Hi, I'm Tonee. I'm a survivor of suicide.

In this picture, I'm the brunette. (I have a thing for dying my hair, ok?) The guy with me is named Brad. We met very early my freshman year at OhioU. We were both in the theater department, and both debating whether or not it was the place for us. Actually, I found out later that he wanted to ask me out until he found out I had a boyfriend. Instead of being a couple, we became close friends. Even after we both left OhioU, we stayed in touch. He was from Cleveland, I'm from Columbus. He came down to visit me quite a bit. We made it a point to stay in touch, even if we didn't see each other every day anymore.

On January 17, 2012, my dear friend Brad was found dead at his alma mater, John Marshall High School, in Cleveland. He was 25. It took over a year for his family to let some of his friends know that his death was ruled a suicide, not accidental.

I missed his funeral. I had a two month old and an ice storm rolled in down here, so I just couldn't justify the 2+ hour drive. It's something I regret, even though I know my daughter's safety was my top priority.

I don't have a whole lot of pictures of the two of us together, but I do have a lot of memories. Recently, I've caught myself crying just thinking about him because I know how much fun he would've had with my daughter. He met my husband once, before we were married, and missed our wedding. He regretted it, but life doesn't always accommodate what you want. I wish he'd have met her.

Brad's death, even before I found out it was suicide, has impacted me in a way no other death has ever affected me. I've lost many older relatives. I've lost a childhood friend to war. But Brad - losing him at all, let alone to suicide - has hurt me every day since January 2012.

Part of me feels guilty.

He and I battled depression together, so was there something I could've done to make it better? Could I have been there more to help make him stronger?

Part of me hates him.

I hate him for not holding on. There's so much more to life than the pain, and I hate him for not holding on long enough to find that out. I hate him for not taking the medication the way he was supposed to take it. I hate him for quitting. I hate him for leaving us all behind.

Brad, like many suicides, was loved. He had a network of friends who loved him. Parents, a baby brother, cousins, aunts, uncles...the list goes on. Brad. Was. Loved.

Most suicides are people who are loved. The sane, rational, educated side of me knows this. I know I couldn't have fixed it. Once someone really decides to do it, there's nothing that can really be done to stop it. We can try, but really, it's all up to them. Some people reach out, to friends, family, or the suicide hotlines. And they survive. They keep fighting. Slowly, but surely, they find their way back to themselves and their lives go on.

Some people don't. Brad is one that didn't.

I miss him every day. I still cry because he's gone. But, every day, it gets a little better. I'll see something or hear a joke that reminds me of him and I'll giggle or grin instead of sob.

I was able to play Bully again for the first time since he died. He introduced me to that crazy ass game, and we spent hours playing it. I didn't cry, I had fun. Things associated with him are starting to get fun again.

I de-friended him on Facebook, though. I couldn't handle seeing all the posts to his wall about how much he is missed. That was just too much.

But that's OK. A link on a social media website doesn't validate a friendship, or taint my memories.

Although I do find myself wanting a clove cigarette from time to time after not touching one for years. I'll blame his influence on that one. Someday I might even light one up despite it being many years since I've had one, just for him.