I’m sitting in my parent’s art room. It is late afternoon, a Friday night. It is sophomore year and it marks the fifth year of knowing you. I opened a new page of my journal, my breath shaking in my chest and tears threatening to fall. I compose myself and look at a picture of us that sits on my desk. It is a picture from the first year I knew you. Our faces are full of broad smiles and bright eyes. How much has changed since then... My house is empty. The only breathing in this house, is me. My breath is constant, like you were always to me. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.

Remember that first day we met? It was the 6th grade. I was an outsider. I only had two friends, they were boys, and had better things to do than hang out with a girl like me. I can’t even remember how we met. All I know is what happened, and my first impression of you. You greeted me like we had known each other for years. You had the smile like a girl who had, and knew, everything. You had the smile a girl always wanted. You introduced me to your table, a circle of friends you had known from elementary school. They were always around you, constant like breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.

I never told you this but in the 6th grade I had no one to sit with at lunch. I would go to this empty classroom everyday. It was a science room. It smelled awful because of the lizard that lived in the corner. It was quiet and lonely, but at least people didn’t see that I was alone. I sat down in the same seat every day. My food always tasted the same. It was bland bread with bland meat, covered in bland sauce. Everything was just bland, and constant. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.

The 7th grade was what I considered my second birth. You brought me into that constant circle with open arms, like an old friend would. I was eager to meet new people; yet, I still felt alone. Your friends had known each other for such a long time, that I just didn’t get some things. You tried to explain inside jokes through your laughter, but ended up doubling over with your hands clutched to your stomach. I scowled at my uneaten sandwich. Those were the moments I felt most alone. The loneliness was becoming an unwelcome constant thing. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.

A year later, we became suddenly inseparable. Me, you, and three other girls, were as close as friends could ever get. We had sleepovers and talked about boys. We took silly pictures and laughed until we could make no sound. We had movie marathons with popcorn and gossip. Gosh, I miss those moments in my basement. Those moments when we would flip through channel after channel until we could predict what channel was next. Those moments when we would talk about the boys we liked, and the ones we could never have. Our friendship was sworn to be for forever. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.

Enter high school, and you just have disaster waiting to happen. We started to drift apart, and I was scared out of my mind. I called you, or tried to. You had joined a new sport called ‘Pompon’. You were crazy about it. You had new friends, friends who were prettier and older than we were. Better than we were. You had become a new person, and I was scared. You reflected someone I wanted to be. You were confident, witty, strong, brave, and unafraid of what anyone thought. You did your own thing in your own little bubble. My best friend from the sixth grade, one of my only loyal friends in my entire life, was leaving me in the dust. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.

You started to date boys, boys I knew, and sometimes they were boys I liked. A mutual friend of ours pitted us against each other for one of them. I now look back on that and laugh at how young we both were. I saw it like a game. You were playing, getting all the goals, while I was the water girl, still waiting for my lucky break. It was always like that. I was on the sidelines. I still am. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.

Fifth hour was my favorite class in that first year of high school. It was Orchestra, my only class with you. You were gone for a whole week. I was told you were sick. I texted you going home one day. You replied with ‘I will talk to you when I get back. xoxo.’ I was scared. Not only for you, but for me too. You got to school with a bandage on your forearm. I remember you pulling me to the side of class and forcing a weak smile. As you pulled back the bandage, my throat tightened in fear. Little cuts went from your wrist to the middle of your forearm. I shook my head, and told you forcefully there was no reason for that. You were gone for a week, because you were put into therapy.

You were a cutter.

Even writing that makes tears form in the corners of my eyes. My best friend, the only thing constant in my life, was the most unstable thing in the world. I thought about losing you that night. I cried until no more tears could fall from my eyes. I tried to not think the worst. I stayed strong for you. I was going to be something constant for you. Inhale.

I found you one day, curled up against the white brick wall of our school. It was around four. I had stayed after school to study, you had stayed after school for pompon. You were shaking and crying. I sat down next to you and held you tight. You explained through your tears how you had taken pills. You were scared and broken. You said poms was the only thing keeping you alive. That's when I really got scared. I struggled to tell you not to cry, that everything would be okay. But it wasn’t “okay”, I wasn’t ready to lose you. I will never be ready to lose you. Hold.

Your wounds got worst. They started to spread. They now expanded farther up your arms and on your legs. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t relate to you, because I didn’t have as much pain as you did. I was scared for you. I was scared everyday. I rushed to see you each day; because, I never knew when it would end up being too much. Hold.

The second year of high school, you started to slowly dig yourself deeper. We were sitting in orchestra one day when our teacher was absent. I looked up at you, it must have just been instinct, because you were crying. Silent tears streamed down your face and stained against the cotton of your shirt. You fled from your seat, leaving a trail of tears. I rose to follow you out, the substitute teacher told me not to follow you, but I didn’t listen. I found you once again, leaned up against the wall outside. Your face was in your hands. I sat down next to you. You sobbed as you told me you could no longer afford therapy. I put my arm around you as you muttered the same three words, over and over.

I need help.

Hold.

You talk about committing suicide. Hold.

You are alive today. You are breathing, and happy as far as I know, we have sort have grown apart nowadays. I joined the Pompon team in our second year of high school. I joined because you talked about how the girls were nice and accepting. I wanted to be apart of something, and I love it more than anything. I still worry about you, I am still struggling with the looming thought of losing you. Don’t leave. Everyone leaves. ... Breathe.