If someone were to ask me what the scariest experience I've ever had was, I wouldn't respond with a story about a haunting or an attempted kidnapping or a disappearing spider. I would answer by telling you about my junior year of high school.

During this time, I wasn't scared about the normal things that high school girls are usually worried about: grades, boys, ACTs, SATs, or going to college in two years. Instead, I was entirely focused on a whole different spectrum.

I don't know when it started or what caused it, but I first noticed something was wrong in eighth grade. Scars started showing up all over her arms and thighs and she did all she could to make sure they were covered from curious eyes. I never knew what to say so I just ignored them whenever we hung out. I was too scared to say something or else I thought I would push her over the edge. I always felt like I was tip-toeing on glass. Not knowing what to say or how to act was most definitely my own fault. I still wish I would have done something, but my immature, naive little self didn't know where to start.

Fast forward to sophomore year of high school. Lunch hour was composed of convincing my friend to eat her lunch, or even pieces of our other friends' lunches because we never knew the last time she had eaten. She usually pushed everything away, even us. I had never understood the danger an eating disorder had until this point. On top of that, depression had made its home in her and wasn't moving any time soon.

Eventually, one of my other friends had started talking to her, constantly texting her to make sure everything was okay. This was taking a toll on both of my friends. Not only was it taxing physically with the late nights, but also tiring mentally because of constant fear, crying and vulnerability. Instability was also becoming a frequent guest when we hung out.

Now, junior year. Terrified doesn't even begin to describe how I felt. In my mind, she was balancing on a tight rope hundreds of feet above sharp rocks; one wrong move and she was gone. Instead of just being a spectator, I was holding the rope that held her life, and if I screwed up, she was going to fall.

Every night, I lived in terror, praying that the next day I wouldn't get a call that she wasn't coming back. Permanently. I lived day to day because when I looked at the future, it wasn't pretty. I never saw a happy ending. I hoped for the best, but expected the worst.

If you've ever had someone close to you think about attempting suicide, attempt it, or commit suicide, then you might understand. I never thought I would fall under that category. Never in a million years.

I couldn't believe that after all we had done to make her not feel so broken, she still felt as if she still wanted to get rid of herself. I had no clue what she was feeling inside, but I knew that my feelings were a storm raging inside of me. Having her do this to herself made me feel like something was being ripped out of me. I was consumed by worthlessness. I felt angry, bitter, heartbroken and terrified. I had given her so much, and she repaid me by shattering everything I worked so hard to fix. But, the fact that she hadn't actually accomplished what she set out to do relieved me. I knew that I had my friend for another day. I thank God for that.

Even years after all of this took place, I still feel like I'm walking on eggshells. These things can’t be undone or forgotten, and there is still so much I will never know and never dare to ask about. But, no matter what happened, I'm more than thankful to God that I still have my friend.

I don't want to be that scared ever again.