Three days ago, a sixteen year old girl who lived around the corner from us committed suicide.
I dont think I ever met this girl who lived so nearby.
I don’t ever remember seeing her in the street.
I don’t recall what she looked like.
I don’t know what her homelife was like.
I don’t know any of the circumstances of her situation.
I don’t know her name even.
I didn’t know her at all.
But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since.
I do know that in some unspeakable and socially unacceptable way I admire her conviction. No doubt this is my chronic pain and depression talking given I’ve spent many, many days wishing I could find a way out of my own sometimes overwhelming problems… but mostly I just feel sad.
I feel sad
… because she must have been dealing with seemingly insurmountable issues
… because they must have have been much larger than her maturity could handle.
… that she may have felt very alone or perhaps like she had no one to turn to.
… that maybe no one noticed her desperation.
… that maybe someone did but may have passed it off as adolescent angst.
I feel sad because at 16 you don’t know that today’s mountains might be tomorrow’s molehills.