For all of my life, I’ve always gravitated towards broken people. I’ve always had sympathy and a deep passion for those around me living in anguish and pain. I saw broken hearts and tears around me, and all I longed to do was mend the hearts and dry the tears. Even before understanding depression or mental illness, I wrote poetry about demons and internal pain, but none of this would ever become clear to me for years when I made a new friend. This is when I would learn… We can’t heal others’ wounds. We can’t fix people.
In eighth grade, I made close friends with a girl, Rose. I had many friends, but Rose stood out to me. At only 13, I devoted my life to helping her. Her heart was broken, so I gave her mine. I felt a deep passion and sympathy for her in our friendship, and I held her very close to my heart. She began sharing her hopes and fears with me, and me with her. She explained that a strained home life left her feeling hopeless, so I brought her into my home instead. She spent every weekend at my house, and during breaks, multiple nights in a row. We spent every night laughing together, crying together, and dreaming together. From boys to friends to school, we shared every detail of ours lives together. 
One day in particular-- one sunny February day-- we took a walk at the park. The sun shone down on our faces, and the air lifted our spirits, but on a back trail, under the canopy of trees, the mood took a different turn. As we strolled along the creek, she told me about her experience at Highland, a behavior health center. After a derailed suicide attempt, her mom sent her off to the hospital. Even surrounded by chirps and breezes,
Five days in a 11 by 11 cell, in a hospital gown. She was stripped of pens and pencils without supervision; she could hurt herself. Mandatory counseling three times a day. She cried and cried, and I held her in my arms, tracing my fingers along her back while her tears stained my shirt. After minutes of sobbing and pain, she stood up. She briefed me, “Now, don’t freak out, but I cut myself.” She continued to lift her sleeves to reveal dozens of scars tattooed on her wrists. She explained, “People began to notice the scars and scabs on my arms, so I had to move to my thighs.” She lifted her shorts just enough to reveal her scars. They overlapped and swelled on another. Some were newer than others, brand new even. She grasped my hand and gently pulled it along the scars. I felt every edge and bump-- something I’d never be able to un-feel.As time continued, her emotions continued to plummet. I can not even count the times I woke up to cries. “I just don’t belong on this earth. No one cares about me!” Countless times, I found myself at her front porch, arms open, assuring her, “No, I care about you.” Even more than this did we argue; all-capped texts back and forth: “WHY DO YOU EVEN CARE? JUST LEAVE MY LIFE ALREADY!” “I LOVE YOU, AND I’M NOT GOING ANYWHERE. STOP BEING SO ABSURD.” Then, just as quickly as our friendship began-- it was over. For weeks, she seemed to be off-standish. She kept things from me and slowly pushed me out of her life. We had a fight one night, and I thought we could recover, but she pushed it and me too far… over the edge. She sent messages that cut into my heart and seared my naive soul. I had never experienced so much pain and aching before.
Over the next few months, I would receive various text messages including threats and insults. Every night, I laid my head down on my pillow, and I wondered, “Will tomorrow be the day? Will tomorrow be the day she follows through with her threats?” I continued to wonder everyday, “What did I do wrong? What happened? I gave my everything, my heart, and my soul into helping her, but yet, she hates me. Not only does she hate me, but she loathes me."
Though she eventually left me alone, I never forgot the scars she left on my mind and heart. She was my first exposure to the mean and cruel world we live in. It was my first exposure to the fact that people will aim to hurt us. We really can’t help someone who won’t help themselves. We can’t fix people. We can only love them, and if that’s not enough, we tried. We can only try.
