I was 13 the first time I wanted to save a boy. He was a year older with a litany of issues, from substance abuse to manic depression and self-harm. We were both kids, and I thought loving him was enough to erase all the things that plagued him – his broken family, his best friend who had committed suicide, the monsters only he could see and feel.
Of course, it didn’t work out that way. He fell deeper into his issues, and I felt myself falling with him. In the end, neither of us won – I experienced my first heartbreak, and he was no better for my efforts.