Trigger Warning: Gosh, I never use trigger warnings and always feel conflicted about them, but, because this heavy piece of writing is coming to your inbox on a random Thursday, I feel you should steer clear of reading this if you’re emotionally labile today or required to operate heavy machinery while in a perpetually upbeat mood.
When I was in high school, one of the popular boys killed himself. His mother came home to find him hanging by a rope in the garage.
My small private school was shocked into a paralyzed, miserable silence. He was the one outspoken conservative boy in our ultra progressive school. He was handsome and well-liked, but definitely alone in his politics.
It was true, wasn’t it? That some had belittled him in class. That we didn’t make space for his love of George Dubya. It all came back to haunt us now.
The students suffered, but not as badly as the teachers. I was close with my English teacher who wondered how, in a close-knit community, they could have missed the signs. His new mohawk haircut. His sudden burst of joy. A whole narrative emerged among his friends, that he had been manic ever since he’d privately made his decision, inviting his pals over for a big party, suddenly ebullient.
But I wondered.
Well, maybe he was trying to partially asphyxiate himself while jerking off and it went too far? But there’s seldom space for such theories.
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