My friend Dan was one of the funniest people I have ever met. After meeting during orientation week at my previous college, we soon realized that our dual enrollment in the honors program meant that we had three classes together — an automatic security blanket for freshmen such as ourselves. Thus, for the first few weeks of the year, we practically became the same person. One of our teachers even separated us in class due to our constant giggling and banter.
In spite of his demeanor around me, Dan was a bit pessimistic and socially awkward. His jokes were always negative, and he constantly talked about moving back home and commuting to school. He was also painfully shy around strangers, such as when he slept in the library to avoid meeting some of our fellow classmates.
Yet, as we all know at Cornell, intelligent people usually have their quirks. Given his vast intelligence, I took Dan’s awkwardness as a sign that he had not yet grown into his IQ.
As the semester progressed, Dan’s demeanor started to brighten. He made other friends, and began to stay on campus during the weekends. We even made plans to major in history together. To my untrained eye, it appeared he had finally adjusted to college life.
It was the night of our biggest exam of the year that I began to feel that something was wrong with Dan. He acted distant in the philosophy class we shared that day, which for some unknown reason, gave me an overwhelming desire to check on him. However, Dan was an intense studier, and I figured he’d flip out if I broke up his study time. I placed my instinct in check, and decided not to bother him.
After my history test, my professor pulled me into the hallway to tell me that Dan had not shown up for the exam. She was concerned, and almost immediately, the dread that had begun the night before quickly evolved into terror. As I began to walk, then sprinted, to his room, I knew in my heart that it was already too late. Helpless and panic-stricken, I kept pounding on his door hoping that somehow he simply overslept.
The next day, members of our administration told us that Dan had left school in the middle of the night and taken his own life. The rest of the week was a blur of memorial services. Along the way, our university did an excellent job of providing support. A counselor even offered to sit in an empty room in Dan’s dorm in case anyone wanted to talk.
As anyone who has lost a loved one to tragedy will attest, it’s easier to move on than accept his or her passing. Four years and one school later, and I still think of our chicken finger lunch dates and late-night discussions about the Civil War. Dan was constantly editing our papers, and would certainly appreciate the idea of an entire column dedicated to him even if he would hate the attention.
Last week, President Skorton expressed concern at the level of stress at this great university, and the mental health of the student body. As a school known unfortunately for a particular method of suicide, it is all the more important that mental health issues are addressed. Once again, resources such as the Gannett Counseling and Psychological Services and EARS (255-EARS) are tangible on-campus methods of seeking help.
Nevertheless, just like Dan, there are certainly those who feel ashamed of going to Gannett or having someone possibly see them waiting for counseling. For people in this position, I suggest the Suicide Prevention and Crisis Hotline in Ithaca (1-800-273-TALK) for immediate assistance and even possible help in finding long term care.
However, suicide does not affect just one person, and that it why it is so important for concerned friends to know where to go. In particular, Dan’s neighbor told me that while speaking to a teacher the week before he died, she had this overwhelming feeling to seek help for our friend. But she did not speak up because she thought Dan would be furious and walk out of treatment. As for myself, I simply dismissed intuition as paranoia for the sake of keeping a friend.
It’s been four years, and let me put this clearly: I would rather have Dan furious at me for the rest of his long life than be in the situation I am now, because I waited to confront him. If you’re not sure whether your friend is depressed or simply stressed out, take 15 minutes and go to Gannett or call one of these numbers. Hell, go to a professor, go to anyone you trust for advice. There is not a day that goes by in which I am not reminded of Dan. While he was obviously very ill, I often wonder if his was a tragedy that could have been avoided had I been aware of the more subtle signs of depression and suicide.
Unfortunately, well-intentioned college workshops on suicide often provide students with only the most extreme warning signs. I went with Dan as he returned all his books to the school store in the middle of the semester, and ignorantly believed his excuse that he needed the money. His cheerful demeanor after months of depression gave his friends reason to celebrate, never knowing that many who commit suicide seem happy in the short time before their deaths. Thus, as we as a university seek to reach out to our troubled members, we must strive to illuminate these minor signs that could spell danger in the aggregate.
At his funeral, a family member read a poem Dan wrote comparing life to Christmas presents. Dan had found the poem in his room the week before he died, but adamantly refused to read it to me. It described how some gifts might not be what we asked for, but we need to accept them, just as we accept those gifts we want. I simply wish Dan had recognized that sometimes, we need help seeing the great gifts, and that he could be here today to eat chicken fingers with me and read me the poem himself.
Megan Sweeney is a senior in the College of Arts and Sciences. She can be reached at mps65@cornell.edu. The 700 Level appears alternate Mondays.