My name is Lacy Tinnell, and I write today with a heavy heart and a plea for action.

On May 2, 2025,  after a long and exhausting week leading up to finals, I decided to take a nap, unaware that I would wake up to devastating news. I had lost yet another classmate. He was a junior in high school, not even 18 years old, and he had taken his own life. Let that sink in. A teenager with so much ahead of him felt he had no option but to end it all.

Unfortunately, teen suicide is tragically common today. According to the CDC, “suicide is the second-leading cause of death for people ages 10 to 34”. This is not just a statistic, it is a crisis affecting our schools, our friends, our families, and our community. So I present the question: what will we do about it?

As a community, we have spent too much time grieving and remembering the names of those we have lost. But now, we must move past words and into action. 

In just the past year, I have lost multiple people in my life to suicide. Two of those deaths occurred on the 242 overpass bridge, a place less than a mile from our high school. 

Eight months ago, I lost my dear friend Sophia. She was a light in everyone’s life. Sophia had borderline personality disorder, but she was more than her diagnosis. She was kind, thoughtful, and loved by so many. I met Sophia in August of 2022, when I was a freshman in high school, and we became close friends very quickly. In May of 2023, she attempted to take her life on that very flyover bridge. That should have been a wake-up call, but no changes were made to the bridge to prevent access.

Exactly, 428 days later, on August 28, 2024, Sophia died on that same bridge, but no one was there to stop her this time.

I will never forget the moment I found out about her passing. The varsity volleyball team was supposed to leave for a tournament in Austin. We were called into the LGI, expecting to go over rules and procedures for the trip, but none of us could have imagined what we were about to hear. As our coach entered the room and closed all of the doors, she was already crying. Surrounded by APs, counselors, and all of our coaches, she muttered through tears that our former teammate and close friend had passed away. We didn’t need to hear the cause. We already knew. Later that day, when I worked up the courage to open social media, I was scrolling through our messages from not even 24 hours ago and noticed her last Snapchat location: 1 a.m., at the top of the 242 flyover.

Still, after this tragic incident, no fencing or safety measures were put in place. Still, no changes were made.

And then, on May 2, 2025, it happened again.

I woke up to hear that someone had once again taken their life on the bridge. At first, the identity was unconfirmed, but rumors pointed to another student from College Park High School. My heart sank. Later that evening, it was confirmed: a former classmate I had known since junior high had made the decision to take his own life.

Now, this bridge is not just a place of traffic but a symbol of tragedy in our community. We must take action to prevent it from becoming a place of return for others.

Fencing the 242 overpass will not solve mental illness, but it can create a barrier. It could create a moment of pause that might be enough to save a life. Right now, the bridge is too easily accessible, and unfortunately, people now know that it works. I and so many of my classmates drive over that bridge every day, and I can promise you these two individuals are not the only ones who have ever had that thought.

Yes, installing fencing (or other safety measures) may be expensive. Yes, it may not match the aesthetic of our community. But if it saves even one life, it will be more than worth it.

To deny this plea would be to declare that the image of our community is more important than the lives within it, and this should never hold truth.

I beg you, please, do not let there be another name added to the list. I don’t even know where to start yet, but we must take action now and fence the 242 overpass. Let this be the moment when our community decided that action mattered more than our image, and that saving lives was worth every bit of effort.