Set Me Free

The Beginning & The End

I couldn't believe it. It was as if no one believed me. No that's not right. No one did believe me. They think I did it for attention. They think it was jealousy that possessed me to do such an awful task. But it wasn't. I had to do it. I had to. I don't even know anymore. I just keep telling myself that so that I can keep just a tiny shred of sanity. Maybe if I tell you my side of the story you'll believe me. Or not, because like everyone keeps saying, my side is the only side being told. The other one doesn't speak. She can't.

She and I were very close. At least we used to be. Inseparable they would say. Well, that is, until it happened. But let's not get distracted. We always told each other secrets. We had a joke that we would tell anyone who would listen; our friendship worked because I had the brains and she had the looks. And it was true. Girls wanted to be her, guys wanted to be with her. I got asked a lot if I was jealous of her. She was "perfect". That's what they thought. But they didn't know her like I did. They didn't know that deep down, she was dangerous. She didn't have to tell me this for me to figure it out. Like the joke goes, I had the brains. All she had to do was put on a fake smile for the world and everything would be okay. Until she got away from the world. And she pulled off her mask. That's when she unleashed her true self. Her beastly side.

When she was little, she liked to play with the boys. She would run around in the schoolyard with them until they were chased out by the teachers. One day while playing some rough soccer, she slipped and fell, hitting her head. She was taken to the emergency room and was diagnosed with some kind of brain trauma. I don't remember the name. We were only little kids back then and I didn't want to accept the fact that she would no longer be the same. So like most brains react when something traumatic happens, I shut that memory out completely. That is until now. The way they explained it, the part of her brain that was affected was the part that made you think rationally. So, from then on, she would act on emotions. Later that year the school burned down after a fire erupted in our first grade classroom. The investigators claimed that it was spontaneous combustion. But I knew who lit that fire, I just didn't say anything. After all, I was the one who had hidden the matches for the "spontaneous combustion".

When we got a little older they started giving her pills to help her stay rational. They only worked if she took them. If she didn't take them, stay clear, there was no telling what would happen. But she wanted to "fix" herself. So she took the pills each morning. And things were normal again. Life went on being pretty fantastic for a while. Well I should say until I found out that she had stopped taking the pills.

It was on a cold afternoon in October, the leaves were changing into magnificent yellows, browns, oranges, and reds. We were sitting on top of our favorite hill, the one that overlooks our whole town. We were talking about school, and boys, and then she suddenly pulled out a plastic bottle of pills. She told me it was three weeks worth of normality in there. I asked why she did it. Why she had made such a dangerous decision. She told me she didn't want to keep living the way that she was. Then she showed me her scars. She told me it was a good thing it got cold fast, she didn't know how long she could wear the bracelets that covered the scars. I remember looking down at her arm. How did I not notice? I remember looking at scar after scar after scar and blaming myself for all the times I wasn't there for her. Every scar was for the time that I was blind and couldn't see her reality. It was awful.

Two weeks later she told me she was in pain. Not physical, emotional. The worst kind. The kind that made her do stupid things she later claimed she wished she hadn't done. She was a grenade. She was close to blowing up. And when she did, she would annihilate everyone around her. Spiral us into complete and utter oblivion. She pleaded with me to end it for her. End her pain. I saw the look in her eyes. I saw what she meant. She had made a stupid decision to stop taking the pills. She couldn't turn anything around now. It was too late. I knew had to be done. I couldn't stand to see her slowly killing herself each day by making the choice to not take the pills.

She used to have pink cheeks, her eyes were blue like the ocean. If you made eye contact with her, the intensity of the color made it seem like she was looking into your soul. Her hair was a dark brown, sometimes it was almost as wild as her personality. Her daily outfits would never repeat and always consisted of bright colors. When you were with her, it felt like there was an invisible pull that connected you to her. And she was always smiling. But lately, she had turned into a white lipped pale faced ghost. Her blue eyes had faded to the color of the sky when it's snowing. Her hair now laid flat. It seemed as though it had given up along with her. It was limp, like her emotions. Her wardrobe was now greys and whites, as if she wanted to disappear. The once very strong pull of connection now felt like there was no one at the other end. And her smile had turned into a grimace.

That night we made a plan. She said she didn't want to kill herself. She said she didn't want to become another number. She told me that she was already another teen with issues, but she didn't want to be some suicide statistic. What was there to do if she couldn't kill herself? I certainly wasn't going to take a gun to her chest. I could never do that. She of all people knew I would jump in front of a bus for her if I had to. I decided to do some research, as gruesome as it was, I knew I had to help her. We lived in Oregon, there was a law that passed a few years earlier about Euthanasia. I looked up the details to see if it was even possible. The rules and regulations were these: had to be a resident of the state of Oregon, had to be 18 years of age, had to have money. We could give a random address we knew around town check, we had fake IDs check, and we could use the credit cards we were given for our birthdays check. We were all set. We made a plan to leave early the next morning so that no one would ask questions and we could be the first ones at the office.

That night I didn't sleep, I couldn't, I was too nervous about what the events that would take place in less than three hours would bring. There was a war in my mind. On one hand I didn't want her to suffer anymore. Every day that I saw her suffer I died a little more inside. But on the other hand she was my best friend. I didn't want to lose her. No that's not right, I couldn't lose her. The memories, they flooded in and out at a rapid fire. Us laughing till we cried, laying on our backs in the warm summer sun. Her destroying the world on one of her rampages when we were ten. Us, we swore we were raised by wolves as we howled at the moon on one spring night. Us, arguing because of some stupid thing I said when we were 13. And I am back to reality. I feel like I'm drowning. I can't breathe. I'm fighting for my life. Help me. I can't do this. No I have to. I have to. I have to.

We got up early, I don't know how early but it wasn't even light yet. We took a bus downtown to the office where they did it. We walked in and the receptionist told us to take a seat and fill out some forms. When the doctor came out, he asked if I wanted to be there for the "procedure". I said yes and we walked down a hall that smelled like death. It probably didn't smell like death in real life, but in my head it did. It was the longest hall I had ever walked. When we finally got to the room there was a small table and a chair. I sat in the chair, she sat on the table. He asked her some questions, I forget what they were, I was staring at my hands the whole time. I kept telling myself, "you can fix this, this is the time", "go on and stop this before it's too late", "talk her out of it", but I didn't. I couldn't even look at her. When the doctor gave her the drink, he said it would take a few minutes to kick in. "Do you have any last words?" he asked her. "This isn't some kind of beauty pagent you morran." I wanted to say, but I didn't. I didn't want her to die thinking I was some kind of sarcastic jerk.

She had something to say, "Don't let them know I did this. Don't let them turn me into some teen suicide statistic. Promise you won't. Promise! At the funeral, don't wear black, wear some pastels, they'll bring out the green in your eyes. Plus, black is a death color. I'm not dying, I'm being set free. One last thing, don't blame yourself. Think of it like this: I'm a bird, I've been locked in a cage my entire life. By you helping me with this, you are setting me free from my cage, I can finally explore the world. I love you!" And just like that, she was gone. When I finally looked at her when I was leaving, she didn't look like she was dead, she looked finally free.

When they found out, it was horrible. No one would look at me. I still remember that conversation. "There was no other way!" I kept telling them. And all I got back was "there's always another way!". I told them what I have just told you. But no one believed me. I was the girl who cried wolf, but no one came the first time. They thought I was jealous of her. She always got attention because of her rare condition. But I wasn't. They had no clue what was going on inside my head. But I will tell you this. Each day, I am haunted by the guilt of my actions. The guilt of killing my best friend. The guilt of setting her free.