Tim and I discussed suicide in our first substantive one-on-one conversation. We were wandering around Sea Cliff, New York before the wedding of a mutual friend and somehow it came up. Knowing Tim’s love of off-beat conversation, he may well have orchestrated the topic. Regardless, I shared the story of a friend who killed herself after a long battle with depression and alcoholism. I talked about my belief that as much I disagree with her decision – because of the hurt she caused her family and all of the opportunities for joy that she’s missing – I can’t judge her because I don’t know her demons. In my darkest times, I’ve felt sadness dull my senses and weigh on my shoulders, but in my heart, I was still happy. Depression is the opposite of that. A depressed person can feel happiness at a surface level while in their heart, they are weighted with sadness. That’s a horrible way to live. With that in mind, the only thing I can do is to love my friend in death as I did in life.
Little did I know then that Tim had attempted suicide once upon a time and that my understanding for my friend extended to him.
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