Why is everything that I do sad? Why does the black and white of the world not have color? Why is it that I look at the few friends that me and myself have and it is not much? Why does depression hurt? Why does the reader who now reads this wonder: Why are you so sad?

Have you ever had a dream where you cried in it?

Mine was not a dream but even now, I still cry because of the fact that I couldn’t help my friend. He was a loyal friend, he and I were a pair of young people who were laughing, talking, and having high hopes for the future. Every day, he met me with a smile and a joke…

…until his brother killed himself.

“What happened?” I had asked.
“He killed himself!” My dear friend exclaimed.
I sat down next to him and watched as tears fell out of his eyes…a hero crying…my friend who was happy was crying.

Days went by…the funeral came and went…he still cried.

Then…he tried to kill himself.

I walked onto the bus, it was a normal day of a normal week but this time…something was different.
“Hello!” I greeted my friend.
He smiled like the old friend that I knew and waited for the bus to get going…he was riding in the back of the bus of death.

It was the last day of school and I watched in dismay as my friend took out of his back…a razor.
“What are you doing?!” I asked, shocked.
“I can’t do it,” My friend told me, “I’ve lost my girlfriend, I’ve lost my brother…I want to go.”
“No,” I protested, “Please don’t! You are my best friend! Please, I beg of you…don’t!”
“I’m sorry…”
“No! N-now, put the blade down and…and…”
He didn’t listen as he brought the razor up to his throat.
“No!” I shot, “You can’t do this, what about me? What about your family?”
“They don’t love me!” He protested.
“Yes they do! Please, just put the blade down!”
He shook his head and looked away.
“No!” I nearly shouted, “I will not watch you die?”
“Why not?” He asked, “Death follows you around like a magnet.”
The words stung hard into my soul as I watched my friend, now in tears, bring his shaking hand up to his throat.
“No!” I protested, “Not you to!”
Calmly, he placed the blade down and looked at me with a look that said: please go away.
“You have been a good friend.” He said.
“No!”
The bus lurched to a stop. My friend got up and left. Gazing out the back of the bus window, I watched as he looked at the bus. I didn’t take my eyes off of him until the bus turned the corner but even then, the words he spoke stuck to me: Death follows you around.

I never saw my friend again.

Depression hurts…but not as much as seeing everyone else happy…