I can’t sleep because a student I worked with two years ago killed herself.
As a society we failed her. It’s not something any one person should have done differently. She, and her actions, are the result of a broken system that affects generations. One of my girls is dead.
It hasn’t quite sunken in yet. In fact, I’m holding acknowledgement at the door. I can’t let it in — I don’t know how. The support system I had in place to deal with this pain is 3,000 miles away. I want to gather with my former co-workers and embrace this notion with the people who knew her. I want to sit with her former teachers and mentors and remember her honestly. Not some fabricated memory because she’s gone, but the real thing. I want to think about all of those times she was a pain. I want to laugh at the thought of her goofiness. I need to cry with acceptance and honor this new knowledge.
I want to accept. I want to deal. I just don’t know how from 3,000 miles away. Until I figure it out I will endure the distractions, sleepless nights, and general unrest that comes with denial. Because I don’t know how to do anything else.
Update: Apparently some girls told her the world would be better if she killed herself. So she hung herself in her closet and was found 6:30 yesterday morning.