the what ifs
well, as I suppose history repeats itself, so again, do these things. this time, my roommate.
just last week in therapy i was relating the story of home my friend in highschool tried to do the same thing, and how mad i was at her, so angry. i was so mad, i refused to talk to her for a while- i felt she had done it for all the stupidest reasons, and i refused to validate such an action. my therapist thought i had good instincts.
well, this morning on my way out the door, i passed by my roommate's door and heard a strange rasping sound. could he be crying? i thought. i couldn't decide. i hesitated. i figured he was most likely crying- he had been mopey lately, and unsure of himself. i didn't want to disturb him.
today when i came home, i found out he had tried to destroy himself with sleeping pills. he was distraught, and delirious. i had to watch him for a while, and make sure he was going to be okay.
this is always the worst part...always. the wondering if you could have done something, what terrible things could have happened, how you would have felt if they'd succeeded. the what-ifs.
and i always cry, even if they don't deserve it.