You

For the first time in months, I just looked at photos of you. I’ve actively avoided for so long that I have no idea when I last did. And it felt just like I thought it would: bittersweet, but more sweet than bitter. 
I still think you are gorgeous.  And all the things I loved about you physically are still the same. Your lovely eyes, subtle masculinity, sexy body, great arse. You are just perfect, and I’m glad that for such a short time you were able to trust and enjoy my opinion of you, even if you didn’t believe it yourself. I can see your self confidence growing in some of the photos, and I love the fact that you took so many just for me. I hadn’t forgotten how you look, but it feels more concrete now that I have.
And the violence of your death, and the fact that it was self inflicted hit me for the millionth time. Such a huge loss, such a waste. As I’m in a much better place, initially I feel anger towards depression and how it took you from us. Then the thought process kicks in and the clouds gather. Your blood on my hands. I may as well have pushed you onto the railway line.
I let a tear fall and blink back further ones. I’ve got to be strong. It is OK to grieve. But you took your life because depression told you that you were worthless and should die. Many people blame me, including me. But at the end of the day, your mind was infected, and that infection took you.
Maybe one day I’ll be able make peace with myself.
Nothing’s changed. I still love you. Oh, I still love you, SM x

One Year

This is an anniversary we shouldn’t have to mark.

Shouldn’t have to mourn.

Shouldn’t have ro relive. 

The world is worse off without you. So many people broken by their loss. I am a shadow of my former self; how I am still here I barely know. One whole year of keeping on keeping on.

And that’s just me. The harlot, homewrecker, slag, slut,  whatever. Never mind that I was your confidante, kept you alive for so long, talked you down when you were at the edge before. 
I never met your children, but I fell in love with them anyway. I miss them and I worry for them. How they will cope without their loving father. I’ll never know, and I’ve come to terms with that, but I still worry.
A piece of everyone who loves you died with you. That broke me, and even now it is far too painful to consider. I did this. I ruined so many lives and I am truly sorry. But like so many things, no one will know. And I doubt wants to know. I shoulder the blame and I deserve the ill feeling. I have considered every possible way I could’ve stopped this outcome countless times, and I wish with every fibre of my being that I could change it. Not for me, but for your many, many loved ones. 

My only consolation is that you are released from the prison of your head. That you no longer hate yourself, no longer worry uncontrollably, and no longer have to pretend that all is wonderful. 

One year at peace,  that’s what we should be celebrating. But life isn’t the same without you, and we are only just starting to work out how the hell we do it.

Beyond the Grave

Thank you, SM.

I’ve had a royally shit couple of weeks at work, and I was dreading today. I was perilously close to going AWOL and telling them all to stick it. The only reason I didn’t was because of you.

It felt so real. At work, the meeting room, in dress down because of the heat. You were purposely leaning towards my seat with your leg across my leg space. I sat down so that my leg touched yours, playing secret dangerous footsie like we used to. Then you leaned in and told me you still loved me.

My first reaction was extreme joy. Elation. Then I remembered that this couldn’t be real as you are dead. I told myself to enjoy it while it lasts. I don’t remember the rest of the dream.

I woke up feeling shite. Crap day ahead, and my dreams are taunting me. However, it dawned on me, whilst I brushed my teeth, that I could interpret this another way. A message from you to be strong;  that I can do this. And of course, that you still love me.

And so I got through today, thanks to you. It was shit but I did it by remembering your message. Please come again soon – although it hurt when reality hit, the good bit was worth it.

I love you, SM.  Until we meet again, x.

Just Checking In

Hey, SM. Been talking about you at lunch. I know you hate that, but it’s tough now. Get over it đŸ˜‰

Anyway, it felt good to talk about us: how we’d meet at lunch, play footsie under the table in meetings or meet briefly in the car park when you needed reassurance or support. It lead to talking about your last weekend though, and whilst it was good to be able to speak about it without breaking down, now I’m on a low and can’t stop thinking about you. All the what ifs: what if I’d said something else, done something else, saved you somehow. It’s pointless, it’s not going to change anything, but I can’t help it.

I’ve learnt in CBT to allow myself these feelings, acknowledge them, feel them and not think less of myself for doing so. But I still don’t like it.

So I thought I’d just say hi, that I love you and miss you, and I hope you’re at peace.

#yours, SM x

Back To The Grind

So here I am, first day back at work. In true style, my return was forgotten and I have nothing to do. You’d laugh and shake your head at this typical sort of shit.

It’s so weird though. Yes, a different office, but it feels so empty without you. No one else seems to feel it and everyone is either unaware or tactful enough not to mention you. But when I came in last week (that visit also forgotten about) I kept making notes of stuff to discuss with you. Stuff like who made the decision to allow the Head of Client Relations and Sales Director to share an office, wonky graphics on the wall, that sort of thing.

I used to love my job. Not just the hours flirting with you, but I genuinely loved my role. Now I feel that everyone has moved on, left me behind, and don’t really care. I’m not sure if that’s my mental state feeding me crap, all the scandal that has gone down, or the actual truth. My plan was to get back into the daily grind, sort out the financial side of things at home, and then find something new. Completely move on. But I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t want this life any more, that’s what it comes down to.

I know this is ‘just’ depression talking, that I am more than capable of my job, and much more.  But life just feels ‘meh’  now, grey, dull, disinteresting. If I can’t be in Utopia yet, I’d rather be hidden in the corner of McDonald’s, reading my kindle and eating a hash brown.

It was the anniversary of losing Tali yesterday.  The start of my truly, indescribably, awful year. I’d give anything to rewind, make different choices. Save you. Save me. Save everyone who felt the pain of losing you. I’m so, so sorry.

36 Today

Do you remember what we did for my birthday?

You stayed over, for the first time ever. We shared a bottle of Malbec that you had bought for the occasion. Sheepishly, you explained it was your favourite and therefore a selfish choice, but I loved the fact you were sharing something close to you.  We fell asleep together and woke up together. It was so special.

So tonight, I have a bottle of Malbec here for you and some Haribo,  that you were always eating at work. I’ll fall asleep alone and wake up alone though.

Happy birthday, SM. Always in my heart. Miss you forever xx