Stigma of compulsion

Suicide is stigmatized as a quick sudden choice. Not for me. I roll my plans and deadline over and over in my head. The biggest question haunting me. Should I tell him? Will he feel better if he knows and can ask questions first? Should I ask my family to keep it a secret from him? Hasn’t his life seen enough death already?

I scour the internet for advice and come upon articles laying out tired hatred for narcissistic, manipulative exes pulling the suicide card. I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want to manipulate anyone. I just want to talk to my best friend about how low I feel, but I can’t because I’m low because I no longer have my best friend. I want to reach out and say, “I’m just so sad without him, I’d planned my whole life around our partnership, I can’t see a future I care about anymore”, but who would I ever say that to but him, and if I say it to him it sounds more like, “This is because of you, I feel  this way without you”, and I would never. Hasn’t he suffered enough? Doesn’t he have his own shit to deal with? Didn’t he already sever this connection?

I’m not that woman.

But I am the kind of person who plans to suicide when you leave them, who has upswings and downswings like nobody’s business, who is fickle and belligerent and trying. I’m not all bad, but I understand why he’s over me.

It’s just… I’ve loved him my whole conscious memory, nearly. I fell in love at first sight. I carried his child. I carried him, and he carried me. We grew up together- he was my friend, my secret love, my confidant, my dreamer. We spent less than 36 hours apart the first year we lived together and it was the best year of my life.

What else can I do?

I give myself a year of hope and dedication, to tell him how much I care, to try to be patient and open, to see if he wants me still.

but I know it is in vain. In the meantime I suffer every day, tears and nightmares. It’s been seven months and the pain is no less. Six more and either he takes me back or I end my life and either way I’m free.

I just want to talk to him, to touch him, to see his face and hear his voice. To tell him, “I’m sad, baby. Tell me a story. Kiss it better”. But what’s more manipulative here than the truth? “If you don’t want me back I’m going to kill myself”.

I’ll never say it. Even in my suicide letter I try to talk about my history of mental instability, my difficult childhood, never mention the separation. It isn’t his fault.

But life just isn’t worth living without him. And I wish I could tell him that, without it seeming like a threat. I miss you. I’m so sorry.