Trigger Warning: Suicide
To write about my friend Sarah, I attempted to revisit our old messages on Facebook. Unfortunately, only one message remained—sent not by her, but by her long-term partner. It read: “Dear Jamie, this is Mark. I’m writing to inform you that Sarah’s funeral will be held tomorrow at 12:40 PM UK time. I thought you should know. With love, Mark.” That was all.
I’m uncertain whether Facebook deleted our conversations or if I inadvertently did. It’s puzzling why I would delete everything except for Mark’s message. I never met Sarah in person. She lived in London, while I was across the ocean in the U.S. We connected through a global mental health group on Facebook, aimed at supporting those grappling with depression, anxiety, and other mood disorders. I considered us a community united by our struggles with mental illness.
Admitting to being part of a social media group feels a bit uncomfortable. Meeting friends online is often viewed as sad—almost as if it suggests “my friends are just digital avatars.” It also implies “I might be catfished,” with the fear that my online best friend could someday request bizarre photos. At that point in my life, I was aware of the stigma but accepted it. With major depression, my real-life support system was thin, as I had to distance myself from those who couldn’t truly comprehend my struggles. Often, I was left with nothing but a re-gifted self-help book trying to guide me to “count my blessings.” While people may empathize with physical ailments like heart attacks or cancer, mental health issues often attract less understanding. Who’s organizing a comforting meal train for someone battling depression?
The combination of social isolation and the tendency to withdraw can make depression incredibly lonely. Thankfully, I found a lifeline through my iPad.
According to evolutionary psychologist Robin Dunbar, “friends” on social media aren’t considered “real.” Most believe this to be true. He claims there’s little correlation between having online friends and being able to rely on them or even communicate regularly. Yet, how do we explain Sarah? Over eight months, we exchanged messages daily, sometimes multiple times a day. Our conversations were not just casual—they were deeply meaningful.
We didn’t dwell on the past; thinking about who we were versus who we are now can be painful. I didn’t know much about her life before, only that she could no longer work. I was aware of her dedication to swimming as a way to keep her “demons” at bay. We discussed her family and the support system that surrounded her. Our focus was on the present and surviving through it all.
At the time, my depression was beginning to lift. I was slowly emerging from the shadows, while Sarah’s situation was deteriorating. She often confided in me about her struggles. I aimed to be a source of comfort and hope, even when hope felt scarce. We explored various coping strategies together and shared our small victories, crying when we needed to. Dunbar argues that it’s hard to find solace in virtual friendships, but I found that sometimes a virtual connection can provide a much-needed shoulder to cry on.
Sarah’s passing was devastating. Our friendship, more genuine and raw than many I’ve known, ended abruptly, as I had feared it might. Like many who die by suicide (approximately 700,000 each year, or about one every 40 seconds), Sarah couldn’t hold onto life tightly enough. I understood her pain—still do.
I never spoke about Sarah while she was alive, not to those in my physical life. When I attempted to share my struggles, people often tuned out as soon as I mentioned my “friend from that Facebook depression group.” After her death, I chose to keep my sorrow to myself.
Most are familiar with the Kübler-Ross model of grieving, which includes denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. However, Sandra Silva Casabianca from Psychcentral.com notes that these stages are only a reference. Grieving is personal and unique for everyone. At that time, I primarily felt profound sadness and a sense of loss.
Now, as I write about Sarah, I feel a sense of acceptance. If you’ve read this far, you know more about my friendship with Sarah than anyone in my life ever has. It seems fitting that the only way I can truly remember and share my very real friend is in this online space.
For more insights on navigating personal relationships and mental health, check out our related posts on home insemination and family planning at Home Insemination Kit. For reliable information on pregnancy, visit CDC’s pregnancy resources. If you’re interested in home insemination options, Make a Mom offers expert advice.
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- how to cope with a friend’s suicide
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In summary, I lost a close friend to suicide, and the nature of our relationship—entirely online—has made it challenging to share my grief with others. Despite the stigma surrounding digital friendships, my connection with Sarah was profound and meaningful. Writing about her allows me to navigate my feelings and find a sense of closure.
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