Essay by Jessica Davidson, Ramona, California

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3rd place National, 1st place California

Please Don't Go

"I'm going to kill myself." Her voice was shaking over the phone. All the
signs were there; her sudden loss of interest in her band, loss of appetite,
the inability to sleep, less energy all the time. Still her words came as a
complete shock to me. I felt worried, scared, and even angry. I questioned
myself, had I ignored her all this time? Why had I not noticed until now?

Just three months ago her mother died of breast cancer. Then her brother
died in a car accident. At first, she appeared to be outgoing as usual.
After awhile, I saw through her fake smiles and laughs. Though she was sad I
expected it, but I expected it to pass soon. "I'll always be there for you
if you need to talk." She brushed me off and would change the subject.
Later, she started making comments such as "I don't want to live." Or "It
would be better if I died." My friends and I would laugh and say she was
overreacting.

But now this was serious, just as serious three months ago. What was I
supposed to say? Yeah, I get mad at myself all the time too. But it was
like, what do I do? Do I say, "No you're not?" Should I leave her alone?
Should I dare her to go ahead and do this? My school talked about depression
all the time, like the Yellow Ribbon Day, which is dedicated to prevent
suicide. They never told you what to say though. "Sooo . . . you wanna come
over and talk about it?" I was hoping she would agree to coming over to my
house. "No, I'm okay. Thanks anyway." Unfortunately she denied. I thought,
who knows what she'll do when she's alone. "No, I really want you to come
over, please come over." She sighed. "All right, I'll be over there soon."

As she walked through the door she asked, "So what do you want to do? We
can watch a movie." I recognized that her sudden interest in a movie was a
way to avoid the subject. I know since she called, she wanted help. I
couldn't let her brush me off anymore. "No, we really need to talk about
this." She looked at me. "Talk about what?" She did her best too sound
confused. "You know what. Tell me why." She had tears in her eyes. I held
hand. She took a long breath and started by saying, "Well, it started when
my mom died, and all the other stuff that followed, like my failing grades;
my dad losing his job, I feel like it's hopeless. I even got to the point of
cutting myself, it felt so good. Am I hopeless?"

I considered the question with care. "Hopeless? Nothing's hopeless." I
had no idea that all that had happened. I knew about her mom, but it made me
wonder had I pushed her to the point of suicide? Maybe there were times when
I should have listened but didn't. Now she was crying. Her head laid against
my shoulder. All I did was hold her hand. I looked down at her.

"Please don't go, I'd miss you. Who would sit next to me at lunch? What
about your Dad? You may leave your pain, but you'd cause a lot more for
others. Don't you want to feel good again? Then don't give up on life;
you're taking the easy way out. Live life so you can be hopeful." She looked
up. In her eyes I could see she was thankful. I knew no matter what someone
had to tell her Dad.

"You gotta tell your dad." She nodded. But then she cried again. "I
can't! He'd have a break down. Promise you won't tell, I won't try it
again." I shook my head. "You gotta tell him, if you don't . . . I will."
She looked scared, mad, and confused all at once. "If you tell, I won't be
your friend. Friendships are about trust, how can I trust you if you tell?
You aren't gonna throw away seven years of friendship on something stupid
are you?" She held my hand and looked hopeful.

I grabbed the phone. She grabbed her coat. "Don't leave." She sat back
down. I talked to her dad, I told him everything. It hurt talking to him; I
heard a grown man cry on the phone for the first time. It was only the first
steps in her recovery. Eleven months of therapy went by. Five of the eleven
months we didn't talk. Now after almost a year, she's back too normal.

"So you wanna watch a movie now?" I laughed at her. "Sure you can make
the popcorn." She laughed. As I look at her, I feel okay about losing those
few months, because it doesn't compare to a life of friendship. She and I
are now closer than ever. But no longer does she live in a cage of pain. She
is free, and just as happy as she was a year ago. Maybe next time I'll be in
pain and she'll be there to listen to me. Her desire to listen may just save
me.