Letter 1

July 17, 2014

Dear Jesse,

Today is the first time I’ve written anything about it but I need to. My mind and body is riddled with anxiety.

It’s been 4.5 months since you shot yourself up heroin, put a trashbag over your head, and suffocated yourself.

Aimee face timed me that morning. She was sitting out font of your room, #622. Her fear was so palpable through the screen as she told me she had never heard from you the day before. You had plans to do breakfast with her. You never showed. At that moment I stood up and left Dylan and Jeremy to head for my office and separate myself.

It was coming.

The nightmare that had been waking me up at night over the last year was now on the brink of becoming a reality. Something about this time was different. I realized I was no longer holding out for hope. Instead, I was bracing myself against my computer desk. Aimee was waiting for the cleaning lady to come unlock your door so we could see if you were inside. I remember when Aimee saw her coming down towards your room, her eyes moved lightning fast towards the door.

Then it began.

The knocking.

Most times someone is blind sided by a horrific event. Most times someone is just living their life and then boom, a crisis hits them. I say most because that wasn’t my story. Those 60 seconds felt like time had stopped and was suspended right in front of me. It was and still is so haunting. There is something to say about being acutely aware that your life is about to be forever changed. It’s an awareness I wish I never experienced. And then just like that, whether I was ready or not, the cleaning lady pushed open your door. It stopped only 6 inches in.

I saw the life drain right out of Aimee’s face.

From that moment I could only see the phone being jumbled around through my screen as she made an exit for her car towards your room saying, “oh my god, this means he’s in there”. I wish I could say everything that happened after that was a blur but I can’t, it’s all so fucking crystal clear. The screams of terror from Aimee as she said, “oh my god, he has a bag on his head, call 911”, will forever be etched in my memory. I was just screaming her name over and over and then the phone hung up.

My body dropped.

The screams coming from my mouth were so guttural while I layed curled up on the floor.

The nightmare was real.

You were dead.