I grew up with him; he was my first friend. I still remember the day we became best friends. I was 5 years old and the new girl in class, as I had some issues finding the information needed to register for school, so I didn’t start until January. I remember a little boy walking up to me and asking if I needed a friend. I was shy and ignored him at first, but he told me it was okay and that I was okay. We were friends ever since—well, at least until seventh grade.
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During that time, Covid was in full force, and I was sick with a different illness, so I was doing online school because Covid could have been life-threatening for me. I didn’t talk to him much; more like he shut me out. I thought maybe he was too busy for me. But then freshman year came around, and we were best friends again. However, something felt off; he wasn’t the sweet boy I knew anymore. He seemed dark and sad, and things just weren’t the same.
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Soon after, he started drinking to drown out what was happening at home with his family. My friends, his friends, and I all tried to help, but he refused. Over time, the situation took over him, and he wasn’t the same person anymore. We hated leaving him to deal with it on his own, but we couldn’t watch him hurt himself. It really hurt to let him go; I remember how much I cried and how much it hurt. But none of us could watch him do that to himself anymore.
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I haven’t talked to him since, and it still hurts. He tried for a while to hurt me even more, but I ignored it, and eventually, he gave up. I haven’t even seen him in about a year. Sometimes I still think about him, but mostly I just hope he’s doing better.
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