u/jacksonwigglesaw

Some days, it feels strange—like it’s genuinely hard to cope.

Every video, every time I hear his voice, every laugh, every funny moment he shared… it all hits. Deeply.

He may have been flawed in some ways, but honestly, aren’t we all? None of us are perfect. And despite everything, Jahseh was someone truly special to me. When I really sit and think about it, it hurts knowing that if he hadn’t been taken so soon, he’d be 28 this year… almost 30. That thought alone is heartbreaking.

I can only imagine what that would’ve looked like—waking up every day to his motivation, his growth, his energy. Hearing him talk about life, seeing the wild new hair colors, or even something as simple as him going back to black. There was just something about his presence that felt larger than life.

And realistically… I truly don’t think there has been anyone in this generation as impactful as he was. That’s just how I feel. People may disagree, and that’s okay—but to me, his influence was something rare. Something powerful.

I’m not here to ignore the darker parts of his story either. I know there were allegations, pain, and real situations that can’t just be brushed aside. The Geneva situation especially—it was deeply disturbing, and I could never justify something like that. If those things are true, then they deserve to be acknowledged for what they were. Hurt is hurt.

But I also can’t ignore that he was clearly someone battling immense pain within himself. He was broken in many ways, struggling, trying to survive himself. And while pain never excuses causing pain to others, I do believe people are capable of recognizing who they were and wanting to become better.

To me, 2017 felt like the beginning of that shift. Not perfection—not some complete transformation overnight—but the start of someone genuinely trying to change. He seemed tired of being consumed by who he used to be. He wanted growth. He wanted peace. He wanted to become someone better than his past.

That’s why his loss feels so haunting.

It’s hard not to get stuck in this impossible fantasy that somehow, some way, he’ll come back. Even when I know he won’t. I’ve always hated death—hated how final it is. And maybe that’s why this hurts the way it does.

What makes it even more surreal is that I actually met him. Only once—but once was enough to leave a mark on me forever.

We spoke for around 30 minutes after one of his shows. I was going through a lot at the time, and somehow, in that short conversation, he made me feel understood. He hugged me. He told me everything was going to be okay. He told me to keep my head up.

And for that moment… I believed him.

I don’t have photos from it. My phone was dead, and I had left my charger behind, hours away. For the longest time, that disappointed me more than I can explain. Not because I needed proof for anyone else—but because sometimes I wish I had something visual to hold onto from one of the greatest moments of my life.

But as painful as that is… I realize I don’t need a photo.

I have the memory.

And maybe that means more.

I miss his presence every day. And I know I’m not the only one.

Life and death are both unbelievably difficult things to process, especially when someone impacted you so deeply. So if you’re hurting too, if you miss him too, or if you’re carrying anything heavy in your heart—I just want to say this:

You are not alone.

I’m here. No judgment. Just understanding.