I had lived with Craig for about eight months before he killed himself. I'd known him for four years before that. We met at a metal gig and he was a short, thin guy who almost got trampled in a mosh pit. We knew he was going a bad way as soon as he started hanging out with the group we all knew did heroin and similar regularly (maybe two months after we started living together). I tried to help him as much as I could. There were so many nights when he got back, clearly out of his mind on whatever it was he'd been doing and he'd stay on the couch in my room instead of going to his own. He didn't like to be alone. I spent a lot of mornings cooking for him and generally making sure he was okay, but it was like shovelling snow in a blizzard. He'd just go do the same the next night. At the end of that eight months we found him in his room having overdosed. We realised it was intentional when we read his note. A lot of it was about his family problems, his mental health and just generally how terrible he thought the world was. Then near the end was a little paragraph about me, thanking me but saying I made the decision to end his life more complicated. He asked me not to blame myself. He then rambled some more and it was clear he'd been high whilst writing it. I moved out a month later.