You killed yourself a year ago, I didn’t find out until last night. I spent this entire day cycling through the stages of grief… denying that it’s true, getting pissed at myself for not being there, and at you for going there and not saying anything. I skip bargaining since there’s nothing I can offer and nothing that can bring you back. And I can’t accept it. My brain broke and my heart dropped when I saw your obituary. I immediately knew it was you. I just had a moment that I thought I was asleep because I couldn’t convince myself it was true. I knew there had to be some way it was someone else, who just happened to have the same name and same family member names. There’s no way you’d tell me I’d hurt you if I did anything then not long after, you leave me. I thought about texting you over this past year. But as I can see, it wouldn’t have mattered. I would have never gotten a reply. And I probably would have thought you were mad at me, or just ignoring me.
I didn’t know… I just didn’t know. And I feel like a complete piece of shit for not being there for you. I did care about you, despite the fact we didn’t always get along, because I know your past had a lot to do with that. When I told you I’d always be there, I wasn’t lying. You did subtlely ask for help, my dumbass was oblivious because I was talking about giving up the last time we talked. I seriously hope that didn’t contribute to your decision. I would find it very hard to live with myself if I had something to do with what happened.
I never was ignoring you… I didn’t mean to not say anything. I was drowning in my own stuff… I was trying to stay okay for people who needed me. I was stupid to not realize you needed me then, and now I feel horrible for not saying anything. I feel even worse that the very last conversation we had I was complaining about my life and talking about giving up. I have a horrible nagging fear in the back of my mind that I may have contributed to what happened. And I am so fucking sorry… I’m sorry. I didn’t see what was going on… I feel like a piece of shit for not helping. And I know the whole fucking what-ifs. I’ve been through every what-if scenario in my head, but everyone keeps saying what-ifs won’t bring you back, and again, the denial stage hits… what if it does? My mind is so fucked up and I don’t know what’s going on.
I’ve been reading all the texts that I have from you. All the conversations we had. Talking about random things at times. Some of the things you sent still make me smile, even with tears in my eyes because I’m reading it. I do find it comforting that you can still make me smile even if you’re not here anymore. I want so bad to talk to you. But, I know it’s not possible. I want to tell you I’m here. I want you to know I did care. I wasn’t ignoring you ever. I wasn’t okay myself. And I hate myself for that. I should have been there for you. But, I can’t go back. I can never go back. I promise you, though, I’ll see you again one day. I’ll meet you wherever you are when it’s my time. But not too soon. I want you to be able to see how I stuck it out even learning of your death. I want you to be proud that I still kept going and that I didn’t give up. I’m trying so hard, but it’s like climbing the Hoover Dam. I’m determined to make it, but this pain makes it harder. And I know you never intended on hurting anyone. I know you well enough to know you only went there in a desperate attempt to just stop hurting. And I’m sorry I couldn’t help the pain before it got to that point. I just hope you know that I did care.
This letter isn’t a joke, nor is suicide. This is to a friend of mine who killed herself, and I didn’t even know. I’m posting this here because maybe someone will see it, and if they know someone who is in danger of killing themselves, they can help. This hurts way too much, and I don’t wish anyone else to have to feel it. If you know anyone who is suicidal or has made comments about suicide… call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255. They may get mad. But at least they’ll still be there.