The first time you decided we must end things, you emailed me explaining why. One reason you gave was because if our colleagues found out, we would be vilified and hated. We’d lose friends and life would become difficult. The very next time I saw you, you seduced me and suddenly we were back on again. This happened 3 or 4 times: you’d end it, and a maximum of 36 hours would pass before you’d find a reason to contact me and suddenly we would be back on again.
I know this was because we were drawn to each other, soul mates, more in love than it is possible to explain. I couldn’t function without you, and vice versa. But each time, I took a step closer to depression. Sometimes I got strong and told you to get out of my life this time, find a new job and let me move on. I suspect this hit you hard and I know that one time when I did it, you ended up in the psych unit, although you never confirmed it was part of the reason why.
But now you are dead, ashes in an urn somewhere, and I am here, trying to live without you. Ostracised from our work colleagues for exactly the reasons in your email. Watching them meet up and have happy times on Facebook throws so many conflicting emotions at me, and it makes me feel so low sometimes that I am strongly considering closing my account.
They are moving on, living life, and I am not. I should, but I feel I shouldn’t because I think they think I shouldn’t. I’m sure they hate me, I know at least one blames me for your death. I’m sure they wish it was me under the train. Part of me wants them to know how ill I am, that I am suicidal now and that I take the same drugs you did. But maybe that will make them think that I should be like this, “serves her right”. I’m sure they don’t think of you the same way they do me. And that’s purely because you are dead and I haven’t done it yet. But it takes two to fucking tango. You pursued me. I defined that fucking line and you pushed to cross it. I’m not saying I was pressured or non consenting, but it all came from you, and yet I am the one vilified, hated and wished dead.
There are two things I would do if I could turn back time, and one is that I would stand strong behind that line and refuse to cross it. Refuse to give you my address when you asked for it. Locked the door and not let you in when you arrived. Not given you a hug when you gave me your gorgeous sad eyes. And not looked up when you kissed my hair and said you wanted to do more. June 15th. I should have been strong and not let any of that happen.
But the fact of the matter is, SM, that it was one of the best days of my life. Or, as you described it, wonderful.