She would say being suicidal was just a matter of fact like having a surname or identifying the color of your skin. It was a thing that was always there but you learned to live with it, or in spite of it. "It's not like I would ever actually do it" she'd say rolling her eyes while I held my breath. 

Being with her was like always holding my breath. Like the time we went on a boat and it moved from underneath me when I was trying to climb off and I almost fell in the water. Like trying to be an anchor for both of us, like struggling to not take on too much water.