A week after my grandfather 's wake I received a letter saying “don 't ever speak to me again,” a devastating blow from my best friend of eight years. A million thoughts raced through my head and I immediately embarked on the five stages of grief, bypassing denial, anger, and bargaining because I am an overachiever. However, depression made up for lost time swaddling me in it 's clutches. I delved into the nightmare where everything is bleak and I 'm still on the couch at four in the afternoon in my pyjamas with a Netflix marathon of Breaking Bad and a can of whipped cream. This is the depression where suicide begins looking like a good option and then it 's time to get help. My family dragged me to a therapist and explained that the week before I had been elated, cleaning the whole house which was unusual, and I had been dressing like a 50 …show more content…
This is when my new life started. The medications had side effects, but the choice between being June Cleaver or the couch blob made me willing to take them, and I became a compliant patient. After months of medication, therapy, and dozens of family education sessions about how to communicate with mentally ill people, I began to feel normal, or what normal is described as. Being level and focused, alongside embarking on the journey without my best friend, gave me clarity. I accepted that she was never coming back. So, when I got the “I 'm sorry I left, I shouldn 't have abandoned you,” email from her, I promptly burst into tears. Immediately I wrote back, vomiting out all the information about my diagnosis and life since she 'd left, sprinkling it with apologies for doing whatever it was I had done because I had no recollection. Then, I waited. I waited for the “I forgive you” I desperately needed to hear; but it didn 't come. Instead the response was, “No, I was wrong, it had nothing to do with you. I will never leave again. Will you please forgive me?” Without hesitation I wrote back a one word response, “yes” and