I can’t believe I’m still here. The first time, I was stupid. I took the right stuff, and I should have died, but I wanted to hear his voice one last time, so I called him, and he called the police. Stupid me.
The second time – I meant it. I took so much stuff – 90 days of clonidine .2, 30 days of inderol, 30 days of ativan, about 45 days of atenolol, and an entire extra-sized bottle of benadryl. I woke the next morning on my own. Not that I got off without damage – I kept getting close to death the rest of that day – but by that point, I was back in a mental health unit.
He’s winning. He hired a shark of a lawyer, and as he said to me once: he has the finances, the health insurance, and the shelter – and I’m being crushed. At the end of June, I’ll be unemployed, in debt up to my ass, without a lawyer, and homeless. He’ll be moving into the house that we owned, and bringing his little whore with him.
And I? I’m being erased. I wish I could just die, and be done with it – but how do I do it if all that didn’t do it?
I need to die – there’s nothing left to live for. He’s taken everything – including my self-respect.
Someone, tell me how to die, please. I bring nothing to the world and I can’t go on like this – totally broken and alone. Please. Help me.
3 comments
Loosing hope and committing suicide is easy…Anyone can do it. But no one can show him what he has lost, except you. Make him feel the pain you are feeling right now. Show him that he is not the only person who is happy after breaking up. I know you love him, but sometimes it’s necessary to make people regret for there mistakes, and there is no way in this fucking world you can do it being dead.
I wish it were that easy. It’s a 21-year marriage, and I’ve been totally replaced. It’s as if i never was – and he’s leaving me penniless. He’s taking the business I’ve run for the past ten years, and I have to liquidate it – and I love my work. It’s lost.
I’m lost. This feels like when I was raped as a kid. It feels like that kind of betrayal. I dream, every night – either about him, and his cruelty, and his whore’s cruelty, or about my abuser, and being abused. I haven’t slept well since the second attempt, when I must have been close to a coma.
God help me, but I don’t think I’m going to survive this. I really don’t.
And it’s the feeling of being trapped, of no way out, that makes me want to die. I don’t care about him – just about what is gone, in terms of my life’s work. It’s all gone. I’ll be homeless in June.