One month ago, you shattered many lives, mine included. I don’t know if you truly realised how final death is. I know you thought that no one would care, that everyone thought you deserved it, and that the world would just carry on as normal the next day. Whereas, in fact, I fell apart. Your best friend fell apart. Your family fell apart. Your colleagues fell apart. I use that order as it is how it went for me; I imagine the first three fell apart as much as each other, give or take.
And in that month, this is the impact that losing you forever has had on me:
I am suicidal – ranging from needing to do it, to having in the back of my mind as an option. DEFCON 2-4. I’ve had to tell people this, and my plans, so that should life get too much, I can be found – in time, I hope.
I take antidepressants – the same ones you were on, although a lower dose, I think. As such I don’t feel emotions any more. What a relief – I couldn’t cope with the physical and mental pain your passing left me with; it left me unable to function.
I exist. I don’t enjoy life; I am not living it. I take care of my children’s every need, drop them off at nursery, and bumble through the day. I cannot see more than a few days in advance. I don’t enjoy doing things like I used to. Showering is an achievement in itself. I am 32 years old; I should have another 50 years left on this planet, at least. I have no idea how I am going to last that long.
I take the blame for your decision to commit suicide. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have broken your marriage vows, fallen apart mentally, hit rock bottom and refused all help. Therefore your death is my fault; the pain and suffering that everyone who knew you is feeling, is my fault. This is why I am suicidal.
I am fearful of returning to work. Everyone knows about our affair and that I caused you to kill yourself. I have been blamed for it by a mutual friend. I can’t cope with the judging eyes, seeing the pain I have caused. I also cannot bear to think that people have judged you for cheating on your wife. Even though you pursued me, you wanted to cross the line that I defined, it is me who was in the wrong, because you are dead and I am left to take the blame. And I want it that way. I am in so much love with you that no one is allowed to think badly of you. It is me, only me. You used to say that it was all you, not my fault, I should hate you, no one would see it as my fault. I disagreed, you got angry, we had to drop it. You were wrong and I can’t tell you “I told you so”.
I am turning to superstition and OCD. I count magpies and am fearful of how my day will go if I only see one. I look out for the moon at night, as I see it as symbolic of you looking down on me. I talk to you via it, take comfort in its presence: your presence. If I cant see it, I get low. I am fighting my zombie phobia as your promised me that you would protect me should it happen (do you remember, you even gave me an escape plan once as I was nervous about going to London?) and now you are not here to do that. Who will save me now? Maybe I should let them get me; it might answer previous thoughts.
One month. One month of doing everything I can not to hit rock bottom and never get off it. One month of knowing that’s all I want to do.
I’d give my life so that you have yours.