My best friend attempted when she was 17 by taking a bunch of her prozac and immediately telling her folks. Cops came and she was taken to a psychiatric facility and put on a 72 hour involuntary hold. She was already at rock bottom and the whole ordeal really fucked with her. She just wanted her mom. She shot herself less than two years later and died at 19. This led to my group of friends being hyper-aware about each others behavior and having a continuous dialogue about mental health. We were never going to let that shit happen again. 10 of us girls got matching tattoos as a reminder of so many things.

Fast forward almost 18 years later to last month when I get a call that one of my best friends, a girl I had idolized since the day I met her 19 years prior and who sat and got a tattoo with me all those years ago and made a pact that we would always reach out, had shot herself and was dead. She too had attempted before and was put on a hold and never told me.

We said we would never let it happen again. We talked about our depression. I knew she was coming off her meds and struggling, but I still thought she would reach out. I blamed myself for her not reaching out because I felt like we had created such a culture of hypervigilance in our circle that she felt reaching out would put her back in that room for 72 hours. She was backed into a corner. We have to do better. Since I suffer from depression and PTSD I spent the morning volunteering for clinical trials that are having real results, not just to hopefully cure me, but to help find a cure for everyone.