Dear Yohanes, ...

And all those we've lost to suicide. TW: Talks of suicide.

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You didn’t know me. And before a few weeks ago, I didn’t know you either. While scrolling down my LinkedIn timeline, I noticed several postings with your face. All described you as a “recent Cornell graduate and Netflix engineer” who was missing and urged folks to share the news and help search for you. One post in particular instantly made my stomach drop.

“He was last seen getting into an Uber. His belongings—a cell phone, wallet with cash, and two laptops—were found untouched at the entrance of the Golden Gate Bridge.”

I instantly knew.

Sometime last week, your body was recovered from the San Francisco Bay. Your death ruled a suicide. I did not know of your existence prior to your disappearance, but upon confirmation of your death, I grieved as if I had.

There is no way to ask you your thoughts immediately before jumping from the bridge. But I can take a guess at what some of them were.

You probably thought of your mother and brother, who considered you their best friend. Maybe you thought about how sorry you were to be leaving them this way but felt that this was the only way to achieve the peace you desperately sought that life refused to provide.

Maybe you were scared. I read somewhere that the impact of hitting the water is similar to dying in a high-speed car crash and could be instantaneous or take minutes.

Or maybe, just maybe, you felt eerily relieved and calm knowing that soon you’d be free from the mental anguish that crowded you.

I can only guess that these were some of your thoughts because I’ve been there. And more than I’d like to admit lately, I drift there.

Moments away from giving in to the constant call to break free from the struggle. Sincerely believing that the pain will be ever-lasting and that death is the only chance at consistent relief.

There are many speculations as to what caused your suffering. Maybe the pressures of being a high-achieving Ivy graduate starting a new life and engineering career at one of the top tech companies, cross-country from your family and friends became too much. Or maybe you silently suffered from an illness no one knew about. It is likely that this will never be known for sure.

Many people have posted about what a great person you were, how intelligent you were, and how proud your family was of you. And I’m sure some have wondered how they didn’t know you suffered. Or wonder why, to their knowledge, you didn’t “seek help” or “talk to someone.” And unfortunately, there will be those who insensitively wonder how you could bring yourself to “do something so selfish.”

I’m so very sorry that this world was not made for all to survive and thrive. And that it all becomes just too damn much leaving us to feel like there are no other options but to take matters into our own hands and end it all. I feel selfish admitting that when we lose another to suicide, I wonder if I will, and how much longer until I answer the call. And I feel even worse admitting that sometimes I feel a slight hint of envy at the thought of others having achieved that perceived eternal escape.

Earlier this year I lost a college friend to suicide. We weren’t close but we were sisters in the struggle and encouraged each other through tough times. It had been a while since we spoke about it. I admit my own life happenings made the thought to check in slip my mind and I sometimes wonder if there was anything that could’ve been said or done to change her mind. But I know, from experience, that once you’ve made up your mind that death is the only way, there are few things that can convince you otherwise.

Pretty soon to most people who didn’t have a closer personal connection to you, your disappearance and death may become a distant memory that escapes them. Me included. But millions more will continue to suffer, in silence or out loud, and answer that call as you did. Possibly including me. And that’s a fact that breaks my heart.

I hope that eternal peace was truly on the other side for you.

🌞

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