Sadness

Its been a pretty awful week. I am sure some will be upset with this blog, but I have to write it. I guess this makes me selfish in some way, but that is how it goes at times.

We, as a class, were informed that one of our classmates a week from graduation committed suicide. Although we hadn't spoken in a little over 2 years, I knew her well.

Our first year of medical school we became study partners. Unlike me, she was a true genius. Her photographic memory helped with her with graduating high school and college in 6 years total. It made studying really difficult since I was super slow compared to her. But we still made it as fun as possible.

As I got to know her, she began to tell me how hard life really was for her. She was extremely depressed---everyday. She once described it as being unable to hear the birds sing, or kids laugh. She was amazing and could hide it with her wonderful smile when she needed to. But I was deeply worried. Eventually I went to our school counselors about my fears, and was reassured that she was receiving treatment--both therapy and medications. Unfortunately it was these medications she used for her first attempt.

It was the day after spring break. I was pretty sick and took some NyQuil to go to sleep. She called me around 945 pm. NyQuil had done its job--I didn't even hear the phone ring. She didnt come to school the next day. I called her about three times in between classes throughout the day. I got a phone call from the police department at 5pm that evening. She was picked up for a DUI and needed a ride home. I was shocked--she didn't even drink. I went down there and she was a mess--I was told she took her prescription meds and she should not be operating a vehicle. I got her in the car and she confessed she took all the meds at once. I immediately took her to the ED, called her psychiatrist at home, and our closest friends. They met me at the hospital. While she was evaluated, we lied to her and got her parents phone number to tell them what had happened. I am pretty sure that she figured that one out, but she never let on if she was upset. She was admitted to the psych ward for a few days. During that time she blamed me for not answering the phone that night. She wouldn't have taken the pills, if I had just answered. The blame even came from her parents. It was so difficult to have a friend try to end her life, but to get the blame for it was unbearable. I started seeing a psychiatrist at that time.

She called me again at night after she was released. I freaked out. She called just to say hello. No big deal. But I stopped sleeping. I found myself checking my phone throughout the night. I would wander my apartment late at night. I was in a constant worry about how to keep her alive. I was not doing well.

At the time I did what I needed to. I was trying to save myself. I eventually had to sit her down and tell her that if she ever called me late at night again, I would just send a police officer to her apartment because I was so worried she would hurt herself. She laughed at me. But I was very serious. When the blame continued after that conversation, I left the friendship.

Over the next couple of years I worried about how she was doing. But the space between us was too great---I had created a canyon to protect myself and left her (with psychiatry help) alone.

Now that she is dead the guilt has hit again. I know that this is not in any way my fault. But what I feel is completely different--I feel that blaming me makes perfect sense. My feelings and my knowledge are in disagreement. I am devastated by the circumstances. It is entirely possible that if we had remained friends she still would have died--that is not what I feel guilty about. I feel guilty about leaving a friend when I knew that she was not okay. That she was not, by any means, stable. And when I left I was/felt relieved. How sick am I? Would I do it this way again? How angry did I make her then? Before she died?

How do I say I am sorry?