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Ani reached out to me with an IM chat.  She is horribly depressed.  She just wants to die.  She dropped that in my lap and said goodbye.

We met in a writing class.  We remained friends.  We email a lot.  She is smart and beautiful and funny and kind. She has been cheering me on all this time.

You are a brilliant writer, Tom.  You have a beautiful mind. Just keep writing.  I will always be your reader.

Yes, I wanted more than a friendship.  Yes, I pushed the issue.  But, she is young.  I am much more experienced.

You know that we would never work. She wrote me a letter. I imagined she sighed. I want to make her sigh—just once.

We remained friends.  We became very good friends.  We emailed a lot.  We talked about my work and her life.  We talked about my childhood and her desperate loneliness.  She isn’t from this country. She feels out of place. She wants me explain these feelings. She wants to know why she’s miserable.

Why, Tom?  Why? Why is this happening to me?

Bad luck. I reply. It’s the only answer I have.  Let me come get you.  You can sleep on my couch.  I don’t want you to be alone.  We’ll go for help in the morning. Please, Ani. Please don’t cry.

Not tonight. She answers. I may need to take  you up on that soon, but not tonight.

If you need me, please call. I told her. It doesn’t matter what time.  I’ll come get you.  We’ll go get you help. We’ll do it together.  I’ll hold your hand. I’ll hold you while you cry.

Thank you, she said, but I just need to be alone.  Good bye.

And that’s the only ending I have.  She is out there suffering, alone. I can’t do anything to help her.  She has to choose to get help.  She has to realize she is worthy of saving.  She has to realize that I need her to read what I write, always, like she promised.

Like you promised, Ani.  You promised.

I’m upset.  I’m crying as I write this.  I hate how this feels, and I hate that I’ve made people feel this exact same way — worried and frightened and helpless – waiting for me to die.

I’m so sorry, mom.  I’m so sorry, everyone.  I’m so sorry to the universe and to karma and to God, if there is one. I’ve done such terrible things to survive.  Please don’t use this young girl to teach me a lesson.

Please just put it on me.
I can take it.
Just leave her alone!
God damn it!!

I’m done.  I’m screaming at my own disease.  I’m coughing and weeping. I’m reading the message she sent to me last night. At 1:31 AM, self-medicated with drinking, she wrote:

I just had a realization.. and I need to tell some one… u r the closest to me and I need to tell some one: I’m addicted to my cocoon.

I know you are, because I was too, Miss Smart and Beautiful and Funny and Kind.  I was addicted to my cocoon for years. I hope you come out of yours sooner than I.

Do you know why? Don’t you see? You’re a muse. You were born to inspire, and because some people love you. I love you. Don’t you understand? I love you, Ani. I need you. That’s why.

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