Ned Vizzini committed suicide. It wasn’t suicidal ideation anymore. He killed himself.
I don’t want to make this about me. Mr. Vizzini does not know me personally but his story touched my fucked up brain so much. You have no idea how much.
I read It’s Kind of a Funny Story when I was in a dark place. I spent nights and days thinking about killing myself. Every fucking way out I could think of, I wrote in a small notebook. I wanted to go but I wanted to go properly. I did not want to hurt more than I already was. I wanted a way out.
I was tired of hearing about the It gets better! bullshit. And then I stumbled upon a copy of It’s Kind of a Funny Story at a local secondhand bookstore.
Reading it was so cathartic. It did not make me want to kill myself. Although it did not make me want to live. It made me hold on. I thought, Ned is here. It might not get better but at least he is here.
Except now he isn’t.
I still don’t know how to process that. It’s daily work, living. And when every person you are looking up to for hope or strength or just someone who survived the torment of hearing the mocking voices gets fewer and fewer you get to thinking: Maybe things get better. But maybe not here? Certainly not here.
You are already missed, Ned Vizzini. I hope it was worth it.