When I first began school, I watched as the other kids buddied up with one another and shared their toys and art supplies. One girl had a supply that was to be envied. Crayons, colored pencils, paint (not those crappy watercolors, either), tracing paper, the works. I went up to her and asked if I could use some of her crayons. "No, no way," she replied in a haughty tone. It hurt. She had let all the other kids use her art supplies. What was wrong with me? Why was I not worthy? As these thoughts raced through my mind, a shy voice broke through. "She wouldn't let me use them, either. You can use mine."

Fiona was a small and imaginative girl who had moved to the United States from her native Ireland. She had a faint accent and a love of horses, castles, and anything medieval. So did I. As we drew pictures of castles, we talked about horses, and she invited me to a farm where she rode them after school. For the next three years, we went there often and dressed up as medieval princesses and had make-believe swordfights. We scripted plays and enacted them for our parents and anyone else who would watch. We practically lived in the woods in our own little world. She would show me pictures of Ireland and England, and the pristine images of the forests, lakes, and architecture have been etched in my mind since then. It has been my dream to see England since that day.

Fast-forward three years. During the summer, I took private french horn lessons at a church. One day, my instructor had to leave early, and I had an hour to kill until my mother could come and pick me up. I walked around the church, admiring the decor, when I came across another young girl. I asked her what she was up to and she said that she had a Bible study for an hour. I was never a religious person...I never believed in God, but she said I could come along with her to her study. I tagged along, and the girl asked the assistant instructor if it was okay for me to sit in, and she agreed.

Tanya also loved animals, and I introduced her to Fiona, and the three of us became tight. Tanya also loved to talk about ghosts and the supernatural. She claimed that her house was built on top of an Indian burial ground and that you could hear moaning in her basement. I never heard anything, but it did pique my interest in the occult. I spent years studying the supernatural and it is still a current interest for me. She would also tell me stories that her older brother had told her about an ex-girlfriend of his. She said that this girl (I believe her name was Charlotte, but I'm not sure) had lied to him and tried to make him look like a bad person. Her brother had attempted suicide twice and could try again at any time.

The three of us did everything together. We thought nothing would ever come between us.

Sixth grade: Tanya's family had gone to visit family members in Ohio and Fiona had seemed a little distant and testy for a while, and I finally asked her what was wrong. She told me that her family had decided to move back to Ireland in two months. I felt like my world was collapsing on top of me. This couldn't be! We couldn't be torn apart like this! After coming to terms with reality, the two of us spent all the time we had together. We tried to contact Tanya, but to no avail. Those were the fastest two months of my life. Fiona was gone. The next time I tried to call Tanya, I found that her phone number had been disconnected. I asked my mom to take me to her house to tell her, and when I went to the door, a different looking woman answered the door and said, "Nobody by that name lives here."

My two best friends in the world, gone. No way to contact them. Gone. I had never felt so alone. I wanted so desperately to have someone to talk to, someone to do things with, someone to take my pain away. That's when I met Shannon and Roger.

Shannon, Roger and I all loved heavy metal. We'd spend hours at each others' houses listening to Iron Maiden, Judas Priest and Guns N' Roses (hey, it was the early 90s!). Roger's parents had just been through a divorce, so he was in as much pain as I was. Shannon hated seeing us like that and said that there were ways to get around the pain.

One night while her parents weren't home (as if they ever were), Shannon threw a box of cigarettes on the floor and fetched a bottle of whiskey from the bar. Roger and I had heard all the anti-drug messages, but we were desperate to end this pain. We'd try anything. And we did. The nicotine and the alcohol made us happy and we were thrilled that we had found the answer to our suffering. Over the next three years, we tried just about every drug in the book and came to rely on them for our happiness. Shannon and Roger had alcohol to numb them (I didn't like it much after finding out that drinking too much of it made me extremely violent) and I had my various pills. Surprisingly, all the while, Roger and I had managed to maintain our straight-A status in school. We were never disruptive, never disobedient. We were the ones that slipped through the cracks. Shannon, on the other hand, had just about quit school altogether and ran away in the beginning of ninth grade. We have no idea where she went...she could be dead for all I know. It wouldn't surprise me. Roger moved away soon after. After seeing what had happened to Shannon, I decided that drugs weren't the key to happiness. I didn't want to be like her. I didn’t want to be weak, to have to rely on chemicals for my happiness. So I made up my mind not to be and I quit. It wasn't an easy path, but it was one I conquered. On my own.

My music became critical as to giving me self-worth. While at a practice, I met up with Jenn. She was a year older than me, but very mature for her age. We sat and talked, and she told me about her plans for getting into college and becoming an auto mechanic or a veterinarian. She asked about my plans and I told her that I didn't really have any. She told me that I had to 4 years to think about it, but the sooner, the better. She said that I didn't have time to waste. I gave a lot of thought as to my future, what I wanted to do with myself. I kept my grades up and got into my first-choice college. After she graduated and went away to school, we still kept in touch and she'd come back and visit us. Then, her house burned to the ground and she had to move to Michigan with her family. Haven't seen or heard from her since.

Enter Emily. She was a sweet-looking girl who had been hit by a car in front of her house and was on crutches for years. I actually don't remember how we met or how we really became friends (must have been the drugs...ugh), but we had everything in common. I helped her every day with carrying her books and stuff until my junior year in high school (her sophomore year), when she finally got off of crutches and could start living her life again. We went to concerts, went on road trips, and even went to Toronto, where we delighted in scaring the religious people in the room next to ours by whipping the walls and making sex noises all night. We went to Wal-Mart at 2am and almost got kicked out a few times for throwing those big plastic balls all over the toy section. We went to public places like malls dressed outlandishly and enjoyed the stares and whispers that surrounded us. Hey, we were in high school.

That's also the time that Joe moved to our school district. He was a punk with green hair, a leather jacket covered in patches, and the most caring demeanor. He was probably the nicest guy I've ever known. We became therapists for each other and we began to hang out. He ran with a different crowd for the most part (his best friend abhorred me), but he still liked me.

One Sunday night, we were all hanging out at Denny's, where Joe was showing us his new tattoo, and said that he planned on getting his other nipple pierced sometime that week. It started getting late, so we all departed for home and said we'd call around mid-week to start making plans for the following weekend. Wednesday night, I called Joe and no answer. No problem, he's just busy. Thursday night, same deal. This wasn't like him...I was a little concerned.

Friday morning. I was waiting for my mother to finish getting ready for work and I decided to flip through the paper in the meantime. Page 2: Obituaries. There was his name. I felt numb, emotionless. I read the article several times...it couldn't be him. There must be another person with that name, that's his age, that went to our high school. He had shot himself Wednesday night. No apparent reason.

Emily and I were shocked and angry. Why did this happen? Why did he do it? But there was nothing we could do except move on. Both of us went away to college and we still kept in touch and did things on the weekends. Then a few weeks ago, she announced that she is moving to San Francisco this summer. It's happened again.

But, I look back and realize that all of these losses have introduced me into new realms of life and have taught me important lessons. Fiona nurtured my imagination, which has been critical for me as a musician and a writer. Tanya's stories taught me that you can't trust people. There are rotten people who will turn on you in the blink of an eye. Shannon and Roger introduced me to the world of drugs and alcohol and showed me (unintentionally) that they are not the answer to life's problems. Jenn made me see that I did have a future and pushed me into the real world. It was time to grow up. I couldn't be a kid forever. Joe made me see the value of life and made me feel the devastation when it is taken away. Emily showed me that I can have fun without endangering myself or my future. She taught me to loosen up and have fun while you're young.

Sometimes I wish I did not have to experience the pain of losing all of my best friends. But I look and think, had I not lost them, would I have not gained new experiences? Would I not have explored new terrain? Where would I be without them? I can't honestly answer. But I am focusing on where I will go next. What lies ahead? Where will my next exploration lead me? Only time will tell.