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Is it possible to have fun reading a story about a teenage girl who wants to kill herself?
A memory forever branded in my mind is of me sitting on the balcony of my sixth-floor studio during a beautiful, mild Seattle summer evening in 2018. Something I didn’t consider after having moved more than three thousand miles away from anyone I ever knew or cared about: when you’re in the Pacific Northwest, the Sun takes a little bit more time to set in the Summer than in most other parts of the country. An extra thirty minutes of daylight doesn’t sound life changing, but one basks in as much seasonal sunshine as they can in the notoriously overcast Emerald City. So I did bask in the daylight on as many mornings and evenings as possible, when not working my standard Wednesday night-to-Sunday morning graveyard shift. A sunset in this instance, my mind raced as the natural light dissipated and the orange-hued mimicry of the buzzing streetlights began their familiar symphony. While it’s true that I’d use this balcony to admire as many sunrises and sunsets to my heart’s content, there was a far more sinister reason beneath the surface. On this particular evening I would lean a little bit further over the balcony’s edge to look down at the sidewalk beneath me. Before looking back up I calculate and process the distance between *here* and *there*. I raise my head, my line of sight now eye-level with the streetlight. What made this night different from any other was rather simple: I was going to kill myself. Ultimately I wouldn’t, yet it wasn’t the last time I’d be so eager to “see the Sun”.
The ideation and contemplation of suicide is an uncomfortable thing to reveal, because discussing suicide is never quite easy. To divulge such information can place a scarlet letter on one’s chest. Even a facetious “I’m going to fucking kill myself” after the fourth useless work meeting of the day can trigger someone within earshot who grapples with fatal self-harming notions. Suicide is a delicate topic that will always require a gentle approach, with the only positive aspect about suicide being how the taboo surrounding these sorts of discussions have softened in recent years. When I read Pete Wentz and Hannah Klein’s Dying Inside, I instantly recognized it as a brilliant way to leverage this diminished taboo by telling a story that features suicide as a major plot point. It’s a book I wish I had while sitting on that balcony six years ago.
Wentz and Klein have woven a relatable yet magic-laced tale of teenage angst and unintentional companionship, partially through a darkly comedic lens. Dying Inside is the premiere title from Vault Comics’ Headshell imprint, which will see other musician-turned-author icons trading Peaveys for pens. Here, we follow Ash, a 16-year old self-proclaimed emo teenager who successfully kills herself with an ornate knife, which instantly renders her immortal and undoes the deed of self-death. Confused and furious that she’s still alive, Ash locates Liv, a benevolent novice witch who sold her the enchanted blade. Dying Inside begins as a reluctant ally story seeing Ash and Liv work together to undo the enchantment, so that Ash can go through with ending her life. However, Liv will only help Ash under the condition that Ash wait thirty days before going through with it. This premise leads to a series of events that are predictable but delightful, as we witness an unintended friendship grow and flourish throughout Ash’s oddly dark effort. Despite the weight of the story’s setup, this book is far from doom and gloom. There are an ample number of fourth-wall breaks and outright hilarious interactions that inject the right amount of levity throughout the story as it progresses. At its core, this story is one of enduring life as much as it is about one teenage girl’s misplaced desire for death. I know what it’s like to think and feel the way Ash does. To not trust the adults in your life that want nothing but the best for you. To use both sound and substance to drown out the noise echoing in your skull, or the voices of well-meaning, unsolicited advice.
But I also know what it means to have a Liv, an initially unknown someone who somehow starts standing by your side through those dark times, cheering you on, encouraging you to see the light just around the bend. I met my real-life version of Liv when I lived in Seattle, and I can earnestly say I wouldn’t be here to write this if not for them.
Wentz and Klein expertly peel back the mental health experience from a teenage perspective, highlighting notions adjacent to suicide that are acutely relatable to people of all ages, one that specifically stood out being the pharmacological aspect of one’s mental health journey. To put it plainly, the medicines that we might take to help us regain a sense of clarity or balance can also make us feel like absolute shit. Despite taking the necessary steps toward a mentally healthier self, this often feels like someone pouring quicksand downhill in our hopeful uphill direction. Whether this phenomenon impacts our own bodies and minds, or that of those in our lives, it’s validating to see depicted.
A practical aspect of Dying Inside I’m really excited for readers to experience are working QR codes scattered throughout the book that, when scanned, bring you to a song referenced in the story. While this isn’t deeply examined, the concept of music as a source of healing, or if nothing else, as a distraction from what’s going on in one’s head, really resonated with me. We see Ash relate herself to Elliott Smith, going so far as to reenact the way in which he took his own life, while playing a song of his called “Needle in the Hay” (amazing Royal Tenenbaums reference). Additionally, the art makes this book difficult to put down. Lisa Sterle (Squad, Witchblood) outdoes herself with every page and panel containing beautifully expressive characters, a smart color palette, and the same engaging visual storytelling to be expected from her high-caliber structure.
Before picking up a copy of Dying Inside, I couldn’t help but think to myself if I should even bother. Can I really relate to this story? Is it possible to have fun reading a story about a teenage girl who wants to kill herself? The answer to both questions is an unequivocal ‘yes’.