I have a friend named Sarah.
She’s always around, even when no one else is.
She shows up quietly, like she’s been waiting.
Sometimes I don’t even notice her until she’s already sitting beside me.
She listens when I’m tired.
She nods when I feel misunderstood.
She tells me she knows how heavy everything feels.
And that’s the dangerous part —
because she always sounds like she understands.
We play games together.
Games where she makes the rules.
Games I never win.
She tells me things like,
“You’re tired for a reason.”
“They don’t really see you.”
“You’re a burden.”
“You wouldn’t have to hurt anymore.”
She says it gently.
Like she’s trying to help.
And when I argue with her, she waits.
When I ignore her, she comes back quieter.
When I’m alone, she sits closer.
She tells me she’s the only one who stays.
But somehow, the longer she stays, the smaller I feel.
I’ve noticed something about Sarah.
She never tells me to rest — only to give up.
She never reminds me of love only pain.
She never talks about tomorrow.
And even though she pretends to be my friend,
every time I listen to her, I feel weaker.
Every time I believe her, I lose a little more of myself.
That’s when I realized the truth.
Sarah isn’t my friend.
Sarah is the voice of my suicidal thoughts.
She is fear pretending to be comfort.
Pain pretending to be peace.
Lies pretending to be understanding.
She shows up when I’m overwhelmed.
When I’m exhausted.
When I feel unseen.
The truthis sarah was never here to help me nor save me.
Jan 17
Jan 17, 2026 at 5:20 PM UTC