helping a suicidal friend can leave you with a result that what you were expecting |
You look at me with a broken spirit. When I ask how you are, you say you're okay. Do not fake it anymore. Please speak more than a few words to be. I do not want you to go through this alone. Each day, I come to see you. Strands of hair lay in every direction on your hand. You do not smile at me. Whenever you speak, I notice that your breathe stinks. There are spotches of dirt on your shirt that I swear I thought I saw yesterday. Today, I see you sprawled out on the floor. Immediately, I run over to you. I lend you my hand to help you up. You grasp it and accidently pull me down. You look terrible. I wince when I realize that you started to do it again. Why can't you get over that bitch? All she did was cause you harm. You lean on me as I bring you to the couch. "You are going to lose your life if you keep doing this," I say. I hand paper towels to you to dry up the blood on your arms. "Thank you," you reply. I want to give you a hug and say that you will be okay. But, I know that right now you do not want that. You would rather be left alone. I hate that an amazing guy like you has to suffer. "I will be back here the same tomorrow" "Stay strong, and remember please do not cry," I whisper. You respond, "I know, you say that every time you are here." The next day, I knock on the door. No response... I know I do not usually get one. I open the door slowly. I could not believe what I saw. Your body, cold and lifeless, is not even four feet from the door. "NO! NO!" I screamed. I closed the door behind me and rushed to you. No longer afraid, I throw myself to the ground. I hold you in my arms trying to see if you are, what I think you are. No pulse. No heartbeat. No sigh of relief. No goodbye to me. Why did you do this? I put my cheek next to yours. There is a knife injected into your heart. I cannot bring myself to take it out. Breathing heavily, I detach myself from you. I grab a rag and wet it with water. I also grabbed bandages. I have to save you. On the couch, I see a note. I take it and rush back to you. I try to save you. But, it is too late. Tears are about to come out of my eyes. I am about to lose it. Grabbing your limp hand, I read the letter. It said, Dear Mist, I am sorry that I did not try hard enough. I am sorry. Please forgive me. Love, Peter PS. Stay strong. Please do not cry. |