Over the last few months our friendship slowly began to deteriorate. My best friend and I were once inseparable, helping one another battle some of the most difficult challenges thrown our way. Today, I no longer have a best friend.
My friend was once the only person I could confide in. She kept my secrets both the good and the bad. It turns out that the biggest of all my secrets was the one that tore us apart the most.
"What is this secret?" you ask. I began to cut myself. She watched helplessly as the amount of slits on my arms increased with each passing day. She could not tell a soul. Betraying my trust was not something easily forgivable. I never told her that but somehow she just knew.

I never meant for anyone to get hurt. This was supposed to be my problem, my decision but along the way I lost sight of what mattered to me.
I knew she was hurting. When I could not cry, she cried because of me. What could I possibly say to her? I apologized time and time again. Eventually, I could no longer say those two words. I’m sorry meant nothing and we both knew that.
Slowly I began to realize the changes that were occurring both physically and emotionally with my friend. She wore sweaters more often and was become a lot less talkative. I felt as if this once extremely joyous and energetic person suddenly came to a halt. She almost became exactly what I was and I had no idea how to stop it. It was okay for me to feel the pain, for me to cut but it wasn’t for her. I was mad at her. I screamed at her. I cried. I confessed my deepest fears and regrets to her hoping her old self would return. She did, or at least so I thought.
I had no choice but to stop cutting. It wasn’t long before another friend of ours
told the school guidance counselor I had been cutting who then called my mother. Soon after that I realized how much my family and friends cared for me. From here, things got a little better.
Once again my friend and I became close. Like we promised, we would be best
friends forever. We spent so many days after that attached at the hip. The last days of our seventh grade school year came and went so fast. We laughed so hard we would cry. Day after day we did the same thing. It was hard to stay happy though because the following school year I would be going to a new school. On the very last day of school my friend and I wrote a poem together. We named our poem “The Pack.” This is what we wrote:
We will never forget
the memories we shared.
The way we laughed
and showed we cared.

We learned so much
in so little time.
How could it all be over?
Together, we live our lives.

You were there for me,
I am here for you.
If we fight together,
We will make it through.

We have more tears to cry,
more memories to share.
Nothing is impossible
when my friend is near.

The school year was over so my friend and I saw each other less and less.
We spent countless hours on the phone each day listening to ourselves breathe until one of us had something to say. It was anything but boring. I began to think everything was finally okay but little did I know, because everything wasn’t. She wasn’t. She stopped calling and every time I tried to get in touch with her she was always too busy. Eventually I gave up. I didn’t want to force her to talk to me.
I do not remember who made the memorable phone call but I know our





conversation very well. It all started with a question. My friend had asked me if I was cutting again. I dishonestly said no but I had a feeling she already knew the truth. After that question she then told me a horrible story of how she had wanted to end her life just as I once did. I felt horrible. She proceeded to tell that she had planned to hang herself. She prepared everything she would need and stood on a chair ready to step off when she heard her sister heading toward her room. She quickly took down the cord, stepped off the chair, and placed all of the belongings back into place so that no one would question anything.
After hearing everything my friend had to say I quickly came up with a
false excuse to hang up the phone. I barely stood up from my bed before I collapsed and broke down.
That night I made a very difficult decision to let my mother in for change.
I explained to her the way I felt I needed to cut and then I told her about my friend. I cried in my mother’s arm, this was something I needed to do long ago. I later called my friend and explained to her the situation. That same night my mother and friend talked on the phone for what seemed like hours. Almost a year later I still have no idea what they talked about. I may never know.
Looking back at the situation I now realize how selfish I was. I knew my friend was had problems of her own but I only thought of how much I needed her. I didn’t think of her feelings and obvious cries for help. I feel like she blamed me for our friendship problems and I secretly blame myself for her attempt at suicide.

It has been a few months since that life changing phone call. I haven’t seen my friend for many months but lately we have gotten back to our normal phone routine. I wish I could say that things are different now. I wish we were best friends but we may never same. Emotionally we are doing better but the wounds I feel are still there. Slowly, but surely fading with each passing day.


If you are reading this, whoever you are I hope you know that there are people willing to help. People care. Someone loves you. Speak.