After You

Jess

Alfie,

My letter shows "a lot of unresolved issues in our friendship", apparently. Bravo, bereavement counsellor, you may take up the mantle of Captain Obvious. I'm sorry that my letter isn't the unbridled outpouring of love that I'm sure Willow is writing, or just a load of "um"s and stutters and inane comments, if Finn's letters to you are anything like his conversational skills.

Sometimes I feel like I don't recognise myself any more. I don't recognise the things I'm saying. Finn and I were never best buddies even when you were alive, but I would never have said something so mean about him before. I don't dislike him, so why am I acting like such a dick? Yet another example of why suicide isn't the selfless, courageous act I'm sure you thought it was before you topped yourself. This is what it does. It turns everyone who loved you into complete arseholes.

I resent everything. I resent the counsellor, when she's only doing her job. I was so rude to her the other day, and that's not me. That's not who I am. I'm answering back to teachers, and even as the words are leaving my mouth I'm kicking myself, asking myself what the hell I think I'm doing. Jess Taylor doesn't answer back; she doesn't mouth off to people. She doesn't resent her parents for grieving their friends' child. She doesn't resent her friend for dying.

Sometimes, I don't feel like Jess any more. There's a different creature inhabiting my body, making me behave in all these ways I never would have dreamed of. I said this to the bereavement counsellor, and she told me that grief can manifest itself in many ways – that it isn't always crying and wailing. Sometimes it's anger and acting out and hating the world.

I told her to fuck off.

I guess it proves her point, but I hate it. That isn't me.

It isn't all hating you and feeling bitter that you get so much attention for dying. Sometimes I really do miss you.

Actually, I miss you all of the time.

You've been a part of my life for longer than I can remember. We were friends from the start; we never really had a choice. Born in the same month, living over the road from one another, our friendship was meant to be. "Written in the stars", as I'm sure Willow would say.

There I go again, being mean.

The first strong memory I have of my entire life is of you. We were exploring the woods behind my house, despite having been told not to. We were only just four at that point, I don't think we'd even started school. Jacob refused to come with us and threatened to tell on us, but we didn't care. We climbed the first tree we found. I was a better climber than you, and from two branches up, I looked down and saw messy brown hair, a stupid toothy grin and the dungarees you always seemed to be wearing, and I thought, "that's my best friend".

My first proper memory is of calling you my best friend.

I've just resisted the urge to follow that up with some kind of mean comment about how lame that is, or how selfish you are. Jess isn't completely lost, I hope. No matter what happened further down the line, when other people came into our lives and we grew up and things changed, you were my best friend from the moment I knew what a best friend was. I may never have told you this, but I don't think I ever stopped seeing you as my best friend.

I'm not sure I ever will.

Jess