IN LOVING MEMORY

For as long as she could remember, Jessie had spent each year of her life in a different city. Although she doesn't consider herself to be very social, she has a lifetime of memories with more friends than she would ever be able to count. Every year there was at least one person she would consider a "best friend". The term itself, "friend" that is, means something different in Jessie's internal dictionary than it means to everyone else. "Friend" typically means someone you can depend on for anything, no matter what. A friend is someone you not only make jokes with, or someone to accompany you when going to the mall or a theme park; it is someone who notices when your body language slightly changes, or you don't speak as often as you typically do, and that friend would go out of their way and stop at nothing until you are okay again. This is the textbook definition of a friend. Jessie's definition is something else. A "friend" is someone you can talk to about random topics until you run out of things to say, then just sit in a silence that is neither comforting nor awkward. Someone you spend most of your school day with, and occasionally weekends, but when summer comes around you never hear from them. For Jessie, Summer meant moving and attending a new school, so most of her "friendships" lasted the 10 month school year and she never saw or heard from them again. And once she graduated, her only "friends" were the ones she made at work. Someone to talk to throughout the shift and go on lunch break with, but never hang out on weekends. And if she or the other person left the job, well that was the end of that "friendship". A friend is a placeholder so you're never completely lonely. That's Jessie's internal definition.

    Loneliness became such an ordinary feeling for Jessie. Sometimes loneliness meant sad, sometimes bored, sometimes frustrated or angry, sometimes horny. But not horny in a good way, if that exists, horny in a bad habit that leads to death kind of way. She never told people about the things she did while alone. She never told people anything that was intimate or entirely true. She didn't make a habit of lying, but at the same time she was never completely honest. If someone asked if she was okay, the answer was yes. It didn't matter if it was her mother, her sister, or one of her "friends" asking, the answer was always yes. She hated that. She hated the fact that there was no one in her life that could tell it was a lie. No one that went out of their way just to make sure. Jessie had a three step program when it came to people asking if she was alright. Step 1: When they ask, just say yes. "Are you okay?" "yes." "How is your day going?" "good." "Is anything wrong?" "no." That's the way she liked it. Short, sweet, and simple. Step 2: If they double check, don't change your answer. "Are you okay?" "yes." "Are you sure?" "yes." Step 3: If they ask one more time, be honest. "Are you okay?" "yes." "Are you sure?" "yes." "Okay, just checking because something seems wrong." "well actually..." The saddest part was that hardly anyone who asked ever got to step 2, let alone step 3. The truth, 1/20 times Jessie's answer was true. 1/20 times, she was okay. But who really cared?

    With certain people, Jessie could fake a positive attitude extremely well. For 10 years no one had been able to tell that she wasn't okay. She smiled, laughed, had a great sense of humor and could tell some pretty nice jokes, but when she was alone, she would cry. For a few years, around year 5 or 6, she would do a little bit more than cry. Self-harm never really worked for Jessie. It would sting at first, then burn for a few days, then nothing. She didn't feel better, she didn't even do it to punish herself. What could she possibly be doing wrong? She sat quietly, made sure everyone else was okay even though internally she felt like each day was harder than the one before. The only reason she did it was because people online said it made them feel better. That was a lie. It didn't make her feel better. It didn't make her feel worse either. It was just temporary physical pain that did nothing. Sometimes, these negative feelings caused some terrifying thoughts. Like a fatal car accident. That image came into Jessie's mind a lot. Those made her break down. She wasn't suicidal or anything, but the thought of her dying an instant, painless death sometimes flashed in her mind and scared the hell out of her. She didn't want to die, she just wanted to feel better.

    But what if she did die? What would that do to her mother, her sister? All the people that never got to step 2. Would they care? Jessie cared. She cared if she died? She would miss her. That's one thing for sure, Jessie did not hate herself. She hated her thoughts. Her feelings and the fact that she couldn't control or understand them. Why was she so sad all of a sudden. Since when had jealousy become such a routine emotion in her day to day life. Why couldn't she be honest the first time. Trust no one. Her own cousins bullied her into a potential lifetime of insecurity. Her "friends" made comments and faces when they thought she couldn't see or hear them. These things all played a part into the way she trusts people today. Is it even possible for someone to actually give a fuck? Or is everyone today lying just like everyone before.

    These were all things Jessie considered before she did it. The fact that she had made hundreds of memories with "friends". Movie trips, Halloween parties, beach weekends. The fact that people avoided a honest answer when they asked her if she was okay. It didn't matter if she was lying, just as long as they asked in order to ease their own conscious. The fact that she had never actually been suicidal. Or was she just doubting it. Making excuses. Well, it didn't matter now. She didn't even feel guilty about the fact she would no longer be alive. She felt more guilt over the fact that her mother would have a hard time getting around until the car was fixed. And it would be her fault that it was totaled. A fatal car accident. That's what she chose. You cannot control the way a person feels about you or the steps they would take to comfort and understand you. No one in her life made her feel comforted or understood. So she did it. She died. She died knowing that the only memories her family and "friends" would have of her, were the upbeat, energetic, generous, happy ones.