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Trigger Warning: Suicide
When I decided to write about my friend, I thought it would be helpful to revisit our Facebook messages. Unfortunately, I found only one message left in my inbox—not from her, but from her boyfriend, Mark. He wrote: “Dear Sarah, this is Mark. I wanted to let you know that Emily’s funeral will be tomorrow at 12:40 PM UK time. I thought you might want to know. Sending love, Mark.”
That was all there was. I’m not sure if Facebook deleted the messages automatically or if I did it myself. I find it strange that I would delete everything except Mark’s final note.
I never met Emily in person. She lived in London, while I was across the Atlantic in the U.S. We connected on Facebook through a global mental health support group designed to help those struggling with depression, anxiety, and other mood disorders. In many ways, we formed a community, united by the challenges of mental illness.
Admitting that I made friends online can feel uncomfortable. Society often views online friendships as less valid or even a bit sad, suggesting that “my friends are just avatars” and implying a willingness to be deceived. At that time in my life, however, I was aware of these stigmas but didn’t let them deter me. When living with major depression, the in-person support system can become quite limited. You learn to distance yourself from those who cannot truly understand your struggles, often leaving you with nothing but a self-help book to “count your blessings.” People empathize with physical ailments like heart disease or cancer, but mental illness? There’s rarely a meal train organized for us.
Combining social isolation with a tendency to withdraw, depression can create a sense of profound loneliness. Thankfully, I found a lifeline through my iPad.
As Robin Dunbar, an evolutionary psychologist, suggests, Facebook “friends” are not “real.” He argues that there’s little connection between having friends on social media and relying on them for support. However, I would argue that Emily was an exception.
From the day she first messaged me, we kept in touch almost daily for about eight months, often exchanging messages multiple times a day. We never delved into our pasts, as that can be painful. I didn’t know about her career—just that she was unable to work. I didn’t learn about her old hobbies—only that she swam for hours to fend off her “demons,” as she called them. I knew about her family, and we focused on the present and how to keep moving forward.
At the time, my depression was starting to lift, while Emily was struggling more than ever. I offered her gentle support, sharing hope, something that can be scarce after a mental breakdown. We discussed various coping strategies—journaling, meditation, and treatments like transcranial magnetic stimulation and ketamine. We grieved the way depression could reduce us to shadows of ourselves, sharing small victories and tears. Dunbar claims it’s “extremely hard to cry on a virtual shoulder,” yet I found that sometimes a virtual shoulder is the best place to find comfort.
Emily’s death hit me hard. Our friendship, which felt more genuine and raw than many I’d had, ended abruptly, just as I feared it might. Like many who die by suicide—over 700,000 people each year—Emily couldn’t hold onto life tightly enough. I understood her struggle then and still do now.
I never really talked about Emily while she was alive—not to real people. When I tried to share my depression, they often half-listened, plugging their ears when I mentioned “my friend from that Facebook support group.” So, when suicide took her from this world, I kept my grief to myself.
The Kübler-Ross model of grief—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance—is familiar to many. However, Sandra Silva Casabianca reminds us that these stages are simply a guide, and we may process our loss differently. At that time, I mostly felt sadness, distinct from depression, and a profound sense of loss.
By writing about Emily now, I finally find a sense of acceptance. If you’ve made it to the end of this piece, you know more about my friendship with Emily than anyone in my life does. It seems fitting that I can only truly remember and share about my dear friend in this space—online.
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In summary, the experience of losing a friend to suicide is profound, especially when that friendship exists solely online. The stigma of discussing mental health can silence us, leaving us to navigate our grief alone. Through writing, we can find solace and share our truths in a space where we feel safe.
Keyphrase: online friendship and suicide
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