Hello, My Name Is.

See, my mind is like a sift.

Every movement causes just  a little bit more of me to fall through the holes.

Just as you did.
We weren’t close by any means but for some odd reason,

Your death took a part of me with you.
I can’t help but think back to that night when

You were nervous and I was busy.

Why was I busy?

You texted me but my mom took off with my stuff.
I didn’t get your text until well after midnight.

By then, it was too late.

You weren’t dead for a few more years but it was that moment, wasn’t it?
You decided that another move and another location wasn’t going to fix you.

You didn’t need fixed.
I wish you would have let me help you and that I wasn’t busy that night.
I wish that things had worked out differently and that I could have saved you.
Why couldn’t I save you?

Oh. Right.
It’s been you all of these years, hasn’t it, Jes?
The night after I was raped?
The nights leading up to the anniversary of your death?
The day my “father” told me I wasn’t good enough.

The night I told myself, “This is it!”
The night my “friends” told me I was too “high maintenance”?

The days when I couldn’t get out of bed?
The days when I fought with my mother.

The nights when I couldn’t breathe?
The nights I lamented over finances?

The nights I took pills on the bathroom floor.
The days I took my kitchen knives across my flesh.

The week when no one noticed I hadn’t been around.

It has been you this whole time, hasn’t it?
No one survives 40 tylenol pills.

No one survives arsenic and bella donna.

No one survives losing that much blood.

You’ve kept me alive after all this time.

You see, my mind may be like a sift,

But’s it not afraid to call it like it is.

Suicide has a name.
It’s name is Jes.

21 years of age.
Death by pills.

It’s name is Michael.
22 years of age.

Death by gunshot.

It’s name is David.
20 years of age.
Death by car.

It’s name is one that we all know.
It discriminates against no one.

No matter your age, sexual orientation, gender identity….
Death is inevitable but that doesn’t mean you must chose your own coffin.

Hello,
My name is Jessa.
I am 22 years old and I died of an illness no one believes is real.