When I go to dark places and feel like I can't hold on anymore, I want to confide in someone, for them to pull me out of myself. I vent and I try to have a friend pull me out, to make me feel better. I'm still here, so eventually I felt better and I'm thankful for their help and go along my merry way. What I never stopped to consider was what my friend sees, what they experience.
Let's call him John.
Out of the blue John gets a text. He looks closer and sees the notification that his friend texted, telling him goodbye, that they're giving up on life. His eyes widen and he panics, desperately trying to convince his friend that they're worth it and that there's no way they can give up, that they have to stay alive.
The conversation spirals out of control; John is running out of ideas and his friend is running out of their will to live. He does the next thing he can think of and calls his friend. They answer and start to cry. John tries to console them, tries to make them feel okay, despite the fact that he's struggling too. His friend tries to speak, tears lacing the edge of their voice, and John pleads for them to stay on the phone, that he's coming over right now.
Forgetting all his plans and trying to ignore his rising anxiety as he tries to console his friend, to keep them alive. He drives as fast as he can and desperately scans the houses until he sees his friend sitting alone on the doorstep. He slams the gears into park, gets out and says "let's go for a walk."
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His friend walks and tries to explain their feelings, hopelessly speaking and staring at the ground. John tries to stand tall and gives his friend a listening ear, trying to bring their friend back to a safe state of mind. His friend vents and tries not to cry, only caring about themselves, not even thinking about how John must feel with the responsibility of keeping their friend from death. Eventually after much discussion and steps, the walk reached it's end and their friend seemed to be feeling better, despite the fact that John is exhausted from trying to save their friend.
After making sure that his friend makes it inside the house, John walks back to his car and drives back home. For the rest of the night, he flinches every time the text notification soinds, looking desperately to make sure that the friend didn't decide a time, day, and way to commit suicide. That night, John struggles to sleep, terrified that everything he tried to do wasn't enough to save his friend.
Since seeing through his eyes, I feel horrible. Guilt claws at my heart and stomach, horrified at how I made him feel. Friends should not become dumping grounds and I dumped a whole lotta crap on his life. It wasn't fair for me to put this all on him, to have him responsible to figure it out. Everyone has their own problems and I only thought of myself. If I keep dumping my thoughts on my friends, someday I just might be the cause of their suicide.