I used to say you saved my life and now I haven’t spoken to you in almost two years.
It’s funny to me, almost, because most people seem to have kept in touch from our friend group in high school. I’m pretty sure that I’m the only one of that group that you unfriended on Facebook. That hurts, but if it’s what makes you happy… I can’t argue with that.
I used to say you saved my life after all that happened in sophomore year of high school. That year, in 10th grade, I was kind of a mess. I didn’t talk about everything in person so much as online, where I vented quite often. I think that part of me knew you were reading what I was writing online, even though I acted shocked that anyone would read my crappy Tumblr posts. I think that part of me knew you really cared, even though a bigger part of me—at the time—didn’t.
When you went out of your way to show me that you cared so much, I was stunned. I remember reading the blog that you had created with the help of all of our friends—just an overwhelmed 16 year old in her pastel-blue bedroom, sobbing not because of all that had seemingly gone wrong but rather because something had gone right. On the blog, you and all our friends had written down reasons why you loved me and reasons why I mattered. And this blog was all your idea.
There was a distinct sense of guilt washing over me that day. It’s a feeling that I’m sure many others who have suffered through depression can relate to; you know, when you suddenly realize that there are people that care about you and have continued to care about you, and you’ve only tossed them to the side because you felt like they didn’t. It’s that moment when you realize you can’t trust your own feelings. And that moment is scary. It’s overwhelming. But it saved my life. It was your actions that made me feel like life was worth living.
Or at least, I had thought that was the case.
But looking back at all that you did for me, I still can’t pinpoint why I credited you to saving my life. Maybe it was just the kind gesture, but I think it was more than that. It was really a symbol of trust—trust I had placed in you. I was placing my life in your hands, and I’m not sure that was a healthy route to go.
When that barrier of trust was broken a little over two years later, I still credited you to saving my life. Perhaps there was so much trust placed in you that I simply could not get it all back. It was like trying to pick up broken glass; sharp, painful, and impossible to have it return to what it once was. I think that broken glass was a mirror, because I used to see so much of myself in you. In a good way, I mean. Seeing as how you tossed our friendship away like it didn’t matter, like I didn’t matter, I think the reflection was more distorted than I had realized.
Can I still credit you to saving my life? No, but not because you hurt me. It’s still an issue of trust—it’s that I didn’t trust my own self to be able to save my life. I hadn’t put the faith in myself that I had deserved. I had the will to live. I had the strength to keep going. You supported me, but in the end it was me who kept fighting the monster inside of me.
I don’t credit you to saving my life anymore, but that doesn’t mean I don’t see all the good in what you did for me. I know my own worth, I know my own agency, but I still understand that you helped me see that worth. Even when you told me that it was time for our conversations to end—almost two years ago now—it doesn’t make me think less of high-school-you.
Maybe you’re not the girl I thought you were. Well, guess what? I’m not the girl I thought I was, either. We all change, and I’m still struggling to accept that. As I stare at your Facebook profile with the “add friend” button next to it, I still think about that blog you made for me and all that it meant. And though you did not save my life, you were still such an important part of it.
Yours truly,
Zoe
