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“Yeah. No. I'm not sure,” I admitted. I sat down on the barstool as she made the coffee. “Alex came over last night and we talked.” Darcy raised her eyebrows.
“What?” I groaned. “Talked. That's it. And mostly about Jack.”
“Uh-huh. And?” she pressed.
“He told me about his ex-girlfriend, and how she died.”
Darcy nodded sympathetically. “So sad, right? And so young. I feel so bad every time I look at him. All I think about is how hard that would have been to go through. I couldn't imagine losing Benj.”
“It is sad,” I agreed. I reached over and took the mug she had pushed across my way. “I can't do it, Darcy.”
“Do what? Jack? Honey, you've already done him.” She winked.
I laughed at her joke. “Darcy, I'm not well.” Her eyes widened. “I mean, I'm fine physically, but I have some pretty serious issues, well, mentally.”
Darcy sighed, her hand flying to her chest. “Shit, Rose. I thought you were going to tell me you have incurable cancer or something,” she said. “Honey, we all have issues. Nobody is perfect.”
“No, it's more serious than that.” I tried to get the words right in my head. “I've tried to kill myself eight times. The first time was when I was seven. The last time was about two weeks before I started at the bar.”
Darcy's eyes went even wider. She rushed around the counter and threw her arms around me.
“Oh Rose, I don't even know what to say. I mean, I knew you had issues with your parents, but I never thought this . . .”
“My parents basically disowned me when I checked myself out of the rehab facility. The same one Alex works at,” I added, laying out the dots to be connected. She led me over to the sofa.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked after we sat down. “I’ve never been suicidal, but I do know what it is like to be depressed. I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through.”
“I don’t even know how to explain it. Most of the time I guess I feel okay. At least, okay enough not to off myself. I’ve never been properly diagnosed with anything other than major depression and generalized anxiety, but when I do start to feel…like that, it comes on suddenly. Without any warning.”
I was surprised at how easily the words were coming out. Darcy felt safe. I didn’t feel judged talking to her about this. It was almost a relief getting it all out.
“Is there medication? Or treatment you can try?” She blushed, looking down. “Gosh, I can be so rude sometimes Rose. Tell me to shut up. I’ll understand.”
I laughed. “Talking to you is actually helping. I never had many friends growing up. I pushed people away so they wouldn’t get close to me. You’re the first non-therapist I’ve ever spoken to about this.” I was telling her more than my own parents knew.
“Anytime you want to talk to someone, I’m here, okay?” She smiled at me and reached for my hand. “I can’t get over how strong you are.” She shook her head slowly.
Strong? That’s something I’d never attributed to myself.
I shrugged. “I don’t know about that, but I guess I’m still here. That says something.”
Darcy eyed me, her tongue running over her lips. She looked like a girl with something on her mind.
“What?” I asked.
“I’m trying not to let the morbid side of me show,” she hesitated. “How did you do it? When I hear about suicides, that’s the first thing I think of.” She threw her hands over her face. “God, don’t answer that,” her muffled voice cried.
“It’s fine Darcy. I don’t have trouble talking about it. The first time? It was pills. That was when I was seven. Then when I was eight I found some sleeping tablets and took them. When I was eleven, I discovered that cutting myself made some of the pain go away. Only I cut too deep one day and severed an artery.” That day was the closest I’d come to death. The only thing that had saved me was our extremely quick thinking Maid. “Age twelve, fifteen and sixteen were all overdoes. Mostly sleeping tablets, and some anti-anxiety meds I was on. The last attempt? Well, that’s how I got these.” I extended my wrists to show her the scars.
She gasped, her eyes filled with horror.
“I feel so upset that someone as wonderful as you would think that was your only option.” She wiped away tears. “Why?”
“Because in that moment dying didn’t seem nearly as painful as living.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. She was going to have me crying too soon. “I wish things didn’t get that bad, where killing myself feels like the best option, but I go through life feeling like it’s all an act. E
ventually that gets to me and I just want to give up the charade. My last attempt…before, when I was at college I kissed guys and I gossiped with girls—all the things you’d expect a normal twenty-two-year-old to do. It got too much. I got sick of the act, and in my warped mind, killing myself was the only way for me to be myself.” I laughed at how stupid that sounded.
“Promise me you’ll talk to me if you feel down? Or even if you just want to gossip about Jack,” she winked.
