Late at night around midnight, my phone rang. The skies were dark, and we had school the next day; so my house was as silent as a mouse. I looked at my phone and saw it was my best friend Ryan. I rolled my eyes to the thought of talking to him but answered the phone anyway. We had been fighting for a few days.

I answered the phone. During our fight, my face was beat red with anger; my hands were shaking, and I almost wanted to hang up the phone after I found out that Ryan had been doing drugs and ruining his life. I literally felt my heart slowly ripping apart. I felt like my whole world had just come down on top of me. He’s the only person I could ever talk to about anything in the world, and he wouldn’t judge me in any way. When I answered the phone, I questioned, “What do you want?” He started talking to me in the weirdest tone, but I didn’t think anything of it. He apologized, and I told him goodnight. He said to me in a blank voice, “I love you.” These were words we said all the time, every night that we talked. I hung up the phone and never said a word back to him. That was the biggest mistake I have ever made in my life, and here is why.

The next morning I was lying on the warm, dark couch sleeping so soundly that I almost couldn’t wake up. I didn’t feel anything at first, and then I heard the knocking again. I slowly tried to push myself up off the couch, still so tired. I opened the door and saw two tall and firm men wearing dark black uniforms with badges and a name tag. I was so confused as to why there would be policemen at my door. They asked for my name, and I explained to them who I was. The cop on the right replied, “You’re who we need to speak with.” I was still confused because the cops’ faces looked pale, and their arms were shaking. I knew both of the cops, not personally but on a first-name basis. They were friends of my dad’s and had been since I could remember. I asked them, “What is it?” I let my voice trail off. The officers both looked at each other. I wanted them to get to the point. He commented, “It’s about your friend Ryan.” I started thinking of any possibility that could have possibly happened. I couldn’t think of anything, so I looked at him with a confused look. My eyes looked into his eyes, and my face dulled. “What happened?” I asked. The cop said blankly, “I’m sorry for the words that I’m about to say. You’re friend Ryan is dead.” Everything in my body stopped, and I fell into the cops’ arm. I couldn’t speak and my body turned to stone. I stood up, and the warm tears ran down my face. I kept telling myself in my head, ‘You just lost your best friend.’ I tried my hardest to calm down, but I couldn’t. I said nothing and slowly grabbed the door behind me. I shut it carefully and waited for the cops to leave.  I sat on the couch and put my head in my hands gently. I couldn’t feel any pain, but I knew that I had to cry because I knew what was happening around me.  I was numb; I felt nothing happening in my body.

Time passed and nothing changed. I sat there and waited till my parents came home. About four hours later, I was still sitting in that exact same spot. Both of my parents walked through the door, and I could feel their eyes on me. I sat there and didn’t say a word. Their arms wrapped around me tightly. I could feel my mother’s pulse and the beating of my own heart inside me, yet I felt like I was dead. Around me my parents’ voices kept growing louder and louder. They asked multiple times over and over, “What is wrong”? But I couldn’t speak. I only felt soundless sorrow. A few more hours past by, and I laid my heavy head on the warm dark couch yet again.  My body was misplaced; my heart was with him. I slowly let myself fade into a horrible sleep. Two hours later I woke up. It was a gut-wrenching nightmare. It was almost as if it were true. I happened to dream that Ryan was still alive and that those cops and all of that horrific day were just a dream. After I woke up, it hit me. My best friend was gone, and there was no way to get him back.

  A few harsh and lonely weeks later, I was getting no better. I felt depressed, and devastated. I wanted to end my own life as well. After trying and pleading, I knew I couldn’t leave my family, my friends, and the few people who seem to love me. I was lost and numb in my own mind and thoughts. I felt almost as if I was dying inside of my body, which was alive. In all reality I was fading away from anybody close to me or trying to be in my life. My life was becoming empty, and I wanted to die.

Exactly two months later, I tried to end my own life. My parents were constantly yelling at me about the things I was doing to myself, but I didn’t care. They always told me that if I end my life the only place I am going is to hell. That broke my heart because I knew that they were saying Ryan went to hell. Constantly they told me that they didn’t want to be in the position of Ryan’s parents and family. I just wanted to escape this place and go be with someone who could make me happy. At that time it only felt like one person could do that. I began cutting myself; it made me feel better for a while. After a while of cutting, it became dull to me to and happened to make me more depressed. I was falling into a bottomless pit of despair and neglect. I felt neglected for the strangest reasons even though all anyone wanted to do was help. But the only thing I wanted was the one thing in the world I could never get back, my best friend.

I dream about him constantly. I hope he is happy and doing well. I knew that sooner or later I would be with him again. I didn’t want to wait. One night I was alone and the depression hit me, again. I lost all control and grabbed multiple pill bottles. I wanted to end it, and I was for sure that it’s what I wanted. I started taking pills as fast as I possibly could; I took two bottles of prescription painkillers that were my mother’s from her surgery. I took other bottles. I’m not even sure what they were, but I didn’t care. I had already felt dead on the inside, like a corpse. The hard and violent hit of depression took over my entire body. I wanted to lie down and slowly take my last breath. My mother came in through the door and was so close to my body but felt as far as mars. She shook me, multiple times.  She shook me more. I couldn’t wake up on my own or with her help. I was unconscious but I still had a pulse.

My mom took me to the hospital, and they flushed out my stomach. It was gut wrenching to know what it had been doing to my parents and family. My devastated friends were also there. I never wanted to be in this position. I wanted to die quickly and without a struggle. I have learned since then that I can’t give up my fight. Everyone is fighting something, and it’s never going to be an easy fight. My mother always used to tell me, “God gives his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers.” From now on I am going to fight.