someone from my high school class killed himself a few nights ago. we were not close, i think we only had a conversation once. i remember that conversation in great detail. i could tell then he was sad. over the years, whenever i had the opportunity, i watched him. i thought he was cute, he was intriguing, an obvious tortured soul. we became facebook friends - i think i friended him but i'm not sure. he was a photographer and brilliant at it. once in a while i would peruse his page, read his statuses, look at his pictures and pictures of him. someone can never remove sadness from their eyes, but his exterior made it seem like he was in a good place. in the week leading up to his suicide i couldn't get him off my mind. i was having my own suicidal thoughts, stronger ones than i've had in a while, maybe ever. i thought about the conversation we had, about how he somehow seemed to be controlling his hurt. from what i've seen on facebook i'm pretty sure he shared his demons with a few close friends but most people had no idea he was suffering. he was very good at hiding, putting on a smile, pretending to be happy. i didn't need to know him well to know he was sad. people like us can see the pain in others. we speak with kindness because we know how easily people can hurt. if you knew me in real life you would say i'm one of the happiest people you know. a few people pick up on subtle hints, but most are too preoccupied with their own life to realize what's right in front of them. most people, as they get close to me, eventually believe i have no feelings. because i'm just that god damn good at smiling, making everyone around me feel good. so was he. after i found out what he did i couldn't stop crying (except when i went to class - visine to clear my eyes, ice to clear the puffiness.) no one had a clue what i was thinking, what i was feeling. the night of the "apocalypse" i posted an inspirational message of love and compassion on facebook. those from my high school would think it was about his suicide and it was. people from my college would think it was about a friend who was murdered, and it was. but the people i go to school with now, the friends i see every day, the people training to save and to heal, not one of them asked me what my status was about. none of them stopped to ask what inspired me to write something so emotional when i never show emotion. no one asked who the initials at the bottom were. my status got some likes, but it only proved that people don't want to know what's wrong, what's happening in the lives of those they see every day. no one gives a shit until it's too late. i was thinking about him in the days leading up to his suicide, thoughts of him intertwined in thoughts of my own suicide. something in the universe brought us together in our desperation. i cried the next three days, not because i was sorry he lost the battle, but because he finally won. people think it's cowardly to commit suicide, but to commit suicide takes tremendous bravery. it's easy to keep living, to keep living for everyone else, to keep living so you don't hurt the people you love, the people that love you. but to put aside your obligation to society, to friends, to family, so you can finally do what you yearn for, that takes real courage. i cried for three days, not for his loss, but for his gain. he's finally free. he was doing what he loved. i am doing what i love. he loved and he was loved. i love an i am loved. he wanted to end his pain and he did. i want to end my pain but i haven't. i don't want a different life. i don't want any life. i don't want to hurt my family, i don't want to hurt my friends, but i don't want to keep hurting myself. for years i've thought about it, but only the past month or 2 have i thought about going through with it. and now... i've never been so close to the edge.