did not understand why someone whom so many people looked up to and admired would do this to herself. I did not understand why she sometimes would not want to be around more than two or three people at a time. When she just wanted to stay home. "Go without me", she would say.
Well, we went without her, and now we are seventeen and she is still fourteen. So much has changed, we all have changed, but she has remained exactly the same. Time stands still for her, like a butterfly in a glass case.
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