Train Wreck

by Andrew Williams

On the anniversary of my first week in California, I came home to a train wreck. You know the story: Man parks his car on a train track in an apparent suicide attempt, changes his mind at the last minute, gets out of the car before the train hits it. Result: 11 people dead, hundreds injured, thousands or millions of dollars in damage.

We know that the man's name is Juan Manuel Alvarez, that he is in his mid-20's, that he is divorced from his wife and having problems with drugs. We know that he made at least one suicide attempt prior to driving onto the tracks. We know that he wandered around the accident scene after he attempted metrocide, crying "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" to the victims. And we know that millions of people have already hardened their hearts against him.

Were I the governor of this state, I would have made the following statement to the press:

"My heart goes out the families of the victims of yesterday's train wreck. And I know that millions stand in silence for you now. But my heart also goes out to Juan Manuel Alvarez.

For while the loss of a loved one is hard to bear, Juan Alvarez has to live his life--however long that will be--with the knowledge that he is responsible for the deaths of 11 people.

"There is a line from a poem by Heinrich Heine: 'I carry that which can't be carried/And in my body, my heart would like to break!' That is why I pray for the families of those who died in the crash. And that is why I pray for Juan Alvarez. I do not ask--and I will not expect--others to do the same. But I know there are millions of people hearing and listening to me now who have been in the dark places that Juan Alvarez is in. They, too, have thought of driving or walking in front of trains or cars. My good friend Montel WIlliams has confessed that he attempted to commit suicide by deliberately walking in front of a car. I'm glad he was not hurt and that he continues to teach others how to transcend their illness or suffering by his example. Juan Alvarez has a different lesson to learn, and a no less difficult one: how to go on with life, knowing that you are responsible for lives lost due to your actions.

"Forgiveness is the hardest path. If you cannot forgive yourself, you cannot forgive anyone else. So I ask my fellow Californians--and my fellow humans--to look into their hearts. And if it is in you to pray, to forgive, please do so if you wish. Thank you."

I'm a realist. I didn't expect Governor Schwartznegger to make such a statement. Not that he's not a capable man, but very few people could even contemplate asking that people forgive themselves and others, much less an alleged murderer. I can do it for two reasons: One, I'm not a politician. Two, I have been in those dark places that Juan Alvarez was and probably continues to be in. I, too, have thought of standing on the train track and letting the 5:15 "ease my trouble in mind." I've thought of stepping off the curb in front of a truck. And sometimes the only reason I didn't is that the pain I was in was just bearable.

I have depression. I've had it for decades. The thought of self-slaughter is never far from me. But I will not--I cannot--give in. All I have to do is look in the tortured face of Juan Alvarez to know that I cannot go down that darkest of all roads.

I say to all reading this who have known the abyss: You are not alone.

I also say this:

I have depression.

It does not have me.