A few years ago I was at a dinner, sitting next to a university student, ‘A’. We bumped into each other once more and then, more recently, I found out that A had killed themself.
I can’t get A’s death out of my head. It’s not that I knew them (we had only met twice), and I hope it is not just some sort of hysterical response (to something that I have no reason to empathise with), but this was one of the smartest scientists I had ever met. Truly extraordinarily bright. I just can’t understand what could have happened to A. We had pretty similar goals and values (and A was smart enough to be able to achieve them), and yet it seems like A felt they weren’t worth hanging around for. Which is the conclusion I’m coming to.
Just something else I can’t share with friends or family. I feel like every time a have a conversation with someone, I have to apply a filter in respect of what I shouldn’t say. It’s no wonder I don’t talk much.
2 comments
I have heard before that funerals for a person who has died for suicide are significantly more haunting than funerals for those who die otherwise, because of this sense that it was entirely preventable. I have never been to such a funeral before. I did have a friend who died by suicide but her family was in California so the funeral was there. I remember feeling the way you are describing: she was young and beautiful and whatever it was, surely if she had given it time, things could have turned around….Like it was just such a waste.
And yet, at the same time, I really feel like I want to die. Certainly no one would ever call me beautiful or young, but I do foresee the “waste of potential” argument .
Unless we perceive a reward for lingering that will match or exceed the price we pay for our existence, it seems we are most to be pitied for hanging on.