JB.

Dearest blog,

All day I've been thinking of a past friend that is no longer. It's not that we're not friends anymore, it's just....he's dead now. Sorry to be so blunt. I suppose telling the story is in line.

When I was really young, there was this boy that lived down the road from my family. They were all red-heads except for their father. Well, my friends' name was Joseph. Joseph and I always hung out with each other whenever my sister visited his older siblings. I remember Joseph and I use to play together in the dirt and swim in the pond. It was a happy moment when I was young. He was my best friend and pretty much one of the first guys I made friends with.

Things started to change....

Joseph fell into a deep depression (yes, at our age, about six or seven). I remember everyone at school use to make fun of him because he was an extremely curly red-head. He was picked on for his hair almost as badly as I was for being fat. He use to tell me all about what he went though at school as well as I would tell him about what happened to me. We were best friends. We shared all secrets. But to top off his curly red-haired beat downs at school, his parents were arguing and getting a divorce. "They don't love each other any more." as he put it. He cried to me about this. He had a right to, but I didn't know that would be the last time I seen him.

*Side note to keep in mind, this was about the only time I had actually ever been inside his house. *

Not only was I watching my best friend cry in the privacy of an empty living room, I was trying to keep him calm as much as I could. Just be there for him. I didn't know that all I was doing wasn't good enough. He ran outside to the shed and I called for him to come back. He kept running. I followed him after he got into the shed. I walked in and seen his arm covered in blood with cuts across them. I was very confused. Then, what seemed to happen in half a second, he told me to go and shot his self in the head. I stood there for what then seemed to be a life time, even though it was only a few seconds. My face dripped with tears that fell from my eyes without being able to be stopped. I ran home. I was scared.

I never said anything about what I seen until I was about fourteen. I had been put into a mental hospital for, ironically, attempted suicide. I told the doctor/therapist about seeing that. The doctor/therapist told my parents about all this, which they had the right to. My mom said that never happened and that Joseph was alive in another part of the country. I didn't believe her, because I know what I saw. I hated that she would say something like that, and pretty much call me a liar.

After awhile I dwelled on the thought of if he was really alive. If he could have lived through what I saw him do. I didn't know. I just know what I seen with my eyes. I also wondered what could have happened if I told someone what I saw that day. If that could of or would of helped. I guess I won't know. I just wanted to share.