A.N: This is autobiographical, to say the least, except I changed around a few things. But all the dates and things that my friend tried to do are true. This is just a story about depression and how it doesn't just kill the victim, but their friends too. I really wasn't sure what section to put this in, so I'm putting it in biography. If that's wrong, please tell me. Please read and review.
She walked down the hall, taking in every detail. The people, the walls, the noise, the posters. There were a few people who said 'hi' to her. But only two of them knew. Two people in the entire school knew what was going on with her and her friend.
She wished she had never come to school that day. The day it all started…
She was pulled into the bathroom and told. She fought not to cry when her friend broke down, revealing the ugly truth. Her best friend –only 12 then- had tried to kill herself.
She wandered down the hall, almost two years later. She felt like crying though her eyes were dry. She could still remember the trauma afterwards, trying to keep the secret, telling her mom, wondering each day if her friend would die, hearing she was in therapy. And then, only seven months ago-was it that long?- there was the second one…
She went into her kitchen, where her parents were sitting. They told her with no sugar coating, her friend had been hospitalized for depression. She didn't talk to her friend for another two months, it was too hard. She was afraid of what she might hear. Her friend was ruining her life with the depression, and she wanted no more of it.
She weaved between people, finding the door to her class and sat down, gazing at the wall. Now there was this news, nothing confirmed, but strongly suspected.
She waved at someone, trying to shield her pain. Her best friend, possibly anorexic.
She wondered: What is it going to be next year? Sixth grade was suicide, seventh was depression, and eighth was a refusal to eat. What was left? Was there anything worse? Yes there was, drugs maybe, or pregnancy. She wouldn't put any of those past her friend. It wouldn't surprise her now even if she died. The only thing that could shock her would be the next big deal.
She wanted to have a normal friendship again, one where her friend was acting like a dumb blonde all the time, when they could laugh and joke, where she wasn't always worried, but that wasn't possible anymore. She went up to give her teacher the homework. On the way back, she smiled at the two people who knew. The nice one had been shocked. The popular one had given her advice. Neither helped truly, even though they tried so hard. Neither erased the pain.
She wove a story in her notebook when she sat back down, writing being her only escape. She wove words until they formed a wonderful pattern, and it went like this:
"She walked down the hall…"
For the Lizzard.