The Girl I Wouldn't Save

       Heavy hitter alert!  So in my quiet time this morning I noticed that I was feeling sad.  My heart was a little heavier than usual and my thoughts kept wandering to a girl that I once knew in high school many years ago.  I ignored these thoughts for a while until I reminded myself to be aware.  I turned off the radio in the car and allowed each roaming thought to produce a scene in my brain until I knew exactly what needed to be done.  I needed to remember.  This girl whose face was filling my morning thoughts belonged to an old friend, but one that I had not spoken to in years.  She was trouble, put quite plainly.  She was wild, she drank uncontrollably, she went home with strangers after long nights of dancing and often ended up in trouble with the police.  I loved her anyways, but had to distance myself.  Why was I feeling so guilty?  Because I could have saved her.  When I was fifteen I remember this girl coming over to visit for the first time.  She had stolen alcohol from her parents and proceeded to dance on the coffee table in front of my friends.  When they all lost interest and left the room, she admitted to me that her father had been sneaking into her room at night.
       I can still remember how my chest had tightened and my face grew red at the thought of what she was going through.  I immediately told her that she should tell her mom or move in with me or run away or call the police.  She had to do something!  But she gave me every reason she could think of as to why I had to keep it a secret, and I agreed to.  But as time went on and I kept her secret and watched her act out time and time again, I began to feel resentment towards her.  I didn't just resent her flirting with everyone else's boyfriends and flaunting her body, I resented her secret.  You see, she had the nerve to tell me about her secret and let me carry some of that weight.  But I had a secret of my own that I had never been brave enough to share with anybody.  I resented that I had been carrying the weight of my secret all by myself for so long while she seemed perfectly content to burden other people with hers.  I resented that, compared to her secret, my secret didn't seem very big anymore.  Not only was her secret worse than mine, but it was more complicated than mine.  But I think if I'm being completely honest, I resented how scared she made me feel.  It was a loss of control.  If she decided to tell someone then did I have to tell my secret too?  What would happen if people found out?  Would the family be torn apart?  Would anyone be mad at me?  Would everyone hate me?  So I did nothing.
       It's easy to say, "I was just a kid."  "I didn't know any better," is also a good excuse, but looking back as an adult I feel guilt because I should have said something to a trusted adult anyways.  I should have ignored my paralyzing fear and stood up for her.  If I had, then maybe she wouldn't have tried to kill herself only to awaken alone and covered in her own vomit two days later.  No one had tried to call her while she was passed out; no one even knew she was missing.  It's sad.  It's such a damn shame.  A girl as beautiful and smart and wonderful as her had become so wild from her inner pain that other people had trouble being with her.  I'm sorry.  I am so sorry.  I have tried to find this girl, to reach out to her and personally apologize, but I can't find her.  She has no social media account, her phone number has been changed, and her family is refusing to give out her contact information.  All I can do at this point is forgive myself.  But I won't give up on her either.  I wish that I had known back then that no one secret is worse or bigger than another. I wish that I had known that there was always help and support to be found, and I have nothing but overwhelming compassion for any woman who has been though sexual abuse.  You are not alone.
What's your #metoo?