A/n; this is for my friend and for everybody who suffers with depression.
Anything else I say is inadequate.
Dear _,
I know you are so mad at me and Mattie right now, and you hate our guts. You hate us because we went and told your secret. We spilled your problems because we couldn't handle it on our own. Your parents have been dragged in and are staring at you like why would you do this. They are sad and you are angry and confused.
Every time a problem like this was talked about, the answer was to always tell the adults. Always get help. But to this moment I question if my actions were in the right. You don't deserve all the bs and attention you are getting because of this. And yet at the same time we are covering ourselves, not letting the finger be pointed at us. I'm supposed to be fearless, the leader, the one who stands for what is good and right. It doesn't feel right leaving you to deal with all this crap.
I'm the hero. Like I said before, I'm supposed to be the leader. I'm the one that's supposed to help you, make you feel better, be the one that runs to tell because you need the help. But it wasn't me, it was Mattie that ultimately lead this. He knew what to do, what to say. I just sat there, useless, stupid. Parties don't begin until I walk in the door (England might have something to say about that, but he isn't writing this letter, is he?) but I don't know how to help my friend. How pathetic is that?
You're perspective of yourself is so off. You think you're worthless, you're stupid, and you don't belong. And these thoughts don't come in occasionally, they are your mindset. You see yourself like that all the time, even on good days. That's not healthy by itself. But what you did this weekend pushed it over the edge. I don't want you to hurt yourself. The fact that you would even consider it makes me scared.
_ I barely know you. We have lunch together and had a study group at your house, where we spent most of the time goofing off. (What, I told you parties don't begin until I enter the house.) But I care so much about you. Even Yao, the guy that barely speaks English was asking about you; pointing to his wrist and asking why you had those scars. _, you and Yao never talk, and yet he was asking about you.
As bad as this is going to hurt our friendship, I still stand by what I did. You need to get some help, and we can't give it to you because you are deaf to our pleas. I want you to know though that I will be your knight in shining armor, a shoulder to cry on, a punching bag, anything. I know how you feel, despite my American awesomeness, I have felt like I am nothing socially. People think I'm loud and obnoxious and a brat. I know what it's like to go through depression, so does Mattie. And while our situation is nothing like yours, all of them are different, we can understand some of it. Please accept the help you are getting. I know not all therapists are good, but please find someone that you will listen to, to tell you the truth.
Please forgive me and I love you so much,
Alfred F. Jones