The summer before my senior year of high school one of my close friends (so close we had gone to prom together) confided in me that he was struggling with suicidal thoughts and depression.  He had been accepted to and enrolled in Purdue University.  He has dreams of being an aerospace engineer, and Purdue is one of the best colleges for that specific field of engineering.  Despite his affinity for the subject, he was not accepted into that program, but as a student with an undecided major.  This condition shook his confidence, and the closer and closer the start of his semester came, the more and more unstable he became.

I found myself staying up late at night to console and encourage him in spite of his doubts.  Then, I became afraid when he would tell me that he dreamed of dying and that he would stare at knives in his utensil drawer, just wondering.  I knew how miserable he was and the threat that he posed to himself, but I let him go without a second thought, hoping he’d get better.  I was just a 16 year old girl; what did I know and what authority did I have to impact his life?

To answer that question, I was a 16 year old girl and I knew everything that they crammed down your throat about what to do if a friend or even just someone you knew was considering harming themselves.  The authority had to come from me.  I had to suck it up and make the hardest decision of my life, to tell someone or to keep quiet and keep hoping,  But, I was only 16, so I did what 16 year olds do best; I put off making that decision.  I began talking to school psychologists and health teachers, seeking advice on what to do.  Was I overreacting, was he just homesick, or was he just being moody like any other 18 year old boy?  I desperately wanted for someone to tell me it would pass, but no one did.

The moment I had been hiding from was here.  Just to ensure that I really had to tell someone, I confronted him about everything that had happened in the three months since he had departed in August.  Things had only gotten worse, and I knew that I had to inform his parents.  So I sat awake and handwrote an eight page letter to his parents detailing why I was so concerned about their son.  I left it in their mailbox because I couldn’t stand to see their son’s face as I handed it to them because he would know exactly what that letter said.  I wanted to help him but I didn’t want to see the look on his face the moment I broke his trust.

I tell myself all the time that I made the right decision because he got help, but I know that he and I will never be real friends again.  Our conversations don’t go past small talk like “how’s class/ puppy/ significant other?” and “We should totally hang out.” I know why.  Obviously, he doesn’t trust me anymore.  The other reason, which we fought about all the time, is that I won’t say I regret what I did.  I will never regret this decision because I know it is the right thing.

It took me a long time to face my moment of truth, and I will never take it back, because I saved someone I truly care about from himself.