POORE | I Think I’m Getting Empathied Out

Warning: The following content contains sensitive material about suicide. I used to believe that empathy was the key to unity without understanding what it meant. So in my sophomore spring I did Empathy, Assistance, and Referral Service training, the on-campus peer counseling system, and last week I attended the first meeting of Education 2610, also known as Intergroup Dialogue Project. In EARS training and in IDP, we did active listening exercises in pairs. One person would talk for three minutes without the other responding.

LETTER TO THE EDITOR: Let’s Talk, Cornell. Enough With This ‘Grin and Bear It’ Stuff.

To the Editor:

CW: Mental health, suicide

When I moved to Ithaca as a freshman in fall 2010, Cornell’s response to multiple deaths by suicide the semester before was both swift and controversial, yet undeniable: fences on the bridges. Today? It’s deafening silence. It’s now been two weeks since Gregory Eells, the former Director of Cornell’s Counseling and Psychological Services, died by suicide. Until his departure to the University of Pennsylvania just months ago, Eells spent the past 15 years working intimately with students here in both his capacity as a health care provider to our community and alongside us in our campus governance and advocacy efforts. The Sun’s reporting of this tragedy misses the mark.

LIEBERMAN | Modern Love — A Different Type of DM

At around one o’clock in the morning, I wrap my comforter around me and tap the folded, paper-plane icon in the top right corner of the Instagram home page. I begin to scroll through my inbox — one hand holding the phone above my face and the other hand shoveling Trader Joe’s cookie butter into my mouth. I lie in bed like this, searching for the username “modernageboy” every Friday night. After the various bars close and the house party speakers shut off, when the lines at the taco truck are longest, I am in my creaky, Collegetown apartment searching for a particular thread of Instagram direct messages. I got the idea for this Friday night ritual from a girl I met at group therapy.

READ MY MIND | It’s Time For Me to Sleep

I’m tired. Tired of crying, tired of thinking, tired of being. Everything hurts but I don’t understand what exactly because it also all feels empty. And there are no more tears to cry because it’s all empty now. And that’s ok because it’s quiet.