I feel like I’m slowing down. Everything sounds distant or submerged in water. My vision blurs in and out of focus. I have no energy to do anything, not that I want to anyway.
Is this what dying feels like?
I have yet to find someone who tolerates me talking in metaphors, or even enjoys me doing it.
Regardless of all this, I’m still here, so maybe that counts for something.
I spent a large portion of this afternoon running my fingers over the scar on my throat, or staring at it in the mirror. A wound that by every right should have killed me. No one can live bearing a scar like that. It’s grotesque.
I mean I drew a straight razor across my neck.
Maybe I just have to suffer in this life before I check out.
I remember those few days where he left to go and see friends and a friend of ours mentioned something he’d texted to her the previous day. He wondered whether he’d made the right decision about the two of us. I lost it. I couldn’t believe it. He was so certain when he looked at me and said he couldn’t, but he was still second guessing himself. I know he doesn’t question that decision anymore, he’s lost no more sleep over it, I guarantee it.
I wonder if he still loves me. I’m not sure if I still love him. I think about it every day. I have no idea what I’d say if I ever saw him again. I probably just tell him I was sorry for everything and walk away. I’ve made up my mind now, I have to walk this road alone.
I wonder where he is right now. I have literally no idea. That’s what happens when someone cuts all ties with you. I’ve wanted to ask friends about him recently, ask them if he’s okay, but I wouldn’t want to make them uncomfortable.
This time last year I was in Scotland, with friends. I was happy. He was happy. Sure it wasn’t perfect, but it worked. That life seems a million miles away. That me seems a million miles away.
I wonder who’ll tell him. How they’ll do it. What his reaction will be. Whether he’ll cry again. Whether he’ll come to my funeral.
Whether he’ll finally bury me.