When I found out that one of my favorite authors, Ned Vizzini, had passed away I spent the next ten minutes doing several things. After softly whimpering “no” over and over and then subsequently screaming the word until my throat hurt, I cried. Tears streamed down my face over a lost author. No one wanted to hear about how upset I was. So I sat in my room and read. I read his words. The words he had once written or typed out. The words he carefully tended to while he was alive. Sentences that came from his feelings and undoubtedly caused him a bittersweet pain to relive. I read until I fell asleep. And, in my dreams I saw Ned, writing beautifully somber books even in the afterlife.
There is no way you can prepare yourself for someone you admire’s apparent suicide. Ned Vizzini was a novelist whose young adult fiction, saved me throughout my teen years. When I was younger, I had a lot of feelings and catastrophic outbursts to match. I was 16, my best friend at the time, attempted suicide and my heightened teen emotions escalated quicker and higher than I could’ve ever imagined. I was scared and I was confused and I didn’t know what to do, or what to think or how to even handle my every day monotonous teen girl life anymore. I wore my combat boots and heavy eyeliner every day as a sort of shield from the outside world and I would repeat the cliche “no one understands me” on the regular, but then I found someone who did understand me. And that person was Ned Vizzini.
“What am I always going to…
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