“It doesn’t matter how Happy or Strong someone is when they’re dealing with a Sadness others Can’t See”
about the passing, or shocking suicide of tWitch, to say it like it is, reminded me of a poem that I’ve never been able to forget. ~ W.
We recently lost a dear community leader, here in Boulder. Well-connected to community and resources and beloved by all.
I was struggling in the fall, and wrote a piece about “it’s awful lonely being popular.”
As one of the Insta posts on this sad story said, “Check on your friends who light up the room. They carry burdens unseen.”
Community helps. Meditation helps. Maitri helps. Getting outside and offline helps.
But fundamentally all of us can be vulnerable to depression, and to suicidal thoughts, even if we don’t seem like we would be.
Often, those who seem to need help least…get it, least.
I’ve been criticized or taken down a peg all my life…
…partially because I seem so “fine,” even full of myself, particularly to those who don’t know me (once you know me, you realize—quickly—I’m as human as the next broken heart).
And so when tWitch killed himself, it reminded me of the Richard Cory poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson:
“Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
‘Good-morning,’ and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich – yes, richer than a king –
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.”