Have I Ever Told You About Holls?
Holls was my best friend. Fifteen years ago, today, April 10, my best friend, Holls, committed suicide. A week later, I received a letter from her. It was a goodbye. It was the last goodbye I’d ever get from Holls.
It’s been fifteen years since I’ve last seen Holls. It still feels like yesterday since we laughed and shared our good times together. One of the good times we had shared, was when we used to call each other on the telephone every day and say what we were feeling. Holls and I never held back. We’d wait for the other person to respond sympathetically. Then, we’d say, “Okay, I will call you later.” It was that simple with her. Holls didn’t make a big deal out of nothing. But she wasn’t the type of person to make you feel like your feelings or concerns weren’t important. She was a humanitarian, and had a loving attitude when it came to being a true friend.
I wish that Holls had given herself a chance to grow up. She would have seen that the pain she had felt when she was a child, in the hard life that she had lived, wouldn’t last forever. Although it was hard for us growing up, there was a chance for us to become healthy, strong, and happy people. I wish that she was here so that I could give her a hug. As I would hug Holls, I’d say, “See? We made it. We’re okay. And we are still the ‘bestest’ of friends!”
Holls and I used to hate it when adults would say to us, “Why are you depressed? You’re just a kid. What problems do you have? When you grow up, you’ll see. It gets a lot worse. It’s easy for children.”
Little did they know what we had suffered.
I learned, after Holls’ death, that she had Borderline Personality Disorder. I didn’t know what BPD was until I did research on it. It was confusing to me at the time. So, I began to study mental health, depression, and personality disorders. I wrote journals about my memories of Holls, our friendship, and what it was like growing up. Before I realized, the journal turned into a novel of great memories.
I’ve been writing since I was a little girl. I wrote my first novel when I was only six years old. Years after Holls’ death, I had an idea to write a story about a girl who suffered from depression and BPD, but then somehow survived all that she had been through. So, I started on a story, with Holls in mind. Although, the story is not about Holls, I wanted to write something that I could dedicate to her. I wasn’t sure where I was going with this story, but I started writing as I did with all of the stories I had written. I wrote the first outline of what the story would be about and the main characters, but I didn’t quite have an ending for it.
When I did finally write the original version of Her, the main character had a different ending than the version that is being published now. I won’t give away the ending, but I will say that I feel like Holls would be proud of the ending that you, as the reader, will read today. If Holls had given herself a chance to be a survivor, I think she would say that this new ending is the ending that she could have had.
Therefore, I dedicate this story called Her, her story, to Holls. Her is not Holls’ story, but she did provide hope and inspiration.
Please be sure to like my author’s page on Facebook to read more about my debut novel called Her. It is the story inspired by Holls. Click here.
*Holly’s nickname was Holls.