Yesterday I woke up at 6:15am to race.
I came out of my room half awake and found my best mate hanging from the stair bannister.
I froze. Then I tried to hold him up, support his weight, realising that was stupid, I ran to the kitchen and got a knife, and cut him down. Dialled 999.
Shouting at the operator.
Probably the shittest CPR I'll ever do in my life, I hope. All the first aid training out the window.
Paramedics. About to leave with them for the hospital, ran upstairs to check his room for anything that might be helpful - empty pill boxes, empty vodka bottle, whatever. Didn't find much, except for a note.
The police stopped me going with him. A little while later they told me he'd died. They let me read the note before taking it away for evidence. I really hope they give it back for his family.
Lots of police. Then they left. Sitting around, felt like we were waiting for something. Not sure what.
Trying to keep busy. It works, a little. Being alone isn't great. Don't like leaving my room, don't like looking at the stairs. Can't get the image of him out of my head. God I miss him. I'm alone in the house right now, I guess this is why I'm writing this, to keep my mind busy.
We knew he was depressed - he's suffered with it for a long time. But he's so young, and he's seemed fine recently.
I'm **** angry. I'm blaming myself, in anyway I can. I know it's stupid. People keep asking me if I'm alright.
For your sake, if you know someone who is depressed, someone that you love. Tell them. Tell them all the time.
Everyone is being really supportive. I don't want support. I want my friend back.