A friend of mine killed himself a week ago. I call him my friend even though we haven’t… A friend of mine killed himself a week ago. I call him my friend even though we haven’t been close since college led us to separate towns. I call him my friend even though my efforts to help him resulted in his girlfriend nearly beating me up. I call him my friend even though he was on a dizzying downward spiral, the kind that healthy people get the hell away from before they’re pulled into the explosion.

For my own sanity, I cut him off, as I’ve had to do with others over the years. Regardless, I call him my friend because he was a person who, despite his flaws, always acted with the best intentions and never lost his innate warmth and kindness.

He had a terrible heroin addiction, the devastation of which makes me wonder if mocking After-School Specials and guidance classes is as simplistic and misguided as the drug war itself. There are legitimate reasons why certain drugs should be kept out of people’s hands. Some things have a pull on us that we just can’t shake, even when, in desperation, we try to get away. There are a myriad of addictions and self-destructive tendencies everyone struggles with in life.

I cannot describe the deep sadness I feel knowing that, during the same week of my 21st birthday, while I passionately and gluttonously celebrated life, my friend recklessly and senselessly chose to embrace death.

This is not solely about drugs. This is about anyone who feels suicide is the only possible cure for his or her pain.

There are many out there right now who are thinking of doing the same. I can’t bring my friend back. But as I said after I learned of his death, “I don’t want to get any more phone calls like this.” I’m not sure how to prevent it from happening, yet I have hope that some people on the verge can be saved.

I feel the need, despite the fog of loss that hovers over me these days, to express and experience the full impact of life in honor of him — perhaps to set an example to those at risk of his fate. It can be shrugged off as trite, but there is just so much to live for: the first warm days after winter, the perfect mix tape, long kisses, epic daydreams.

These are a few of the millions of reasons I’m so glad to be here in the world. In a life packed with these small joys, there is little room for the bad and the ugly. We all have them, don’t we? Can immersion in all of the things that make us grateful to be alive equalize our messes and failures? Or, more idealistically, can they eventually counteract them? If it is possible, how do we convince those without hope to give it a try?

Damned if I know. In our efforts to protect my friend from himself, my friends and I took very different actions. None worked. Now we all wring our hands, checking for blood. The guilt remains when there should be peace. It’s hard to accept that there was nothing left to be done. Such hopelessness seems like giving in, just like my friend did. So we choose to blame ourselves and remain active.

My friend lost touch with all of the good in his life. The rest of us still remembered it. The many people at his memorial, despite any past cynicism, still believed in him — otherwise it wouldn’t have hurt so much to say goodbye. I wish he could have known that. I wish he had felt that for himself.

Rumi says there is a secret medicine for those who hurt so bad they can’t hope. If you know where to find it, spread the word. E-mail Jen Dionisio at [email protected].