I’m sorry… I need to throw this out there. I remember a few years ago. My car wouldn’t start at the 711 down the street from my house. Something was wrong with my battery but I didn’t have any tools. I called everyone I knew, my roommate, some friends… No one answered. Then I called Tim (not real name). I think he was on his way to a club or something, but he said he would stop by. I remember he showed up in 5 minutes and had tools. He jiggled some cables, and the car started right up. I thanked him and he said, “That’s what friends are for man”. What seemed like a week later, he shot himself in the head… I remember when my roommate told me in a panic. I was so paralyzed. I’ve always been depressed, even suicidal at times… but I never knew Tim was. I felt like I failed my friend. I felt so embarrassed… so guilty… when I did see him in the hospital… I could hardly look at him. I let him down. I didn’t go see him in the hospital anymore after that… I couldn’t deal with the emotions, the failure. I thought about him everyday and wondered how he was doing… what I could do for him, or what I could have done to make him not do what he did. I know it’s not my fault, but I still carry that regret/guilt with me. I feel like I could have helped him in that moment… That moment when he came to help me… I could have helped him… He didn’t die that day… but he lives with the aftermath. He’s a quadriplegic and has to have a machine to breath for him. Later he found out he had a child. I wish I could have said/did something to prevent what happened. He told me one day, that he didn’t quite remember what happened that night… whether or not he meant to pull the trigger… but he told me not to make the mistake that he made. That suicide is never a guarantee… I’ve moved away, and hardly see him anymore. I wonder everyday how he is, how his kid is doing. How his family is doing. I feel to ashamed to call… maybe I should visit soon.