Two girls could not be more alike than [Anne] and I. Locations and origins excluded, our likes, dislikes, and pasts are strikingly similar, and, oddly enough, I just met her three and a half months ago. We both enjoy the same music (Backstreet Boys, Hanson, Mariah, and Everclear…the list goes on) and appreciate literature, from classic novels to contemporary stories, and we share a mutual admiration for each other’s writing. Mine, she claims to be elegant, although I doubt it, and hers maintains a certain spunk. However, little did I realize just how serious this friendship would become.

Though we both admitted to being social outcasts early in our lives, I never quite understood how deep it was for her until two months into our friendship. Several times, she mentioned the verbal thrashings she managed to endure from peers, something I’ve never really experienced, but I just accepted the idea that she had some way to ‘deal with it’. I was right—she did—but self-mutilation was not the description I had in mind.

It came as a surprise, of course. I knew people cut to relieve them of emotional pain, but to find out that someone I actually talked to did it was new to me. Taking it step by step, I listened and gave her some advice, making sure she was aware that I cared and understood her pain. True, I had never cut or been stressed enough to attempt it, but I knew that the best thing I could do for her was listen and try to understand. It was the only thing I could give her, and I hoped it would suffice.

To understand, it was necessary to know why this was happening to her. Despite the short length of time I’ve known her, I feel a close bond to her; she’s a lovable girl with a refreshing attitude who should be enjoying life, not intimidated by it. So she explained to me the story of how her classmates began to enjoy harassing her. To make the long story short, they suddenly began picking on her when they decided they wanted her to stay away from her best friend, the most popular girl in the grade. After awhile, she left them alone and tried desperately to cope with it. Being the smart one of the grade, she would frequently answer the teachers’ questions. All she wanted now was to be socially acknowledged and still be allowed to voice her opinion. Why couldn’t society accept her?

There was nothing wrong with her, until now. People see her as depressed—who wouldn’t? If only they could take her seriously. However, peers continued to say obscene phrases and words to her, cursing in the halls and threatening death in instant messages. It’s not hard to stop, but society has grown so accustomed to its habits that it doesn’t even try. They make fun of the geek—it’s all right. Prank call the new kid—everyone’s doing it. By doing such things, they are accepted by the cliques, ironically enough. Nobody has stopped to question the morality. The only ones who understand how anyone of those victims could possibly feel are those who went through the same torture.

It’s pathetic. Her friends can’t understand; her mother doesn’t try to. The therapist she sees can’t even fully grasp the situation. They aren’t targets of everyday harassment. They never realized how much pain it puts someone through. [Anne]’s not the sole person to have considered suicide; it’s impossible not to have wondered whether pulling a trigger would be better than coping. There are others out there, sadly, and they all need someone to understand, to pull them away from suicide, to tell them what I told [Anne]—"Promise me you’ll NEVER commit suicide". Why should they bother to live? they wonder. They don’t know how valuable life really is until they manage to escape death by a margin.

Next time you see that nerd sitting by himself or the lost kid in the halls, help them out. Make them feel welcome. You’ll feel better about yourself, knowing you might have helped save their life.