Suicide Attempt by Friend

About two years ago, I scarily came face to face with the suicide attempt of one of my closest friends, (we’ll call him Steve). Steve at the time was in Grade 10 at Avalon High. He had 1 brother and lived at home with his parents but secretly wanted to move out. One night, distraught and upset, he had called to tell me thanks for all the memories and for being my friend and that I was the best thing that ever happened to him.  I listened to him for a few minutes until he suddenly hung up. Briefly I had a sharp shoot of anger that he hung up one for no reason. After, that brief second I was immediately filled with a sense of gut-wrenching fear and dread. I soon got on the bus, thinking I would get to where he was faster than if I walked and I obviously couldn’t tell my parents. Soon in the bus going the speed limit, I was yet unaware how my life was about to change for the worst. Now, Steve suffered from clinical depression and although he kept it a secret from most people, I was aware of his constant life struggles.  He often would have two kinds of days:  bad and terrible.  His other friend John had just broken their friendship of 8 years off with him, which sent him into a nosedive.  He was in an inescapable state of depression, filled with thoughts of suicide and death. Many parents who experience such events with their children are plagued with mixed emotions of self-blame, anger, resentment, shock, despair and grief.  They often feel powerless, not knowing how to help their children, and the threat of losing them is ever present.  Steve’s parents I found, were no different.  They were emotionally exhausted and needed a break like most are unwilling to admit.

When I got to Steve’s house I told his parents that I would stay with him for a couple of hours, just to hang out and talk. We then watched TV in total silence, and soon Steve looked toward me decidedly, as if he had finally settled on a course of action.  He told me he had to go to the washroom downstairs. At the time, I thought nothing of it as Steve had just drank a 10 ounce Slurpee and I had 1 litre of pop. Minutes passed and he had not returned.  An overwhelming anxiety then came over me, I had to check on him. As I walked down the stairs to the basement –my heart beating rapidly and my mind venturing to the unthinkable– I saw him. I stopped dead in my tracks and for a moment was speechless and scared. Eyes red, mouth full, tears streaming done his face and he was chewing something.  He was attempting to overdose with the Tylenol he had found out of the kitchen cupboard upstairs while I was getting a snack for us to share. The effects of witnessing a suicide attempt shows the event can have a strong impact on the witness, in this case me.  Individuals may develop varying degrees of post-traumatic stress disorder (or PTSD) or other anxiety disorders.  After doing a bit of research I found out that I had a mental illness called PTSD because of witnessing the incident. But finding someone you trust and expressing your thoughts is helpful. Afterwards I was told to try writing poetry and speaking about it to others to lessen my thoughts of guilt.

That day when I saw, Steve trying to harm himself, I immediately rushed over, flushed the bottle and bear hugged him.  He cried, gasping for air, furiously yelling at me for stopping him.  For a long time, Steve and I didn’t talk. When we saw each other in the halls we would duck down or pretend we were reading a text, as if everything that happened in the last 2 years was deleted from our memories. For a long time, afterward, this image of Steve was embedded in my mind. And I felt profoundly guilty after the incident:  If I had not let Steve leave my sight, he might not have attempted suicide. It felt like I had put the bottle in his hand even though he had undergone the desolate journey alone. This thought often came to mind.  A vicious cycle of uncertainty then plagued my daily activities.  I was holding myself accountable for actions that were out of my control. I kept his suicide attempt a secret from everyone in my life.  I didn’t want to hurt his reputation or break his trust, and I became tormented by the trauma, but I couldn’t confide in family or friends for fear of having to explain Steve’s story.  What if someone reported it to the police and they took Steve away from me? For the first time in my life, I felt utterly useless and alone in a deep dark hole of despair.