It started with the letters.
I don't know the exact date, it was sometime around June. I was sat in a t shirt and baggy shorts, my fluffy slippers dangling off my feet as I swung my legs back and forth at the breakfast bar. Toast crumbs covered the counter and the radio was creating a low buzz of white noise. A typical Saturday.
Mum was at the office. Dad was at the shop. Alex was still in bed. I went back to my room to get dressed. Jeans, a different t shirt, trainers. Nothing too exciting. Finished my biology homework. Then decided to read outside. I grabbed any book, and went down the stairs and out the door. I had nothing to do so I just kept reading.
Page 34.
Page 79.
Page 112.
Page 148.
Then the gate opened and the postman walked down the path.
“Uh, letter for Ingrid?”
“Yep that's me, thanks” I smiled politely, taking the envelope. I opened it and took out the contents.
'Hey.
You're probably kinda confused. No, you don't know me. We'll probably never meet. But this is my way of finding out if they're all true. I'm depressed. And not 'oh my god my girlfriend just dumped me, what do I do with my life?' depressed, but literal, diagnosed depressed. And suicidal, too.
I've attempted seven times this year. Every time I do, they say the same thing. 'Oh, don't worry Mikey, someone cares.'
Well so far, I haven't found anyone. So this is my way of looking. I found your address just by looking through the phonebook and picking any random name out. If you reply, I know you care.
If not, I die. (But like, no pressure or anything. I mean, I'm good either way. The ball's in your court)
Mike.'
I lay back on the grass and reread it and reread it until I knew I completely by memory. After mulling it over for a while, I jumped up and raced into the house. I ran up the stairs and past a groggy-looking Alex, into my closet of a room. I grabbed my laptop, and began.
'Mike, this is Ingrid.
I just want you to know that there is someone who cares. Please don't kill yourself. I know what it's like to feel like the entire world is against you but please stay alive. If not for yourself, then for me. I've been depressed, I've done all that crazy stuff in a plea to end my life, but I've accepted who I am now and I want you to stay alive.
Just imagine if I had gone through with it, who would you be writing to? Maybe one day someone'll write to you asking for help, and you could save their life.
Please write back.
Ingrid.'
I grab an envelope from my mum's desk in her study, and scribble down the address Mike had written on the back of the envelope, before attaching a stamp. Then I run back down the stairs, out of the house and down the road to the postbox.
With one swift motion, I kiss the envelop and push it through the hole, before walking back home.
