A friend tried to die.
He tried to escape the iron grip of life.
But he failed.
We managed to get to him in time.
We "saved" him.
He sat in a room for a day,
Coughing.
Retching.
Crying.
He was reduced to nothing more than a sack of flesh,
Only staying alive
Because the human body has an astounding capacity
For forcing you to live, above all else.
As I drew closer, he feebly reached out,
Squeezed my hand,
And held on as he proceeded to apologize.
It was all I could do not to cry.
Later, they shipped him out for rehabilitation.
They gave him drugs.
Until he adjusted to them, they affected his brain so strongly,
He couldn't complete the sentences he started.
He couldn't remember what he just started to say two seconds previously.
He went back home soon, though.
He seems okay.
But I'm not.
A part of me died the day I saw him in that hospital bed.
This was my rock,
The person I looked to when my life fell apart.
Now his life has fallen apart.
Now I have nothing to show me things will be okay.
Now I sit in a pit of depression
Deeper than any I've dug before,
And I can't see the way out.
Attempting suicide is the worst thing you can do to your loved ones.
It hurts them more than it could ever possibly hurt you.
Life gets better.
You just have to reach out.