***TRIGGER WARNING***
This articel may not be for you if you are sensitive to suicidal stories. Please take care yourself!

It is my fault.
It is my fault that you are dead.
You don't know how sorry I am. How angry I am st the world. Or how much I miss you...

Last summer, you talked so much about taking your life. At first I was headed down the same tracks. I had recently tried but failed. You always said that when you did it you would be sure to succeed. You talked about so many ways to do it. You talked about all the ways to do it.

At first I tried so hard to be there for you and offer the help that I could but after I while I got so terrified that I couldn't do it anymore. My mental health took a steep leap down the rabbit hole.

We didn't really talk until this summer. I knew that you had friends that you actually talked to and made you feel a little bit better. And you went to that doctor I told you to. You took the pills you were told to. But what did they do? Really? They made the emptiness and the numbness bigger. Sure, the sadness was dulled, but so was the happiness.

That day that you contacted me, in the morning the 2n of June, a Saturday. I was on my way home from a friends house after a party the day before. You told me "Just out of respect for last summer, I thought you'd want to know." And I knew exactly what he was talking about. Today was the day. Today was the day he was going to end his life. I panicked, but tried to sound calm in the messages I sent you.

After a while I called a friend and asked what I should do. Should I call the police or what do I do!? I was crying so hard that I could barely see. He didn't know either so at last I called 112 (911). I told them that my friend was going to kill himself today. They asked me so many question. I tried to push the fact that he was going to do it no matter what. If they stopped him today, he was just gonna try again tomorrow. Really I wanted him to be put in the psychiatric ward at the hospital so that they could keep an eye on him, or more.

At last they hung up. By that time I was sitting beside a bush by the side of the road. A short while later my friend called me to tell me that the police had spoken to him. He was hurt that I had betrayed him. But I would take that any day over him not being here. He told me he might go to a BBQ with some friends. I told him that he should. He asked me not to call the police again. I told him that I wouldn't if he promised not to do it today. He promised.

I didn't hear from him the next day. I figured he was still upset that I betrayed him and that I was the last person he wanted to talk to. I didn't hear from him the next day either. During the day the police called again. We had a soccer tournament at school so everybody was at the fields playing soccer while I talked to the police. They wanted more information. This was a new person, I guess the last one I talked to didn't get all the notes. I pushed once again that I thought they should have him put in the hospital. He hadn't shown up at school today.

In the evening I sent tons of snaps, he didn't answer any of them, he didn't even open them. Normally he would do it in a couple of minutes. I was so worried that I stayed up all night, feeling sick and crying. I sent a message to a friend that I knew he talked to and asked if she knew where he was.

She answered in the morning that they had found him and that he was home. I was so relieved. Today it was Tuesday. The day before our national day, so most of the students were not at school. A third of us had a test so we still had school today. I came a little late to my test. On my way to my classroom I saw my teacher, the principal and someone else in the staff outside our classroom, which was odd. But I went inside and sat down anyways.

I had barely gotten my test when the principal came in and started talking. I think I knew before I understood what he was talking about. A sat so still in my seat. Trying not to burst into tears in front of all my classmates as our principal told us that a student in another class in our year had decided to take his life. My body was boiling and my eyes was burning. I didn't want to be the first person to run out, but everybody just sat still. At last another girl in my class ran out and I ran close behind.

I ran straight to the big bathroom on the top floor. I slided down the wall to the floor and the tears burst out. I was crying so hard. I don't know how long I was in there. When I came out there was the people in the small corridor on a bench that I needed to pass to get to my locker. Two of them were my classmates, the third a guy in our year. One of my classmates asked me if I knew him. All I could do was nod if I didn't want to burst into tears again. I put my things in my locker.

On my way back my classmate who had spoken (a guy whom I don't really speak with much) rose and gave me a long hug. Then the girl did too, and at last the guy I didn't know gave me a hug too. I continued to the stairs. I met a guy in my year that was in my club. He said that he was too young, and I could sent the tears in his eyes. I hugged him as soon as he ascended the stairs. He told me he really needed that hug.

I went a floor down to the memorial room that was set up. There was someone at the front table, head buried, writing in a book. A girl I knew, a girl he knew.
I sat down at one of the round tables that had been placed there for the occasion. I hugged a couple of more people that I knew. Still crying. A girl I knew really well, and who knew him really well to, hugged me for a solid ten minutes. We both needed to let out more tears.

Finally I got to write. Write to him. Write to his parents. After that I went outside and hid atop the low wall. I cried and cried and cried. Mom called me after a while. She had gotten a phone call from the school telling her what had happened. She asked me if I knew him and I told him who it was. I could hear the tears in her voice when she realised what that meant for me.

Outside the entrance, atop the wall, I got more hugs from friends passing by.
At last mom came and picked me up and drove me home. I slept until dinner had passed. Then I went to a party at the biggest park in Gothenburg. There was usually people partying in that part of the park most weekends. This one was with mostly people from school and our "party-friends". I hadn't eaten any dinner and intended to get really drunk. I succeeded and don't remember most of that night, but people tell me that I really enjoyed myself.

When I had gotten home everything had cought up with me. I called an ex and former FWB up. We were still friends and he had made the stupid mistake telling me an hour earlier that he was there for me. The vodka had mostly wore off but not entirely. My wrists were dripping blood and on my way over to him I left a trial of blood behind me.

I entered through the back door and everything went bloody. I sank down on the floor crying and hiding my arms. I was such I failure, I couldn't even close a door without getting it drenched in blood. My former FWB took a look at me and told me to get in to the bathroom. Then he went out and vomited. He told me to cover up my trashed wrists and then come in to the bedroom. I made some bad mistakes that night.

Joel, I'm sorry that I trusted you. I'm sorry that I didn't call back to the police, insisting the take you with them. Or just like... doing something.

My dear friend,
You once told me that no one would cry when you were dead.
You were wrong. I cry for you every night, still.

I wished you could've seen your funeral. The hall was too small to fill everyone.

When we were outside, waiting to enter the hall, I thought that I saw you by the door. It was a sunny day, but that boy, in that light blue shirt you liked so much. A boy with your stubbed hair, and your tall body. A boy who looked so so much like you. For a minute I thought that I actually saw you, that you were still here. But when the sun revealed the details of your faces, it wasn't you at all. It was your brother, your brother who looks so much like you.

I cried throughout your funeral.