Haube ist riesig. It still hasn’t gone away.And now, with all of our best laid plans, there will always be a missing piece.The sudden drop, in the pit of your stomach, like your insides have just melted away. I still made it to work at 8am the next day, though by what miracle I know not.That is the first time I have ever not remembered what had happened when I was drinking. It made me realise how vulnerable anybody can be to mental illness and dark moments. By the time I had reached the top of the hill, I had completely flipped my decision, instead opting to drink until I didn’t feel sad anymore.Everything was okay for the first wee while. My friends had been so concerned that they had broken into the bathroom to check that I was still breathing. They are more than friends to me, and I love them like family. From there on, I decided to take a break from drinking altogether, and possibly take a step down a more positive path for my recovery.It’s like drowning, not being able to reach the surface.Depression is just confusing. I had met her parents before, and they were truly the most lovely people that I had ever met. But as hard as it is to accept, I needed to understand that she had made that choice on her own, and that she may have been considering it, or have made her mind up, days or even weeks before she actually did it.

It’s like something was lost in translation, like the happiness message didn’t make it through the fog.

For the first few weeks after the funeral, all I could see was the fog.I tried to keep busy, overloading myself with work and study just to keep my mind away from my own deafening thoughts. I have no shame in saying that I lost all composure, and any last scrap of resilience that had been holding me together had disappeared.After the service, we travelled on to the interment, in a cemetery by the river.
So many turned out to pay their respects. Bad things just seem to happen to good people. But I had my own barriers in my mind, firm ties that would never allow be to do something so selfish. I put on a face to make the others think that I was doing okay, because I didn’t want to let them know how much I was hurting. It was like having a roller coaster ride every 30 minutes. We traded stories about her life, and parted as friends, with lines of communication open. They would catch me off guard, at my most vulnerable moments, and bring out a self-destructive side of me. I told the councillor about this after Julia’s passing, the first time that I had ever told anybody what had happened. It passes that pain to other people, to your loved ones, and multiplies it. I feel so ridiculous saying this, but I couldn’t bear to stay in my own room by myself, when so many of my memories with Julia were just the two of us in there. We took a whole bus full of people from Wellington to Wanganui, where the funeral was being held.

Julia always appreciated beauty in music, and felt that this song fitted the moment.

After that, I have no memory of that night whatsoever. All the others had been warned to close their eyes, but I had been the first one to see.

Follow/Fav We'll Be Okay. When one of these waves of depression hits, i’m simply caught in the tide. I was exhausted, simply by trying to make it through the day without breaking down, or drowning in my own thoughts. The service began, with an introduction from her chaplain, and then a eulogy from her family. Committing suicide does not end the pain or make it go away.

It felt good to tell someone about what had happened, but I still see the image of that little boy, and Julia’s hair strewn across the floor, every night before I go to sleep.The what-ifs are the first big hurdle to get over. We'll Be Okay… Menu Skip to content ... Everything was okay for the first wee while. The hours, days and nights had stretched on for longer than I thought possible, but yet the week had passed in the blink of an eye.

Those malicious thoughts did creep into my head, about ending it all, and about doing what seemed at the time to be the only way out. For me, this manifested in my drinking. Her parents were utterly devastated, and her friends, particularly the ones of us who found her, now have an image in our minds that will never leave us. Routine was unnatural. This comforted some of the others, but I still couldn’t even look at the doorway without kicking my brain into overdrive. Nobody really talked on the way there.

Did she think about who would find her? I had been sitting at the front of the bus, with a clear view through the windows. It felt like there was no escape from the malice and persistence of my own mind.A sobering concept, and a depressing truth. About 3 hours into the trip, we were travelling through a town where the traffic seemed to be backed up a fair way, much more than one normally saw, even in the congested cities.

I would just drop everything and leave, skip classes and meals, and just walk, for hours on end, trying to get away from the voices inside of my head.I did have my own moments when I nearly reached breaking point. Her parents also came to collect her belongings and clear her room. This guilt is the first thing that your mind jumps to, as though it was somehow your fault that she made that decision. That deafening silence lasted for hours, broken only by the rustling of lunch bags and the underpinning noise of travel.

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