Jake, it’s been almost six months since you’ve killed yourself. I turned 22 the other day, and every day that passes since you passed is just another slap in the face. Time keeps moving away from a place where you were once in it.
I finally remember the last time I saw you in person. You were being your normal, misbehaving seventeen year old self. You’re one of the funniest people I know. Why didn’t I tell you that when I still could?
I feel like a bad big sister. I was so self interested throughout junior high and high school and didn’t have time for you. I snapped at you often. I was never patient. We got closer after I went to college, but I can’t stop thinking about all the opportunities I had to make you feel loved and I didn’t. You deserved so much more than me as a big sister.
A month before you passed, you helped me move back home- a two day trip- with our dad. I didn’t know it at the time, but everyone thought I might be suicidal because my anxiety was very, very bad. Mom said you told her you were going to help me move. Your boss came out to the house in the days after your passing and said you told her you had to be there for me too.
I don’t know how I could struggle with mental health my whole life and not realize the extent you were too. Jake, I love you. This isn’t fair. I want you back, and that’s never going to happen. I’m so sorry for not doing more. I love you.