A Positive Face
By Annabelle Hatsav
As my phone fell to the ground, my body went with it. Everything went blurry and I couldn’t even understand what was coming out of my mouth. A fire lit inside my chest.
“She’s gone, I’m so sorry Annabelle.” I don’t believe it. I keep asking why, why, why? We were just texting a couple of weeks before this. We had plans, this was not meant to happen. God please tell me this isn’t true. I kept touching the gravelly pavement beneath me to ground myself, to feel that this was all real. I faced dark green bushes trying not to fall forward or draw attention to myself. This is not real, this is not happening. She is not dead, she is not dead.
I heard footsteps approaching me as my tears poured down my face like a faucet. “Are you okay? Do you need some water or anything?” A staff member asked me. “No, I’m fine, thank you.” I lied. Usually, I’m so good at pretending I’m fine, but I don’t think I could have put on a more convincing act.
One of my best friends texted me a message I never saw coming. “I heard what happened to Ava*, I’m so sorry and I’m here for you if you need anything.” I didn’t want to assume the worst. Please don’t tell me she died. Please don’t tell me she killed herself. Please don’t tell me she’s not here anymore.
Don’t jump to conclusions. “Ruby please tell me it’s not true, what did that text mean?”
“I’m so sorry Annabelle, Ava killed herself two weeks ago.”
The worst was true. My body was on fire as I started hyperventilating and sobbing in the driveway of my camp. Feel the ground, feel that you are real. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t do anything but cry.
Questions were popping into my head as I sat there. How long was she feeling that way? Should I have reached out more? Should I have made more of an effort?
Somehow it felt like my fault. When people talk about suicide loss they often talk about survivor’s guilt. It’s not the feeling that it should have been you, it’s the feeling that you could have done more to help. That it’s your fault until proven that it's not. Every interaction I had with Ava was rushing through my head and I was feeling the survivor's guilt heavily. I told my mom about it and she didn’t know what to say. I told my brother Matan about it and he was speechless. I told my therapist, and she assured me, it was not my fault. How could I believe her? The feelings pounded through my body every time I thought about her, which was every day for weeks.
I didn’t know what to do with myself, but I knew that I couldn’t be alone. All my friends were in a meeting on the other side of the camp, which I was late for. There was no way in hell I would go to that meeting. But I headed there anyway.
I dragged my feet through the freshly cut grass passing by a gathering of staff members. Don’t look at me. I couldn’t stop the tears, I knew I would eventually get dehydrated then my body would really start shutting down. One of my campers walked past me and saw my red puffy face so she asked if I was okay. I gave the classic answer: “Yes I’m fine, don’t worry about me.” And continued on my track to find a friend, anyone really. My friend Adam was playing basketball when I saw him. I knew he would come running to support me. He wrapped his arms around me and said, “Where do you want to go?”
We headed into the woods to a dock overlooking a lake, a beautiful place where a lot of counselors would come to think. On the way there he held me as I was shaking and couldn’t stop. We hobbled so much shit in our path. He tried to make me laugh, I did, but I couldn’t stop my mind from racing. I watched the water ripple as I talked in my shaky voice. My head started to hurt as the water left my eyes so willingly.
Ava, my friend from middle school and high school, was two years younger than me. In middle school, we did crew backstage for the plays together. I was the stage manager and she was a perfect crew member. I was her mentor, I answered all of her questions and helped her with everything. I remember feeling so valued by her. She made me realize how much I could give to others, and how much she could give. Ava called me freckle. She said it was because I had six freckles (she counted), and I loved it. When I left to go to Paris for my freshman year of high school, she was worried we wouldn’t keep in touch. She said she would miss me a lot, and I told her I would too. We kept in touch and when I came back, I was so excited to see her again, and I would always answer her questions.
When she entered high school, I wanted to still be a good influence and mentor, but also her cool older friend at the same time. I tried my best and always made time for her, then I graduated.
I felt that I didn’t keep in touch enough after I graduated. I felt guilty for not texting her as much. We texted once in a while, and I always kept up with her on social media. But it wasn’t the same. A month before I left for camp, she texted me saying she was going to Wheaton College in the fall and that we should hang out. I suggested we hang out in New York before the fall because I missed her. She said she missed me too. I will always miss her.
Those texts ran through my mind for the next few weeks. I thought about how I could have asked her how she was feeling, we could have called. I should have done more, I should have asked more questions…I should have connected with her more. All the what-ifs were circling my brain and making me spin into a guilty state of mind. I had to remember, this was not my fault. How could I have known she was depressed?
I didn’t bottle it up this time, but I did keep it from my friends for a week. Being at camp and receiving this news was so conflicting because of the high-stress environment where I had to be responsible with a positive face on all the time. I couldn’t afford to mourn.
It was like I was floating above my body and observing what was going on below. The camp counselor in me wanted to keep it together so badly, but I had my moments. Thank God my co-counselor was one of my best friends and understood that I needed time for myself. But I didn’t tell my other friends until they asked me what was going on.
It was the worst, yet the best place to be to mourn. I knew I had so much love and support around me, but I just couldn’t ask for it.
I wrote in my journal after Ava died. I wrote letters to her asking her why she did it, begging her to forgive me. For what? I’m not sure. I messaged her on Instagram telling her I missed her. I spoke to her ghost trying to find some peace. I found out the funeral was recorded on YouTube, I never watched it, I’m not sure that I ever will.
Why’d you do it? I asked her over and over again in my moments of being alone. Please tell me why. Send me a sign. Anything.
Thinking about Ava made me think about how happy she was with me. She left my high school after I graduated to go to a different school. I wonder if that’s when she started having suicidal thoughts. Or maybe it happened before that. It’s so incredibly hard thinking about all the things she’s going to miss out on. Fuck my school for not doing enough. I had to direct my anger somewhere, so I chose my high school instead of myself.
I found out about the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention in 10th grade and how they host walks to raise money for suicide prevention all over the country each year. I loved the idea of seeing people who had similar experiences and feeling a sense of community, rather than feeling alone. The first year I went on the walk it was beautiful, I cried the whole time around hundreds of people wearing t-shirts with family members that died on them and crying with their friend’s arm in arm. I have participated every year since, and I never plan to stop. Ava made me want to fight even more for the discussion on mental health, and how anyone can prevent suicide.
I will never be the same. I call into question my own actions to my friends. Am I being a good friend? Thinking about each time I hear the news it never gets easier. My body catches on fire each time and I gasp for air reaching for something that slipped away moments before. I remind myself each day how lucky I am to have the support I need, and how I wish Ava had the support she needed. I can’t turn back time. I can go back to the moment of me sitting on the pavement in disbelief that she was no longer on this Earth.
I will miss her every day. I will never stop fighting for suicide prevention because it’s a part of me, my story, and so many others too.
Rest In Peace, Ava.
*A pseudonym was used to protect the privacy of the family.
About the Author
Annabelle is a third-year student at Northeastern University studying English and Communication studies. She loves writing non-fiction and poetry, and in her free time she enjoys baking, reading, and spending time with her cat.