The friend and the blue that faded away

I knew him since we were really little. We used to play hide and seek with each other, have sleepovers all the time, tell each other our secrets. A friendship that would not break 'til the very end. We both tried to keep it that way, for a very, very long time.

  The sleepovers we had, were all in his house. The little bedroom he had, with deep-ocean blue walls was our shelter from the outer-world. He told me everything about his life, how his classmates made fun of him, how his teachers thought he was dumb, how his parents hated him. He hated them too. Each and every one of them. He would cry and cry. I would wipe away his tears, tell him a story until he fell asleep. That

was of course not the only thing we did. We painted pictures, me and him together. We dreamt of moving to a house, only us, so that there wouldn’t be anyone to hurt him anymore. Not in our house. It would be our safe spot. We drew pictures of the house while listening to vinyl records he stole from his parents when they weren’t home. He was my best friend, from those very old days.

  As years passed by, the paint of deep-ocean blue walls faded away. So did the little joy he had within. He was becoming more and more troubled. Being a teenager is tough for everyone however, for Jamie it was even harder. I would talk and talk, so that he wouldn’t cut himself. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. He wouldn’t talk to me for days, but I was always there for him when he wanted me to be there. I would hold him when he needed to be held. Although I told him to go seek professional help, that only put distance between us.

   As Jamie grew older, the sick thoughts in his brain grew too. He hated himself. He drank, he binged and then he didn’t eat anything for days, he didn’t sleep for days and sometimes he slept for days. His mental health was nonexistent and something was eating him alive. He didn’t talk to me anymore. No one, no one except for me was aware of the fact that he was slowly fading away from this world. That was when I noticed.

   To save us, I had to do something.

   I started from scratch, opened the windows, shook him. Making him move from the hole in which he lived with his parents, was the first baby-step to save him. They were poison to him, nothing more. It really worked. Being away from that hateful atmosphere, he started eating slowly. He still didn’t go outside, but he started talking to me again, told me about his scariest nightmares, how he felt that they were real. Darkness really had captured him. His soul was trapped in that prison. “You saved me.” he said. “I thought you would leave me. Sometimes I couldn’t see you, that made me even more depressed. Like it was possible.” he smiled. "Everything is better now" he added, still smiling. For years, that was the first time I’ve seen him smile.

  I couldn’t have done more. So I suggested again, for him to go and see a professional about his mental issues. This time, he agreed. He really did.

  He is getting better now, full of life. He grew his blonde hair out, he puts it in a ponytail. That was what I used to do with my hair when I was little. He wears hats, and goes outside. The look on his face when he’s looking at me has changed though. I hoped it would.

   In his worst day I realised that everything would change when better ones came. Because I wouldn’t exist if he didn’t, and he would not be fully normal, if I did. Saving both of us was never really an option.

   It is hard for him to see me these days, again, as I am slowly fading away. This time he wouldn’t feel depressed or alone. I know that he would always remember me, I know I will too. Afterall, every imaginary friend has only one real friend.