This past week, Penn as a community received the most horrible possible news: a College senior, Nick Moya, took his own life.
I'm having a difficult time writing this letter, which is unsurprising. When something as horrible as this happens, I think everyone just grasps at something to say. Something reassuring or comforting or even angry—just something.
The truth is, I didn't know Nick. We had many friends in common, but I never had the chance to meet him personally. And to be honest, I'm mad at myself for being so shaken by his death. How selfish, how self–involved. There are so many who lost a true friend, a brother, a son. There are so many whose lives have been permanently and unrelentingly disrupted. And yet, I struggle with an unanswerable question: how do you mourn someone you never knew?
I don't have the answer. I wanted to write this and come to some neat and tidy conclusion, but I don't think I will. I don't think anyone possibly could. There's no correct way to write about death—everything I try feels inorganic or pandering or insensitive. And more than anything, I'm just angry. I'm angry because depression is a vicious, monstrous, oppressive weight. It's a lifelong burden that haunts and terrorizes its victims. I'm angry because in a world that feels a little more senseless and a little scarier every day, yet another senseless and scary thing just happened.
The best I can do is offer my most sincere and heartfelt prayers and thoughts to everyone who knew and loved Nick, as I know so many did. I hope that those struggling can find solace in each other. If people find catharsis in writing, please know there is always room in Street to share your thoughts. There are very few ways to mourn publicly at Penn, and if you need, I hope you find that outlet in Street.
And, to everyone: take care of each other, and take care of yourself. There is truly nothing more important.