Dear My Subconscious,

You grabbed my arm, but I did not wake. You shouted words I could not say. All my life I drowned in sorrow, but even killing myself brought back no happiness. Most would think I mean killing myself as in taking my own life; suicide, but I do not. Killing myself, as in changing who I am, completely. I lay awake as I watch you next to me; sound asleep. I kept my motion at a limit because I know you are a light sleeper. I walked out of my room and opened a door, suddenly outside my window. I put a cigarette to my lips and took a drag, feeling light headed. "When had I began smoking?" I asked myself. A bunch of memories flooded into my mind. Eighth grade was the peer pressure. Freshman year was the stress. However, sophomore year was the fun. I was brought back to third grade, when I promised to never smoke, do drugs, or drink. The cigarette fell and burned my thigh. I yelped in pain, lost my footing, and fell off the roof. The impact of the fall, made me black out. I woke up again, next to you. Yet again you were sound asleep. I left once again to walk out of my door. This time it was different, I was on my couch with a guy. "When did I start seeing this man?" I asked myself as I felt his heartbeat pound against mine. He left the room in a matter of minutes, calling me the wrong name in the process. I felt the baby kick in my stomach, I screamed in pain and shut my eyes tightly. I reopened my eyes to be laying down next to you. Once again, I climbed out of the bed and out the door, I was in the street, climbing into car. Two seconds later, after the light turned green, blue minivan came speeding forward and smashed into the car. I heard my back crack, and within a matter of seconds, I was dead. This time I woke up with your hand on mine, you were screaming words I had been studying but could not say. My face was frozen, I could not show you I was okay. That's when I realized, nothing was alright. So I stopped doing the things I wanted to do, I let you, my subconscious take over. Your Old Friend, Emilee Trujillo