In 8th grade, I became soulmates with a girl my age, and we were each other’s go-to people. She had a knack for making absurd, silly comments that made me laugh harder than I knew possible. I trusted her so much; she was my best friend if I ever knew one. I moved schools, but we stayed in touch and remained besties in college. We had the type of relationship where we could not talk to each other for half a year but pick it up exactly where we left off. During COVID, we spent 4 or 5 hours on video calls every day; we would mute ourselves and work silently on our respective assignments. Even when we weren't actively talking, I knew that having each others’ virtual company meant a lot to both of us.
So, when I realized I needed help, she was the first person in the world I told about my depression and suicidal thoughts—before my family, my mentors, and my closest friends from college. I didn’t know what reaction to expect, and I knew that she had probably never dealt with a suicidal friend, especially one who was so close to her.
She texted me—“dude, you’re not at the hospital, are you?” after I hadn’t called her in three days (the longest stretch in 3 or 4 years). I told her that I was, but I would be ok. When I left the hospital, she told me that psych medications were addictive, and that maybe I should think again before taking them. I told her that I was hurt by these comments, but she became defensive and said she didn’t mean it. So, we hung out once when I came home, and it seemed like nothing had changed. Except that she doesn’t respond to my texts anymore and doesn’t pick up my calls after that. It’s like the person I loved and trusted was wiped away.
That’s all to say—sometimes, I don’t think we take enough time to grieve the loss of friends and family who are still alive. They look the same and still appear physically in our lives, yet the person inside seems to change. Sometimes, people don’t understand, and I’ve started to feel more at peace with that; sometimes people say words they don’t mean, sometimes people are nervous about the stakes of a situation and have to set a boundary, and sometimes people change.
But what matters to me the most is that there are people who understand: friends at school who visited me at the hospital almost every day, mentors who drove across the city to grab lunch and check in on me, and family members who have blessed me with an endless supply of hugs and cuddles.
So, to my friends who didn’t understand, I just want to say that I miss you very much, that I don’t regret the fun times we spent together, and that, from the bottom of my heart, I hope we can one day get back in touch.
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