I found out last night that a friend of mine lost her fight with depression a couple days ago. She was young, smart, funny, quirky, adored, beautiful, and completely struggling internally. I wish I would’ve known how bad it had gotten.
We met a few years ago in an art history class, we bonded quickly, especially over our experiences with depression and anxiety. We tried new things, laughed uncontrollably, met new people, experienced life. We also would have moments of serious dialogue plagued with traumas, harsh realities, broken expectations, tears, and some nights, share our fantasies of death. I always keep the idea that death is there if I chose it, I acknowledge it’s a way to escape, I will even flirt with the idea of it sometimes, however, I can always seem to get through the day/night, push through, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t see that everything passes, good and bad, she couldn’t take the extremes any longer. I am sad for her. I am sad for all of those that lost their fights with depression. I am sad for those of us that almost lost. I’m sad we have to be in this fight to begin with. It’s so important to know you’re not alone. Its important to know people do care, no matter how close you are with them or what your mind tells you. I CARE.