Peaches Geldof and former rugby league player Ryan Tandy obviously didn't move in the same circles but, I have to wonder, if they'd found themselves partying in a stranger's apartment at 4am, whether their taste for prescription drugs would have drawn them together.
That's how it works with drugs; they're the great leveller and connector. You can be an Academy Award winning actor, the daughter of a rock star, a journeyman rugby league player or Kings Cross street kid and still share a needle or a rolled up bank note and, beneath that, the jones for the gear and the hole you're trying to fill.

Twenty somethings' apartments around the world have been graced with posters of Gottfried Helnwein's Boulevard of Broken Dreams, featuring Marilyn Monroe, Humphrey Bogart, James Dean and Elvis Presley (a parody of Edward Hopper's painting Nighthawks).

Peaches Geldof

You could easily update the portrayal with the likes of Geldof, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Cory Monteith, Heath Ledger and Amy Winehouse. In true rugby league style Tandy could be dancing behind the bar with his shirt off.
None of these people committed suicide but they were all playing the same game and knew the risks. Winehouse might have died of alcholic poisioning but her liver and kidneys had been given a thorough workout by all the drugs she'd pushed through her system.
Who knows what Tandy or Geldof were feeling when they absorbed the fatal doses of the drugs that took their lives. I'd speculate they were looking for a release and got the greatest release of all, death.

We've become familiar with the term suicide by cop, where people put themselves in situations police are forced to shoot them. Suicide by car is far more common than even police are prepared to talk about on the record. Accidents where there's no skidmarks and the driver seems to have steered straight into a tree or pole? Let's just say they're not all cases of driver fatigue.
Suicide by overdose is another grey area. There is a subset of drug users too cowed by the social ramifications of suicide, who instead party on the edge. They want plausible deniability, for the coroner's report to read "overdose" or "death by misadventure".
A friend of mine is playing this game at the moment and, much like Ryan Tandy, if you asked him does he want to die, he'd say "no".
Still, the evidence to the contrary is accumulating. He told me of a recent night where he'd mixed various pharmaceuticals and woke the next day to find his stove lit, a frying pan burning away, the contents charcoal. It'd been like that for eight hours and only luck had seen his house not burn to the ground.

Pastor Graham Long of Sydney's Wayside Chapel is all too familiar with this dynamic. He wrote recently of a woman who finally lost custody of her child due to addiction in his weekly 'Inner Circle' email:

I couldn’t look her in the eyes because her head was planted in my chest.

"My darling,” (in that moment she was my daughter), “feel the full weight of this pain and let it make you stronger.”

Irvin Yalom is an emeritus professor of psychiatry at Stanford University who pioneered a field known as existential psychiatry. He teaches there are four "givens" to being human: death, freedom (and the responsibilities of choice this entails), isolation and, ultimately, meaninglessness.
We can respond to these either in a functional or dysfunctional fashion manner.
I wish for the sake of Geldof and Tandy's families they'd chosen the former.