A Letter to My Friend Who Killed Himself

Am I a bad friend?

Suicide stole a friend of mine.

My friend got rich and suddenly lost all of his money. A few months later, he killed himself.

He sat in his truck, pressed the pistol barrel against his right temple, and pulled the trigger. The gun fell to the left side, and he left a pregnant wife behind, a broken-hearted mother, and a lot of devastated friends.

My friend and I were both first-generation immigrants, and we worked together as we built a better future for ourselves and our families. My friend and I share a lot of broken dreams, shattered hopes, and fragmented childhood memories.

I talked to him 12 hours before he took his life, and I failed to see the signs, and I still blame myself for not being there for him.

His first attempt

My friend was disgusted by his life circumstances and financial failure. He was worried about his child's birth.

A month before he killed himself, his wife called me. He asked her to leave the house because he was contemplating killing himself. I got to his house as quickly as possible to see broken mirrors, glasses, and a TV screen.

These broken objects represented his fractured relationships, bankrupt businesses, and overdraft bank accounts.

I picked up the broken mirror off the floor and barely recognized the reflection of my face and his face. He stepped away from the mirror, trying to avoid his reflection and escape the pain that overwhelmed his life simultaneously.

I asked him if he wanted to talk, and he said, "I'm okay."

The pressure doesn't stop.

His disgust with life increased with each bounced check, collection calls, and a trip to the grocery store.

He once picked up the knife, ran it smoothly on his wrist, saw the blood running down his arm, and lost consciousness. This time his life was saved by a biological response called Vasovagal syncope. His body overreacted to the sight of blood, so his heart rate and blood pressure dropped suddenly, which led to reduced blood in his brain, so he fainted.

His memory of this attempt quickly fainted once I asked him about it. Of course, I was in denial that my friend would take his life eventually, but deep down, I knew that he inched closer and closer to ending his life.

Don't tell anyone.

I got a call from a common friend telling me that our depressed friend had just gambled away what was left of his business.

My friend called after the incident and said, "Don't tell anyone." I'm not sure about you, but I hate two sentences more than anything: "I need to tell you something" and "Don't tell anyone."

In my limited life experience, these two sentences are a hidden request for help or much-needed attention. After talking to him, my heart dropped, my brain froze, and my eyes were dazed. How can my best friend gamble his business away? But he did because he was looking for another opportunity, asking for help, screaming for attention, and we all missed the signs again.

Come, identify the body.

Finally, I got a call from his wife asking if I had heard from him, and I said no.

A few hours later, the maintenance man was cleaning the parking garage when he noticed a white truck idling for a long time. He approached the car and saw the blood all over the windshield. He screamed and called the police, and a few hours later, his wife had to identify the body.

Was I a terrible friend?

There we were, a group of young adults at our best friend's funeral, unable to understand what had just occurred a few days earlier.

Before you judge me, I was young. He was young. His wife was young. Everyone was young.

I thought he was worried about his finances, mortgage, and truck payment. I thought his anxiety was driving him restless, but I never knew that his depression was getting the best out of him and the best out of us.

I knew he wasn't happy, but I thought he was experiencing growing pain. I thought he was encountering issues in his marriage that he didn't feel like talking about.

Waking up in a nightmare

Ned Vizzini said it best; some depressed people rather be asleep than awake, dead than alive.

He said before his death, “I didn’t want to wake up. I was having a much better time asleep. And that’s sad. It was almost like a reverse nightmare like when you wake up from a nightmare, you’re so relieved. But, unfortunately, I woke up into a nightmare.”

A few years later, Ned Vizzini took his own life and deprived us of his thoughtful work. The author's brother, Daniel, told journalists that Vizzini had jumped off their parent's house roof.

Vizzini, just like my friend, was unable to talk about his depression, “It’s so hard to talk when you want to kill yourself. That’s above and beyond everything else, and it’s not a mental complaint-it’s a physical thing like it’s physically hard to open your mouth and make the words come out. They don’t come out smooth and in conjunction with your brain the way normal people’s words do; they come out in chunks as if from a crushed-ice dispenser; you stumble on them as they gather behind your lower lip. So you just keep quiet.”

Vizzini struggled to understand himself and tackle life's most simple problems, yet he was able to share his great work with millions of his readers. He couldn't understand how he was so ambitious and lazy at the same time.

What can you do if you feel depressed

ReachOut.com provides people with direct pathways to national crisis services and treatment services.

In addition, the site provides people with three steps to follow if they need to express their pain.

1. Think of people you could have an open and honest conversation with.
2. Clearly explain how you're feeling. For example, use statements like, "I feel — — about — — because — — ."
3. Continue the conversation. Now that you feel comfortable talking to this friend go back and talk to them when you are not feeling well.

You can also call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800–273–8255 or visit Lifeline.

Final words to my friend

My Friend,

I love you, and I miss you.

But I will never judge you for what you did. So forgive me for not understanding the depth of your pain.

You were a strong, funny, charismatic, and intelligent man. I remember the last time we had dinner at Cheddar and agreed to meet again next week. Unfortunately, that never happened, but we will meet again in heaven.

Sometimes people think depression is a sign of weakness because most people don't understand your struggles.

No more pain, no more struggle. You made us better, and sorry if I failed you.

Love you

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