Crossing the Line

How far is too far? Why is there always an invisible line in life that we can't cross for one reason or another? So here I am, sitting next to my friend, past midnight, who is up to work and is instead writing a document on her depression. I can see every single word, although she tried to angle the screen away from me. And I know exactly what she means. Yet I don't do anything. I let her sit there, and I know the exact pit she's falling into because I've fallen in before, but I still can't bring myself to help her, to say anything.

I'm here, if she wants to yell, to scream, to shout. I'm here if she does something stupid. I've given up all of the sleep that I need tonight and any work that I need to get done to sit next to her and worry about what's happening in her life. But I'm not saying a word to anyone. Nor will I at any point in the near future. At the same time, I can't help but wonder how much of doing that is too much, how long I can try to stay in control before I lose it and we both fall out of stride with life. Because as she's going down, I'm holding on and trying to stop her, but at the same time, I'm descending further in, too.

This week--the few days before today, and for a few days after...it's hell. It's torturing everyone surrounding me, and as a result, me. Two nights in a row now, I'm up later than I should be, would be, want to be, because I'm talking to people, trying to sort through the mess that has come to pass lately and that will hopefully clear up soon. So when is it too much? When do I do something before she ruins herself? Where is the line I need to guide me?

That line is in my head, it's there somewhere, but I need to find it, to redefine it before I let another mistake come to pass. I hear complete silence except for our synchronized typing, both of us writing because we need to, no longer because we want to, bound to this eternal concoction of despair that is slowly engulfing our world. Of course, I hear the occasional breath...my own steady and slow rhythmic transfer of air, or her airy, choking sighs. This is the world around me right now. These simple noises, this simple room. Nothing else exists. The fact that I have to be awake at an ungodly hour tomorrow morning (or should I say today) doesn't matter. It's about the here and the now.

Life really is about the moments, and this is one of those times when I really begin to realize it. No matter how much sleep I do or do not get tonight, it doesn't compare to what may happen if I'm not here for her in the next several hours. That's what it all comes down to. So as I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and pause for a minute, I'm getting ready to put myself through the hell that the next two days will bring. Here goes nothing.