A friend recently narrated the story of a man in her neighbourhood who committed suicide. Since then, the question on everyone’s lips has been: Why? Why would he do that to himself? What could have been troubling him so deeply that ending his own life seemed like the only solution?
I’ve asked questions like these before. I used to believe that life was too beautiful and full of possibilities to give up on it. If I’m being honest, I once thought that people who committed suicide were simply “foolish.” But that perspective changed over the last few years when I experienced a series of traumatic events that left me so overwhelmed that I too concluded that taking my own life might be the only way out.
I recall keeping a blade by my bedside at one point. In my mind, I imagined that one day I’d use it to cut my wrist, just like I’d seen in the movies, and drift into eternal sleep. I thought it would be slow and painless. I couldn’t summon the courage to drink poison or hang myself. But that day never came.
I would lie in bed, overwhelmed by the circumstances pushing me toward the edge, acknowledging the pain they caused me. I thought about the people who truly loved me and how they might feel. I imagined being mourned for a few days, perhaps weeks, before life would inevitably move on. My memory would fade, and all my dreams would perish with me.
In those moments, I often turned to the things I loved, such as reading, for instance, or listening to my favorite songs on repeat for hours. Other times, I would simply cry endlessly, until I was exhausted.
The most heartbreaking part of those suicidal moments wasn’t the pain itself; it was the loneliness. There were days when I desperately needed someone to talk to, someone to cry with, someone to help me carry the burden.
I vividly remember one particular night. I was kneeling on my bed, drained from crying. I felt the weight of it all and knew I was on the brink of doing something irreversible. I picked up my phone, mumbling to myself:
“I need to talk to someone. I need to talk to someone.”
I scrolled through my contacts and chats, searching for someone I could call. Someone I could trust enough to say:
“I’m in a really dark place. I feel like I’m going to hurt myself. I just need you to come over to sit with me for a while; maybe give me a hug. Or, if you can’t come, please just stay on the phone with me. I need to stay connected to someone to stay alive.”
But there was no one. No one I trusted enough to share my vulnerability with. No one I could trust with my pain. I put the phone down and cried even harder.
Looking back now, I thank God I survived that dark road.
In those days, I went about my life seemingly “normal.” I attended language classes, cracked jokes, and made my classmates laugh. I smiled at customers at work. I chatted and had fun with my colleagues. I spoke to my family like nothing was wrong. But the moment I was alone, the depression and suicidal thoughts would creep back in. Activities like reading, yoga, and exercise helped, but only temporarily. As soon as they ended, the pain returned.
When I reflect on that period, I often wonder how much easier it might have been if I’d had a circle of trustworthy friends. People who were emotionally mature, willing to listen, and capable of offering support. It made me realize that so many people are suffering in silence, fighting battles no one sees. Some of these battles are heavier than others, but the silence comes from fear of sharing their pain with people who might betray their trust or make things worse. Sadly, while good, trustworthy friends exist, they often feel out of reach.
The truth is, people need people. But people also need to make themselves trustworthy and available.
In today’s world, romantic relationships often take centre stage. We’re taught that a partner should be our confidant, our best friend, our everything. But I believe there’s something unique about friendships, a kind of unreserved acceptance that provides the freedom to share your frustrations, insecurities, and truths without judgment.
One of my favourite writers, Mariama Bâ, put it beautifully:
“Friendship has splendours that love knows not. It grows stronger when crossed, whereas obstacles kill love. Friendship resists time, which wearies and severs couples. It has heights unknown to love.”
Friendship is one of the greatest gifts the Creator has given us, and we must strive to become better friends. The people around suicide victims often say, “But they seemed so normal.” This should remind us to be kinder, more observant, and more caring. We must try to be trustworthy, present, and emotionally available, even if it’s uncomfortable.
The relentless push for radical independence is slowly killing us. Genuine friendships can save lives.
People, need people.
