About this time of year, 11 years ago, I lost a friend to suicide.  I don't often like to think about it because it reminds me of how easily it could have been me.  I myself have attempted suicide when there seemed no other option and fortunately my efforts failed.  He, however, was not as lucky as I was.

Having bipolar disorder has been challenging to manage, and the depressive end of the spectrum is often an exercise in endurance.  When my friend died, other mutual friends were angry at him for what he had done.  I was not.  I knew what he must have been feeling at the time and I knew what must have been on his mind before he did it.  My wish then and still today was that he would have reached out to others and gotten help rather than suffered silently.