Well, I know I was significant to you, I was the one that broke your marriage. I was the one you confessed to having an affair with, and falling in love with, two days before. What I mean is, perhaps that was the only way you could express from the other side, that I meant to you what you mean to me.
So what did you do after you left my house? I know you got the half seven train back home, and you would have been back in the area at around 9:30 – 10:00. That’s the time Sam started searching for you after Peter raised the alarm over the texts you sent him. Did you buy an 8 pack of Stella and sit by the railway? Did you go to the pub? Had you decided at this point that today was your final day, or did you slowly get to this point throughout the day?
I was calling your phone for hours after you found the end you craved. My last WhatsApp message has never delivered.
When Sam confirmed you had gone, I switched off the tv, dialled Mel and collapsed to my knees on the floor. That’s where she found me ten minutes later, sobbing.
I cried all night. When I couldn’t stand to be in bed any longer at 4 am, I went outside and cried in the light of the full moon. I held it together in front of the kids, dropped them at nursery, went home again and cried. When my mum and sister arrived, I was still crying. It’s only since being on medication that I only cry in severe moments. The relief is immense.
Being emotionless is the only way I cope now. I told you months ago that if you did it, my world would fall apart. Even I didn’t realise quite how apart it could fall; quite how broken it is possible for a person to be. I’m just existing now. Waiting for the time the grim reaper calls. When I’m feeling OK, it’s years in advance in a slow, natural decline. But when I’m on a low and the DEFCON level rises, it doesn’t seem so far away. And that doesn’t bother me.
In fact, I just can’t wait to see you again.