Falling In Love With Her

Lets call her "[xx]"

A/N: this is a true story about me and I have brain and memory loss about the summer so I'm sorry if it's short, or has holes
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We texted all the time after school ended. Unfortunately it stopped quickly as I was hospitalized for the third time in two years. July 17th. Same date as last year.

I knew I was being admitted before. This wasn't a suicide attempt. It was precaution because I was reckless and I knew I was going down a bad road again. It was something I needed help with. So, knowing I wouldn't have access to my phone since it a fucking psych ward, I wrote down her number and shoved it in my pants. I kept that little slip until I memorized it. It didn't take long.

That summer my mother refused to visit me at the hospital. Not for bad reasons. The hospital reminded her of last year. No one wants to remember the first time their kid tries to kill themselves.

The second I got my phone privileges I called her. I called her that night. I told her where I was, what happened. I don't know why. I never told anyone these things. I never called anyone when I was in here, but I called her. I told her what happened. I told her about my mental illnesses. She made time in the evenings for me. Sometimes I'd catch her after dinner or with her brothers but she'd always spend those ten minutes on the phone listening to me rant. I'd just talk and talk. I told her about the shitty doctor and therapist. The crazy things that happened while I was there, I told her everything. She was the only outsider I had contact with other than my dad. I kept her up to date on everything.

She was also there the night after I tried to kill myself again. I've lost count of how many times it has been. But this time was the closest and the most scary. I tried choking and hanging myself with my leggings. I nearly passed out, I was blue. I don't remember much but they had to sedate me. I called her when I woke up (around 8, designated phone time) I told her what happened. She cried. I made her cry. I will always feel bad about that. I was extremely suicidal still. I called her to say my last goodbyes. I was going to try again. But she cried. She didn't let me... or... I couldn't let myself. I don't know why but all the apathy I had that made me not care about anything and all the twisted contorted thought I had about people being better off without me left. I told her what I truly felt, that I didn't belong, I didn't deserve, I shouldn't burden people. She cried so hard. I heard her sobs through the phone and it clicked, someone actually gave a fuck that didn't have to. And it mattered. She wasn't wrong for caring. I realized I was worth it. She wasn't family. She was just a friend; and she cared. I didn't think people could care that much about me. My last best friend told me she would get over my death, it was just death, it was just me. But this time was different. I started the phone all to say goodbye but I ended it with see you soon. I had to live for her, because living is a lot harder than dying. But I'd live for [xx] because even if I didn't want to acknowledge it then, I loved her.