Nicole Renee Nunez

Not My Time

Anyone who has taken the time to look over the sleeve on my right arm would probably come to the conclusion that I’m obsessed with Death. I wouldn’t say I’m obsessed though...Death and I just have a very intricate and complicated relationship. The first death I ever experienced was my mother’s. I was four years old and to this day the thing that I remember the most is seeing a grown man cry for the first time. I was four, I had no concept of Death or that it meant I would never see her again. Now before you go getting all sympathetic on me, I’ll say again: I was FOUR. Save the sympathy for people who are unfortunate enough to lose their parents when it’s the hardest, like when they’re teenagers or young adults and could use the guidance. I was a young teenager the first time I considered Death as a friend, an option. I spent days in my room behind a closed door crying over things teens cry about, like boys and getting made fun of for my glasses and acne. But I also agonized over the fact that I was a living, breathing human with a fully functioning body and limbs yet somehow that still wasn’t enough for me.