Writing 101 #4, tw: suicide, depression, other things.

I’m cheating a little on the twist today. I mentioned my friend before, but last post more about another friend I was doing music with. However, this person was in the same class, and I did mention she isn’t here. What I didn’t mention was that she died of suicide, or that I didn’t make her funeral.

She was, out of our group of friends, the one I felt most disconnected with. Like, I only knew her so well, and more knew her because she was friends with other people in our group. I just assumed that was a disconnection between me and her that we didn’t hang out enough. That’s part of the reason I treasured that Spanish class. Her, my musical friend, and I all became our gged it off though own little unit and we actually formed our own friendship as a group. Though, my being distracted on a crush on someone else kinda made our “Three Musketeer” bit a little strained. So, us being less super solid as a group and not keeping in touch with each other is something I blamed on myself a bit.

 But what we had was so much better than what we had before! The friends I hung out with in high school where the “Junior high” friends of my best friend from Elementary school. I met them through him. High school was the place where I got “initiated” into the little clique and made lasting friendships with them, and that was the only real reason I let them tease me. It was the transition point from being an outsider to being “in,” and I just kinda shrugged it off though it did bug me. But, I felt that even as I was entering the group, there still was a distance between me and her. We didn’t hang out as much, but tolerated each other. I didn’t have the same “one on one” hang out experiences with her. I always kind of found that funny because we were both kinda labeled the “dimmer” group members. Both of us had many a joke made at our “less than bright moments” though hers where more “naivety” and mine was more “irrational.”

 So in high school, being her friend more and talking to her and stuff made things, just, I dunno, better. Made me happier, though I took it for granted. And the thing that really makes me go back and regret the “taking it for granted” bit is that, like usual, I got caught up in my own head that I didn’t see the signs. The thing that made my relationship with this friend so interesting is that we saw in each other is what we failed to see in ourselves. I remember that she said to me something on the lines of “If I believe anyone is going to make it in this life, it was you.” She, I don’t really get what she saw, but I guess it was my smile. She saw my disposition and thought I would be able to make it, to get through anything. That’s what I saw in her. Just, with just how positive she seemed, I just couldn’t imagine her breaking. To need help, or to not being able to ask for it. To be that alone, to be in that much pain. To not being able to tell anyone one what was going on. That kid was me, not her, right?

But she moved for school. She was having a harder time. She was drinking more. But I had no idea of something lying underneath all that. Never pictured her as a good actor or hider of anything. I saw so little of her, so little of what she was going through, I was totally oblivious to her falling apart. The bonds we made in Spanish, though important, wasn’t enough to make me see. And I get that, even if I knew and even if I did something that nothing may have changed. But considering what we had, I felt a little guilty wondering why she believed in me instead of saying I believed in her just as much. Or maybe I am still angry that instead of being at her funeral I was flying back home. That I was literally a day to late. 


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