Tyler Clementi’s suicide is distressing me in a way no other news story did because it hits close to home.
I cut my wrists when I was 20, suffering from extreme depression and just giving up. Five of my friends saved my life, and they’re still my friends.
Tyler must have felt so alone, like there was no place in the world where he fit. He must have felt like an outsider, looking in on society like a poor cold homeless man in the snow looking in on a happy, warm, wealthy family at Christmas dinner. He may have saw everyone else happy in their place in society, while he stood alone, not part of anything. He must’ve been so scared…so petrified that jumping a few hundred feet into a freezing, rushing river was a lot less scary.
Hopelessness hurts, like literally hurts. It’s like being young and healthy is a curse because it means you have to live this painful, miserable experience for another 50 or 60 years.
If I could’ve been on the George Washington Bridge last week, I would’ve been. I would’ve told Tyler to breathe, to think of the people he loves. Think of how they would react to his death. I’d tell him there is no way you won’t come out of this stronger. You’ll have battle scars to show off in the future. Your life will go one, this is not the end. You’re not alone, you’re never alone. Hang in there…please, just hang in there.
The world needs friends, they’re like air.