By Audrey Elizabeth Ball
Cambridge-South Dorchester High School
Cambridge, Maryland

“I have something to show you,” Amanda said, leaning closer toward me, her breath warm on my face. She gingerly pulled up the sleeves of her shirt and held out her exposed writs. Etched in her flesh were deep red cuts.

I inhaled sharply. I had been waiting with a sort of grim expectancy for the past few weeks for Amanda to tell me what was wrong. It was inevitable that she would; we had been friends since third grade, and we shared everything with each other. I had noticed the recent transformation of her character: the bubbly, social girl had turned moody and reclusive; she avoided talking to people, and when she did, she only mumbled a response.

My mind traveled back to a few days previous, when Amanda had approached me with some of her poetry. She hadn’t shown it to anyone else, and made me swear that I wouldn’t either. Her poetry had been pessimistic, gloomy work, full of self-contempt and suicide references. But still, I was taken aback by those red incisions that laced her pale skin.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Amanda murmured, pulling down her sleeves.

The phrase “Don’t tell anyone” reminded me briefly of my younger years, when it had been used frequently by both Amanda and me. However, those had been trivial matters, such as a crush on a boy, or the vandalism of a sibling’s doll, and this matter was far more serious.

“Promise?” Amanda asked.

I nodded, but my mind was whirling.

The next few days in school, I was troubled and uneasy. What should I do? Amanda had told me numerous secrets in the past, and I had never once betrayed her confidence. I didn’t want to break that trust. But self-injury was a serious issue, and I feared my friend’s life might be on the line. What should I do: betray her trust, or possibly risk her life?

Amanda was very important to me, and I didn’t want to make her angry or hurt her. But I couldn’t bear the prospect of letting her harm herself, knowing I made no effort to stop it. Why didn’t she seek help? Why wouldn’t she talk to me about it, at the very least? I was hurt, and I wanted to know more. I wanted to help her, but I didn’t know how.

The moment of truth was upon me. I had to do something. I couldn’t let this go on, or I might very well be attending my best friend’s funeral in the not-too-distance future. I’d rather have Amanda be mad at me than for her to be in any emotional or physical pain—or for her to be dead. If she wouldn’t let me try to help her, I would ask for assistance from someone else.

I went to the school’s guidance counselor and talked about it with her. She told me that it was a good idea that I came to talk to her, before Amanda’s problem grew any worse. She reassured me that she would not tell Amanda that it had been me that let her secret out. Afterward, I felt a little better.

I felt better until Amanda confronted me two days later, her face contorted with rage.

“You told!” she yelled, her eyes accusatory.

For a moment, I was at a loss for words. “Amanda, I’m sorry,” I finally said, finding my voice. “I had to. You’re my best friend and I care about you. Don’t you understand?”

Amanda stared at me for a few moments before the tears began to spill down her cheeks. She lowered her head and came toward me, sobbing. I wrapped my arms around her shaking body, and told her that it would be all right. I was certain it would.

After Amanda began her therapy sessions, she was gradually restored to her normal, jovial self. I never regretted revealing what she told me. She even thanked me for doing so, after she had forgiven me. I know how important it is to keep a secret, especially when it’s your best friend’s, but I also know how important a life is. I would do almost anything to prevent losing Amanda. I see that sometimes, it’s important that you do tell a secret- to the right person. In certain situations, revealing a secret can make a positive difference, and in this one, keeping the secret could have cost me my best friend.