Why did you do it? How could you? How could you leave me here, in this crazy, mixed-up world, without you? I know you were unhappy. Trust me, I am too. But I am still here, I am still fighting. And you should be too. But you are not. You left. You left me. You left everyone.
Depression. It’s a mental disorder. We both have it. We met in a support group for it. Without the diagnosis, I would have never met you. That made it all worth it. It made the hard to swallow pills and the aggressive weekly therapy worth it. It even made the abuse I received from my father that gave me this illness worth it. Because it led me to you.
We were partnered together to do an exercise, remember? We had to do a skit, whatever we wanted. The purpose was to show us how we could slip into an act, mask our feelings. And how we needed to be comfortable losing the act to get better.
We decided to do something funny. We wanted to be witty and entertaining. We wanted to be able to say that we made a room of depressed people laugh. But before I got to the last line, our real closer, you kissed me. It ruined to light mood, but I didn’t mind. I kissed you back. Dr. Greif called for the next group to go up, and we fell back into an armchair. We were not disturbed, because no one was sure if they could pull us apart. That’s how close we already were.
I showed you my poems, the ones that I didn’t share with anyone else, not even our therapist. I wrote about sadness and death. You asked why, and I laughed, saying that that was what depression did to you. But then you disagreed. You said that while the illness took up a big part of our lives, it didn’t have to control all of it. You said there were times that you felt on top of the world. I mentioned that it was only a symptom of the depression, and that they never last. But then you said that you were experiencing that symptom right now, and you had been ever since you met me.
If that is true, then why are you not with me now? Why are you not holding me in your arms, just having read the new poetry I wrote? Why are you gone, never to return? Why was I not enough to keep you here?
Remember when we went to therapy that next week? Remember I wasn’t wearing any black, like I always did? Remember I was wearing pink? Remember you laughed at my outfit, and I sat in your lap? Remember how you caught sight of the white headband in my hair, and you asked if it was really me, or my twin that you didn’t even know I had? I promised it was me, and you believed me.
You were unhappy these past few weeks. Your parents were fighting more than ever, but I told you to hold on, that you would be moving out soon enough. Your eighteenth birthday was approaching. You could move out, and you wouldn’t have to hear them screaming every night, like you have for the entirety of your life. I reminded you of this, and you said you didn’t think you could hold on for that long. I told you that you could, and I thought I’d assured you enough that you would hold on. But I was wrong.
You are gone. You are gone, and I cannot do anything about it. I refuse to go on without you. I am going to join you. Tonight will be the night that we meet again. I am going to drive to that same bridge you did, and I am going to walk to the same spot you did. And I am going to jump, just as you did. See you on the other side.