Cassie and I have clicked ever since we were babies. As she puts it, we’ve been best friends since age zero. We grew up together, have shared everything right from the start. We’ve laughed with each other and cried with each other and danced and sang and played with each other. She has been there for me through literally everything–there hasn’t been a week where we haven’t seen each other or at least texted.
I never in my worst nightmares thought I would be faced with the fear of losing her.
I knew, I knew that she was tired of life. I knew she was sick of feeling empty. I knew that she didn’t want to have to keep fighting. I knew that she was tired.
But she was my best friend. My sweet little baby cousin. And I never thought in a million years that she was so ready to hurt herself. I never thought that in a second she could be taken from me.
One night, a few weeks ago, Cassie texted me to tell me that she had called the suicide hotline that afternoon. It happened while I was at dance class–she had tried to get a hold of me, was ready to do it, when her friend Mark told her to call the hotline. So she did. And they distracted her, calmed her down. I didn’t find out about it until hours later, when it would have been too late.
Thank god for Mark. If not for him—I might have lost her.
I couldn’t stop tormenting myself. I have been trying so hard to make sure I’m always available; I never know when everything might get to be too much and one of my friends might try and off themselves. I’m up every night trying so hard to keep everyone sane. I bring in gauze pads and bandages to school as needed. I lend a listening ear. It’s not enough and I don’t know what to do.
I physically, emotionally, and mentally can not be available all the time. It’s absolutely impossible. On top of school and dance and speech&debate and orchestra, trying to be everyone’s therapist is having such a huge emotional drain on me. Sometimes it’s hard for me to even feel anything positive because I’m so consumed with worry for Cassie and Violet and Melissa. Sometimes it’s hard for me to feel anything at all.
And here I am, going on and on about myself and sounding like a stupid selfish bitch. Somewhere in my twisted, useless mind, I somehow manage to make this all about me.
It happened again a week ago. I talked on the phone with her until she calmed down. I stayed up texting her until I literally couldn’t keep my eyes open. And I went to bed with this horrible sense of dread—terrified that when I woke up, something might have happened during the night.
But she was okay. I woke up in the morning and went to school and there she was, loud and exuberant and exciteable as always. She’s so good at acting like everything is fine, and we carried the secret between us whenever we were around other people. Nobody besides me and Mark knew.
Last night, it happened again. And this time it was so much worse. I begged her to call the hotline but she wouldn’t listen. It was well past my bedtime—I was laying there in the dark of my bedroom. Sobbing into my hands. Trying with all my might to keep her alive. But nothing I said was working.
So I asked Melissa (who has recently started therapy) to talk to her. They talked about self-soothing techniques and options to get help and ways to distract yourself, while I waited. And waited. And waited, a nervous wreck, unable to go to sleep until I heard from them. Fearing the worst.
Like a miracle, Cassie calmed down and went to sleep. I made sure to tell her I love her before she turned off her phone—I make sure to tell her as often as I can, because any time I speak to her could be the last.
This is no way to live. I can’t stand this constant fear and worry anymore. But I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do.
I’m so tired. I’m so scared. And, when it comes down to it, I’m so useless.
Melissa. I can’t thank you enough. You’re a fucking angel and if it weren’t for you…I don’t want to think about it. I can’t think about it. Seriously, I can thank you until the end of time and it still won’t express how grateful I am. I love you so much—I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.