The first thing I noticed about Amy was that she was very tall and had a collection of festival wristbands, bunched up on her arm.
She would tell me fascinating stories about her travels and experiences. I would listen in awe, as she was four years older than me.
That summer, I had just turned 19 and was officially diagnosed with anxiety and depression.
I just thought it was my personality, as I wasn’t really educated on mental health and didn’t know it was a thing until I met Amy. When I told her, she said that she struggled with her mental health and we’d frequently meet for a catch-up.
We ended up going to a couple of festivals together. Amy taught me how to live.
Thursday 3rd November 2016, 10.31 a.m. After a three minute call, the world became a much darker place.
Amy was dead.
Weeks bled into months. I locked myself in my room, I didn’t eat, sleep.
My world had stopped. I only knew her for just over a year.
Now I have a dragonfly tattoo on my ribcage, a chosen subtle scar on my body.
Dragonflies are born in the water, they climb a stalk and take off in the air. Once they become airborne they can never go back into the water.
I see her in dragonflies.
written by caitlin
uk