College gives you a chance to start over. Most of us look for peace within ourselves and hope to figure out who we’re meant to be. I had those hopes, and so did my best friend. But even when you stay close to home for school, the bills start coming in, and the assignments pile up, and you start to feel like you’re on a little piece of land in the middle of the ocean that is just big enough for you to stand on one foot at a time. That’s the only way I can describe how it must have felt for her. You can never really know how someone is feeling when they decide to try to end their life. You can only hope you can save them in time.

It’s true when people say that you never fully know what’s going on with someone regardless of how close you are. They can smile and laugh every day but be keeping a dark secret. My best friend did this.

It was my first semester of college. “Janet” was a year ahead of me, but we had been best friends since we were young. Our third roommate, “Kate,” was a mutual friend who’d gone to school with Janet. They always made fun of me for going to bed at 9, but it’s just how I was. That night wasn’t any different.

Kate was at play rehearsal. I was in my room doing my nightly Bible study when Janet, who isn’t very religious, came in and asked, “What do you think happens when you die? And what about people who kill themselves?” I didn’t know what to answer. Just because I study the Bible doesn’t mean I know everything, especially these tougher questions. I knew she had been feeling down, so I told her that God forgives all sins and every circumstance is different. She didn’t ask any more questions. I put my head back in my journal and went on with my work. Then I went to sleep.

Two hours later, Kate came home. She was always great about respecting my privacy and never came into my room when I was sleeping. I woke to her shaking me and saying, “Sarah, wake up. I need you to tell me what this is.”

It was dark, but I could see that she held my bottle of prescription pain medicine that I rarely used. I was confused and tired, so it took me a minute to understand what she was asking.

I took the once-full bottle and realized it was empty. Janet! I thought.

“Janet said she took all of them. I don’t know how many there were, and I need you to come help with her,” Kate said anxiously.

I ran to Janet’s room to find her lying in bed crying and shaking. Kate was beginning to panic, and I knew I had to keep it together, even if I seemed cold. I knew there had been about 20 pills in the bottle, but I didn’t know what to do. On top of that, Janet had taken them with alcohol.

I told Kate to sit with Janet while I tried to find someone to help. I should have just called 911, but I didn’t know if it was that serious and I was scared. I called everyone I could think of, but no one picked up. Finally I reached my mom. She would drive to Janet’s parents’ house to wake them. She told me it was my job to get Janet to the hospital.

Our dorm was less than five minutes from a hospital. I didn’t call an ambulance because Janet didn’t have insurance and it would be just as fast to drive anyway. I went back to her room and checked her pulse; it was racing and seemed irregular. She told me her stomach was beginning to feel numb and her hands were freezing. Kate suggested we try to force her to vomit. I was stuck on getting her to the hospital, but Janet said she’d rather throw the pills up. She tried, but she couldn’t.

“All right,” I said, “that’s it. We’re going to the hospital.”

Janet started screaming, “No! I’m not going! Just leave me alone!” I’d never heard anyone scream like that.

Kate stood next me, holding back tears. I told myself, Sarah, you have to be strong. I took a deep breath and said, “If you don’t get up and walk to the car, Kate and I are going to carry you. So start walking!” I’m not sure I handled it in the best way, but Janet stopped fighting and walked to the car.

Thankfully, she was okay when we got to the hospital. She was still able to talk and tell the nurses what had happened. Kate and I were questioned too.

Janet was a typical college girl, and we thought she was okay. She had friends, and she liked to go out and drink, like some students do. We thought she was just having the mid-semester breakdown that everyone has when they think they’re going to fail, but we were wrong.

Kate and I stayed at the hospital until 5 a.m. When I got back to the dorm that night, I waited until Kate was in her room and then cried for hours. I cried because the pills she took were mine. I felt guilty for so long over it. I almost lost my best friend.

Janet was sent to a psychiatric hospital for a week. Our relationship has not been the same since. As she put it, it was like “walking on eggshells.” It took a long time for me to trust her being alone, and it took a long time for her not to be angry with me. Today, it’s still a touchy subject, and we don’t talk about it.

There is no perfect way to deal with a situation like this. It’s the scariest thing in the world to know that your best friend could die. Since then, I’ve known three others who committed suicide or tried to. Getting therapy doesn’t mean you’re crazy. I go, and not because I hear voices or want to kill people. I go because I need a place to let out the crap that life throws at me so I never get to the point where I want to end it.

Take care of yourself. It isn’t selfish. No matter how low you’re feeling or what is going on, there is always someone who loves you.

“We are scientists, trying to make sense of the stars inside us.” – Christopher Poindexter