I didn't know until several years later that he'd killed himself, not died of a heart attack as I was told. Lately my mind has been arguing with itself over his choice to commit suicide. Part of me thinks he was brave to end it all when his life was unbearable for him. Part of me hates him for having killed himself and taking himself away from those who loved and needed and trusted him.
I sometimes have fantasies about suicide when I desperately want to escape, but think, always think of the impact it would have on my loved ones, so I don't consider it seriously.
I miss my friend more the longer he's gone, and feel so ambivalent about his death - whether I miss him more or hate him more for leaving too early.
