Master of Your Fate

This girl went missing at my college. It was about a month or so before graduation. I didn’t know her. She was in my class, but I hadn’t ever met her. Her name didn’t ring any bells. It wasn’t until I saw her picture in an online news article that I could place her face.

I had seen her around campus, one of those people I’d blast past on my way back to my dorm. So the story went that she up and disappeared on her family. What triggered it? Who knows. A few days go by after that initial news break. People are out looking for her. She was last seen bordering a train headed to New York City. Her cell phone, wallet and ID were found by the George Washington Bridge.

People went out into New York City to canvass for this girl. The family received phone calls of her being seen around that city. I remember reading an update where a cop mentioned having a good lead about where she was.

But it turned out that this girl took her own life. Her body washed up on shore. Her family released that awful news

Why.

They said she was a model student, incredibly high GPA.

Why.

She was involved in clubs and was even captain of the tennis team.

Why.

She was accepted to Rutgers Law School and was going to live with her sister.

Why. Why did she do it?

A few months ago, I go into my full-time job. Office work. The less said about it the better.
My supervisor brings me into a room with everyone else working the late shift. She says she has some unfortunate new. One of our coworkers is dead and he took his own life. I don’t recognize the man’s name at first. The room goes quiet and numb after she dropped that bombshell. She asks me if I knew him. I said I don’t know. She told me I had to have seen him around.

Then she starts to describe him. He always wore a jacket even if it was like 80 degrees outside. Always in a hurry. Easy to talk to. And I know immediately who she’s talking about. My bathroom buddy.

He and I got usage of the upstairs bathrooms banned. We weren’t supposed to use them in the first place, but it wasn’t a real rule. So I put it to the test. The down stairs bathrooms smelled like someone died while using them and often had piss all over the toilet paper. So I would sneak upstairs to the better toilets. I’d bump into him on way up the stairs all the time. He knew how much better they were too.

Oh my gosh he’s dead.

I saw him the day before. I used to small talk with him in the hallway.

Why.

He seemed happy, not different from all the other people I saw around there.

Why.

Everyone really liked him and considered him part of the family.

Why. Why did he do that?

With the recent death of Robin Williams, a lot of people are asking themselves “why”. Why would a person who brought them such joy leave the world in such a dark way?

Is there a single discernible reason? A trigger that set them off? Could it have been prevented? Is it our fault for missing the signs? Were there signs?

Even if we had those people back to tell us why, could they properly articulate their pain? Put their troubles into words? Do they even have words that can describe what they went through? Could we understand what it means to feel so trapped that death is a more viable option than tomorrow? Or to hate yourself so much you’d rather not be around any more?

We call suicide the cowardly way out. They weren’t strong enough to hold on to their lives. I believe that to be ignorant. Could we hold on if we were in their shoes? Just snap out of it like people often advise. We can talk a big game about holding on. But if life is depression, emotional pain, mental suffering, self-inflicted torture, is it even worth holding on to? To see the sunrise again on next worst day of your life? We can all easily say yes, but those who are gone would disagree.

Who’s right?

Can’t answer that question. I just can’t.

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