I just wish that I could take his place, you know? Alex died at age 19 with such zeal for life and so many plans. He was the one with motivation and goals. He wanted to live. I want to die. He told me that I was too hard on myself and that I had a future. Then he died. He died before I got back to campus from doctors appointments. I never got to tell him that I love him and that he made me feel safe again, feel loved. He made me feel valued, and I loved him for his humor, his studying habits, the way he smiled, the way he would look at me out of the corner of his eyes, his love for food, his knife collection, his interest in hockey and fencing, our banter, how much he cared for other people, how he was kind and compassionate and funny and ambitious and everything anyone could ever wish for in a person. I’m nowhere near as good of a person as he was, and yet I’m here. Why? I’m the one who has been suicidal since age 4 and has always wanted to die, but the boy who wanted to live and have a future died. It should have been me. He should still be here.
So the boy I was falling in love with died less than three months ago and I’m okay sometimes and other times it’s worse than when I got assaulted years ago and thought I was dying.
Memories of him always pop up, always freeze me up, make me break down and hide away and I’m fairly used to it, but I’m the past few days I’ve been having memories of him that never happened nor could ever happen, because, well, he’s dead now.
I see him and I playing in the snow together. I see him surprising me with cute things. Celebrating the holidays. I feel myself wrapping my arms around him and burying my face in his chest. I see us ice skating again and holding hands. I see a mixture of our old flirting habits and how we used to lock eyes and he would make me go bright red and then new coupley-things we never got to do together because we didn’t have enough time before his seizure.
They’re so vivid and it’s killing me. I’ve always had a very lucid memory, and even have flashback dreams, but this is during broad daylight when I’m in the middle of doing things trying to be a human again and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I believe in supernatural things or past lives or future lives or jack shit, but these fake memories are so real it’s making me confused.
So, I first wrote on here in 2013 talking about my budding depression.
I’ve had lifelong issues: chronic illnesses, abusive parents, bullying, many sexual assaults, death of family members, panic attacks, self-harm, suicide attempts.
I wrote in here when I was fourteen. I’m nineteen now, a sophomore at a good college. Decent GPA. I haven’t cut myself in years, I was seeing a therapist, on some helpful medication. I was better, never good, but better.
I had a bad breakup a few months prior. I was getting diagnosed with yet another a new chronic illness. I was estranged from my friend group because of said breakup, and my abandonment issues were making themselves very prominent again. Still better than before though.
I had just changed my major and my parents had flipped out on me, threatening to flush my tuition down the toilet, but that’s not the point. The point is that I was in all new classes, but one constant was there: Alex was in one of my classes. I knew him, but I didn’t know him very well yet. We were good friends with some of the same people and had interacted on many of numerous occasions. We called each other friends.
As a backstory, he had seen me very drunk and inebriated. I had a thumb war with him during this, and I knew him as one of my good friends roommate, my other good friends teammate in hockey, and part of my “college mom’s” hoard of freshmen that she adopted. Saturday nights freshman year were spent at her apartment, all of us playing drinking games and singing along to musicals like the theatre kids we are/were.
I was so anxious on the first day of classes this year that I stood up in my seat and shouted his name across the classroom when I saw him in the doorway, pleading with him to sit next to me because I was so afraid of being alone. We were in the far left corner of the room; I later found out that he only sat in the middle of the front row in all of his classes without fail, and that he must have really cared for me if he was willing to sit in the corner. He smiled and obliged happily, even though I just humiliated him and myself. My textbook hadn’t come in the mail yet, so he let me look over his shoulder at the activities we were going over and texted me pictures of the pages we needed. We began to study together almost every day.
One day, while studying with him and his friend group that I was becoming apart of, we started talking about relationships, or really Alex’s lack thereof. They all knew about my breakup and were once friends with my ex, so we didn’t talk about the absence of a relationship in my life. He had made a joking list of people who he liked, apparently, and I was hoping that I was on it but didn’t say so. He mentioned a classmate of ours, and I was disappointed, but I cheered him on and told him it would be cool if he invited her to our study sessions in order to get to know her better. I don’t know why I tried to be a wing-woman.
Hayden came to our study session the next day, and I found out that they also had another class together. I was sad about this, but I purposefully left early in order to give them alone time. The next day, Alex tells me that Hayden is the fifth person he’s liked to turn out to be gay. I laughed at this, but I was so very relieved.
The three of us studied together nearly every day, at odd hours of the night, texting in a mixture of English and German, the language class we had together. Alex and I always hung out more though, as Hayden had other study sessions in another class.
Alex let me talk about my problems, or would let me talk about something else if I felt like it. He would tell me I’m too hard on myself and tell me what he thought of me, excluding anything romantic. Even in his presence, with or without talking, I felt completely and utterly safe. I hadn’t known what this felt like before. I doubt I’ll ever feel this way again. When I was with him, I was home. I have eating issues because of medication, and he would encourage me to eat, make sure that I remembered to eat and drink water and get sleep. He would be concerned when I made bad decisions and try to help me out. We would tease each other, I would tell him to ‘fuck off’ and he would tell me that I needed to come up with another comeback. Ultimately, he took care of me.
The day of one of our study sessions, I was extremely high, not a prouder moment of mine, and I was flirting hardcore. Before Hayden had arrived, he told me that I was hilarious when I was stoned and couldn’t stop smiling at me. During this study session, and many others in which I wasn’t high, Hayden had to stop us from bickering because we would tease each other so much. I made fun of his spelling a lot, and he made fun of my shitty comebacks. I would steal his phone a lot, or make inappropriate jokes or drawings to catch his attention. He would smile at me a lot, shake his head, tease me, kill spiders for me.
He played ice hockey, and had invited me to go skating on an “open skate” with a few friends. He tried to pay for my skate rentals, but I wouldn’t let him. I kinda suck at skating, and I would fall a lot. He would rush over to me and pick me up, holding me in his warm, safe arms. I fell on purpose many a time just to be held again. We sent crappy selfie snapchats back and forth. He told me I was stuck with him for the rest of college at the very least.
I had to go home one weekend for the next round of doctors appointments, as I was getting diagnosed with a bad medical condition, and the last time I saw him was the night before a big test in a class we didn’t have together. I was freaking out, and he told me I was going to be fine. He listed qualities about me that he felt were good. He kept smiling at me and looking away, a habit he had developed a while ago, but one that I apparently was just noticing. I kept telling him to tell me what he was thinking, but he wouldn’t. He would just smile and look away more, and I would get aggravated and flustered because I thought I knew what it was about but I didn’t want to say anything and be wrong. Our friend David said “Mommy, Daddy, please stop fighting.” that night while we were bickering, and I went bright red. Then he had hockey practice and left.
The next day I saw him eating breakfast with a friend in the dining hall after my test, but they were finishing up and I didn’t get to talk to him before he left, and then I had to go home for the doctors appointments. When I was home, I went shopping with my mom and picked out a few dresses, one of which I had deemed “a date dress” and imagined wearing it on a date with Alex. When I got back to campus that night, we were snapchatting, and he sent me a memorable, shitty selfie. I wanted to go hang out with him, but I was tired. “I’ll see him tomorrow,” I said to myself. I made the silent decision that I was going to tell Alex how I feel, as I was pretty sure that he felt the same way and just wanted to kiss him and be in his arms already.
The next morning I put on one of the dresses I had picked out for Alex to see, imagining him seeing me in it. Imagining his smile. Imagining his warm eyes. I was in an off campus meeting for my work-study that day, but I kept thinking about him happily. Thinking about seeing him later. He was never out of my mind for long at all.
Then, that same day, my phone rang several times from several different people. I ignored it at first, but it kept getting worse.
“Something bad happened.”
“Please call me back.”
My name was repeated over and over again, begging me to call back.
“Alex A________ passed away last night.” Our friend told me over the phone, sobbing.
I told myself I wasn’t going to cry.
“Okay.” I was going to say before I broke off sobbing, running out of the building into the parking lot with no shoes on, stepping in rain puddles, almost falling into a koi pond. I remember every second. I remember feeling physical pain so bad that I couldn’t stand. A flood of texts asking me if I was okay came in.
Alex had a bad seizure, I found out.
He sat there and listened to me complain about my medical issues and other traumas when he had them the whole time too. He stayed silent about his problems the entire time, voluntarily taking mine on without batting an eye. He cared so much. Alex took care of me while struggling to take care of himself and never told me. Never let me help back.
And now he’s dead. The one person who stayed is dead. The one person who made me feel right, made me feel safe, is dead.
That week I found out from his parents that he liked me in a much more than friend way.
I didn’t know I loved him until he was dead. I knew I had liked him. I love him. He had admitted to me before that he thought no girl could ever like him, and he died thinking that. He died thinking that I didn’t like him, as I would awkwardly skirt around the subject of dating around him and laugh. He told me that was the usual reaction from girls. He said girls don’t like him.
He’s right. I don’t like him; I love him. I’m in love with him. I’ll never get to tell him. He’s dead and I can never get him back. We’ll never have a chance to be together. We’ll never see what could have been.
He had so much potential and hope. He had plans for a future. He worked hard every single day, fighting dyslexia in a high stress environment, learning languages and chemical structures. He struggled to be okay, but cheered everyone else up around him. He laughed and loved and loved living even though it was hard. He was the epitome of a good person. He was practically a saint, save for drinking sometimes, with his work ethic, going to bed on time every night, walking his friends home, asking everybody if they’re okay, going out of his way to make everyone feel included. He barely asked for anything, so much so that it hurts knowing that I’ve done about jack squat for him, especially compared to what he had done for me. I’ll never be able to forgive myself. He deserved to live. I wish I could take his place.
So last Tuesday, almost a week ago now, I had a really bad anxiety attack. I couldn’t stand up. I couldn’t talk without sobbing. I couldn’t move without my body hurting. I had this feeling of impending doom. At one point I fell and just didn’t have the motivation to force myself to get up…. I thought this attack had been the first one in a long time, but when I was talking to my dad afterwards he said that this was one of many in the past few weeks and was considering getting me to a psychiatrist to figure out some medicine to help with my anxiety. He went on about how we had discussed this before and he wanted to talk to my mom about it, but the problem is that I don’t remember all those anxiety attacks before the one from last Tuesday. I had thought this was my first one in a month and a half. I’m scared that I have done things that I don’t remember. If I don’t remember these anxiety attacks what else do I not remember? I don’t do drugs save for alcohol, but that’s once a month if even that. I feel like an absolute train wreck and it doesn’t help that people yell at me for being lazy when I’m trying so hard just to keep it together and not fall apart right then and there. My dad is nice and all but he really bullies my mom sometimes and I want to step in, but he’s only going to turn on me. You know he took away my cell phone for sleeping too much? I used to be able to talk to my friends about these things, but I can’t contact them now. Its been a few years since I tried using this website, but I figured I’d give it another go…
Everyday feels the same. Everyday I want to crawl into a corner and never come out. Does this ever end?
Hey everybody, I’m new here…..kind of.Â Anyways I felt like I wanted to share my story, but I have no idea where to start or how to start. So I’m just going to ramble on and on until I feel like it should end.
I guess I was always suicidal.Â I’ve always thought of suicide as a little girl and its almost an obsession now.Â I remember trying to commit suicide when I was six or seven, but not strong enough to push the steak knife into the skin of my neck.Â Such a weak little girl I was.Â Anyways about two years ago is when my depression really started.
I don’t know when it really started, I was always sad. I had no reason to though. I have two parents who love each other very much, I have a decent house and a little brother and very supportive family.Â I used to be a girly-girl. It was my life. I was decked out in pink and frilly skirts and my goal in life was to get a boyfriend.Â I was a shallow *****.Â That was around two or three years ago.Â I was constantly sad like that, but I had a drive to get better.Â I was often shut out by my “friends”, but I made it my goal for them to like me.Â I convinced myself I wasn’t who I was, I told myself I was better.Â I was a skinnier than life 7th grade girl who could somehow manage to eat more food than anyone could give me.Â Then came softball season.
I was never good at sports, but my life long friend Maria finally convinced me to register for the town’s softball team.Â Now since I had just started with softball I was just plain horrible at it.Â There Maria & I met Olivia.Â We became the three musketeers and I began my transformation into a tomboy & anime nerd in one.Â They introduced me into Anime, which I quickly fell in love with.Â It became my life.Â I hadn’t realized my depression yet, but now that I look back I know it was there, looming over me like a huge storm cloud.
Olivia was always the quiet girl on my bus who never talked to anyone when she moved to my school in her 5th grade, my 6th grade year.Â We had cohabitated and tolerated each other for a year before we actually got to know each other through softball.Â Right now I was still the shallow little girl who Olivia had, well, strongly disliked although she didn’t tell me until we were very good friends. Now here’s the thing nobody knew about Olivia.Â My best friend, my sister, was depressed.Â With her father in Pennsylvania with all her half siblings and a single mom who only seemed to nag at her and the jerks in her grade who told her to commit suicide she began to cut.Â I was at first very alarmed.Â I wanted to tell her, no, yell at her to stop.Â That it was wrong.Â Oh how wrong I was.Â Now this was a few months after softball & she was in sixth grade still & I was still in 7th grade, the years we started softball.Â The more I thought about it, the more the idea of cutting became enticing to me. I imagined it, fantasized about it.Â But before this I had pertended to be ok with Olivia’s cutting as Maria was ok with it and revealed that she was cutting too.
Soon summer came and passed and my 8th grade year came.Â Olivia & I now shared a lunch period & Jordan came into our little group.Â Well it was more of I joining Olivia & Jordan’s little group.Â Maria was now in 6th grade and Jordan was in Olivia’s grade.Â Jordan had tried suicide several times, each one unsuccessful as she is alive today.Â The came the day Olivia and I openly cut in school during our lunch.Â I had never cut before this & we were cutting with the school’s plastic butter knives (don’t ask me why) and well the following monday we were both called into guidance.Â It was around 2 weeks from Christmas by now and I was deep into my depression.Â I had fantasized my death several times & had even started writing dark and suicidal poetry to help the pain.Â I had even fantasized my funeral.Â The guidance person, or whatever they’re called, Miss, oh god I forgot her name, but anyways we were good friends from when I still hung out with my old “friends” that I had recently ditched.Â With those “friends” I was in the guidance office every other week with the newest drama. I am forever thankful I ditched them.Â Well anyways I lied straight to her face.Â I acted like the happy, silly teenage girl everybody thought I was.Â I rambled on about my new dog & nearly every happy subject of life.Â Meanwhile Olivia spilled her guts to the guidance person and told her things that she hadn’t even told me.Â I was a little offended that she wouldn’t tell me, but I decided not to pry & we moved past that.
Life had gone on since then and I had been cutting ever since.Â Several times I tried to stop.Â Several times I failed.Â I started to recognize my parents favoritsm for my brother, something I should have realized earlier.Â I got mad at myself.Â I had almost every reason not to be suicidal, but then I found myself wrong yet again.Â In 6th grade, I was shoved by my mother on my throte, choking me.Â I have been hit before.Â The occasional slaps that may have ended up in a bloody nose if I had angered my parents so much to.Â This hasn’t happened in years though.Â They have threatened it again, but it has never gotten that bad as to be taken away from my home.Â We have been a simewhat happy family since then, dysfunctional, but happy or so my parents thought I was.
I have always been one of those weird girls in school.Â I was called a spaz when I was little, I was bullied, but not too much.Â I had my good friends but then we had drifted apart.Â The only one who has been my friend since elementary school is Maria.Â Now in the summer after 8th grade I was cutting badly.Â I cut my shoulder deeply with a pocketknife and figured out smart ways to hide it, but then it was also bathing suit season & I had no choice but to go on my families boating trips.Â I had tried to cover it up with band aids and fakeÂ tatoos, but my dad found out.Â He threatened to take me to a doctor.Â It wasn’t the first time he threatened that.Â We had often got into screaming matches where he threatened to take me to a doctor for my anger issues.Â He threatened to take me to a doctor for my overall weirdness.
The summer was eventful and several, several times I have convinced myself I am happy, only to fall down deeper, never to hit rock bottom.Â I don’t know if I will hit rock bottom, but I keep getting lower.Â I think I may be bipolar.Â I have my happyness & my sadness & every other emotion all in different times and all too real but too fake when they end.Â School has started up again & now I am a 9th grader.Â I have only worsened.Â Whenever I leave my friends I feel the smile fall from my face & the looming cloud over my head.Â I feel the weight in my chest that clenches around me when my mind drifts in that direction.Â I began cutting again, although I haven’t cut since November.Â Sometimes I feel numb.Â I have recently gotten into fights with Maria.Â We made up though, but I still feel horrible.Â I don’t know why I’m depressed.Â I can’t pinpoint any reason.Â I just feel so weighed down.
I feel like I dramatize things while not meaning to.Â My brother may be cruel to me sometimes, but so is life.Â Everybody gets in bad fights with their friends right?Â I don’t know why I’m typing this…do I want guidance? I don’t want anybody to tell me everything that’s wrong with me.Â I don’t want another inspirational speech.Â I know everything I don’t want and I don’t know what I want.Â I just don’t know anymore.Â I’ve contemplated suicide often and came pretty close to it.Â I’ve done sooooo many things that I want to just hide from.Â All the embarassing moments in my life! I hate them.Â I hate myself.Â I don’t know what to do anymore.Â Sometimes I want to go to sleep and never wake up.Â I never mentioned my struggling with my sexuality did I? Well in the pst year I figured out I was bi & possibly lesbian after trying to convince myself that I’m straight! I have so many indecisions in my life & I just want it all to go away!!!!!!!!!!!Â I want life to be simple and happy again, like when I was 4 and not a care in the world. How do I get the back? How do I get back the innocence & ignorance of all things bad & sad?Â What do I do? Why I am I asking so many questions? I just don’t know what to do anymore.Â I’m going to go before I have a total breakdown and maybe actually publish this.