
A letter to my friend, who took his own life.
My friend John. Why? Though I know I have depression and I have been in that black place where it seems hopeless and you don't want to even reach out for help, still I am so sad. You were my friend when others were not. Our shithead boss even teased you about being gay because you hung out with the gay guy and you told him to fuck off. We had many fun drunk nights after work, goldschlager shots, ugh--your fault! And I think sometimes you dressed on those weekend outings to impress my sense of style if nothing else. You did, but you were so handsome, and I don't think you knew it inside or out, you were such a handsome young man, and such a kind person. When I got laid off at ALG, and I was sick, you drove me in to pick up my junk, that was a true friend. And tragically, we talked about that gun. I said I wanted to buy it, in case I wanted to do myself in, and you said you'd never sell it to me if you thought I would use it for that. John I was touched but now, damn it why not apply that to yourself. You were so smart and so kind, and (to be superficial) so handsome, and we have lost you.
I had to tell freakin Nani about what you did, and she was so angry, John, but she was not surprised, which made me upset that she suspected but did not act. She would not even let me hug her, she beat me and yelled things trying to explain why you should not have done it but I could tell she was somehow not surprised. Damn John. I wish I could have known.
I was so happy to see you at Westland after so long, it was like old times, but I felt shy about contacting you. You straight, me gay, even after all our nights of drinking, it was kind of awkward.
God I wish you had called me, we could have talked about how lonely depression is, and we maybe could have gotten you past it. So many people loved you and cared for you. I know if you had depression like me it does not feel that way, and you just want the pain to go away. But the feeling does pass. I wish I could have pulled that gun away from you John, damn I'd do anything to have been there to stop you.
So this is what helpless feels like, A month after you kill yourself and I still think about it every day and wish I had called after we met up again. What could I have done to make you feel less lonely? Had I known I would of course have broken down your door. But you're gone. All that is John and his little smile, his little chuckle, his Mr Burns Impression, is gone.
I think this is the worst guilt I will ever feel, deserved or not.