Four years ago, April 19th, I lost my first love to suicide.
I had known him since third grade, and I had a crush on him the entire time I knew him. However, I was an incredibly shy kid growing up, and had a lot of undiagnosed mental health issues, so I did not have the confidence to even attempt a friendship with him. We went to school together for years. He would be in my classes, but we would barely talk, but I liked him the entire time. Everyone liked him honestly. He was very funny. All throughout middle school and high school we would occasionally interact, and he was always so sweet and he always made me laugh. I remember I specifically liked him because he was funny, but not at anyone’s expense. I never pursued him, because he was much more popular and I was a loner. We eventually graduated and I went to college, and I didn’t see him for a long time, but we followed each other on social media. Then one day, in 2018, I was sitting in my dorm as a college freshman, and I received a message through Instagram. I saw the message was from him, and I sat there for several minutes staring at my phone, because I thought it might be a mistake. He messaged me a simple “hey” and from then on it was like I was in a dream. He told me he had liked me but didn’t know how to tell me and he wanted to go on a date. I didn’t respond for a long time because this had literally never been a possibility in my head. I had liked him for the past ten years, and I thought it would always stay unrequited. Soon after that we went on a date, and I immediately fell hard. I’ve never been a romantic person, and one of the complaints I would always get in relationships was that I seem distant. But this time everything was different. I had severe clinical depression, but for the first time in my life, I woke up happy that I had. I finally had something to look forward to. I abandoned all reason and logic and it was the best feeling I’ve ever had to this day. It was a literal dream come true. All I ever thought about all day was him. I would always get him presents and I felt like the luckiest person in the world. I loved him. January of 2020, I could tell he was not doing well. He seemed distant and unfocused, and I had the premonition of his death. I tried to shake it off, but I felt like he was going to die soon. I tried to help him, but a few weeks before he took his life, he started distancing himself and ignoring me. I was very hurt so I ignored him back, an action that I will regret for the rest of my life. Three days after our last text, he shot himself. My entire life shifted after that. I felt, and still feel, so incredibly guilty. I feel like I could have avoided it if I was just more patient and answered him back. My ego died that day. My pride and my ego made me feel so hurt that I wasn’t there for him when he needed me the most. And it didn’t mean anything in the end. I used to always feel embarrassed expressing love, especially verbally. But after that, I realized I would rather be humiliated every day for the rest of my life if it meant I could tell him I love him just once. There are so many things I would give up if he would come back, but he’s not going to. This was the reason I began failing all of my classes, and eventually flunked out of college. I had a 3.2 gpa before that, but after I couldn’t care about anything else, including myself. I began having nightmares frequently, and I would see him in every crowd of people. I think anyone who has had to deal with loss knows there is no “getting over it.” You just learn to make room for the grief. That was four years ago, and now I am open to expressing my feelings for people. I am no longer ashamed about expressing affection, because now I fully understand any time could really be your last chance. I just try to live my life now in a way he would be proud of. I wish I had something super inspiring come out of it, but that is not the reality.