Friday, 15 November 2013


Warning - very honest and explicit talk of suicide.

I don't know which stupid stage of grief I have reached now, I think I am experiencing all of them at once and not in any particular nor defined order, denial is probably the only one is over.
I knew he was going to do it.
I knew he was going to kill himself, and the way in which he chose to do it. I was just not expecting it at that particular time. I suspected nothing that afternoon when we exchanged text messages. I feel stupid because his last message was "I will be OK. X" and I didn't understand his meaning. 
Do I feel responsible?  -  No
Do I feel guilty? - Maybe, although I know it is not my fault and I could have done nothing to prevent him from ultimately killing himself at some point, perhaps I could have stopped him that particular night. He had made up his mind and he was ready to go. But I knew, I knew, and yet I could do nothing about it.
That is why I believe he didn't reach out, because he knew I would talk him out of it for that day but then what?
Writing these words is so incredibly painful, I'm in tears, sobbing, howling, hyperventilating, having to stop constantly to wipe my eyes, walk around the room in circles, and as Edenland put it, as if going through labour, grief labour.

Everything hurts, nothing makes sense.
Simon was such a lovely man, sweet, intelligent, talented, handsome, wonderful but he could not see it. He couldn't feel comfortable in his own skin for a long time, it was not only depression and anxiety issues, it was also the chronic pain for which he never got proper diagnosis nor adequate treatment, he was tormented by not being able to see his son, he saw himself as a failure for not having all those things society uses as markers of success for "real men" i.e. having a massive mortgage for a house, owning a house, having stable employment, having a family, being always healthy and naturally not having a mental health problem. What bullshit!
He always felt as if his family resented him for being ill, I always thought that was just his perception but recently I heard one member of his family say it was a relief they didn't have to worry about him anymore - oh great fuck! I wanted to die when I heard that, perhaps it wasn't meant to sound so fucking horrible but it does suck to know that is the way they feel.
They didn't even buy an urn to keep his remains, he is still in that horrible 'standard issue' plastic box from the Health Authority. I know they are being practical because we will scatter his ashes in the sea very soon but for fuck's sake, they could have at least got him a cheap wooden box, something a little more dignified, he deserved better.

This grief is so deep, this pain is too much.

The past 2 weeks I've been away for medical appointments, on top of the devastating loss and the possibility of me becoming homeless, now I have to deal with the fact I may have a brain tumour, and just to make things just that little bit more shit, the pain specialist I just saw thinks my pain is not a rheumatological issue but a neurological condition, she is having me see a neurologist and entertaining the chance of MND (Motor Neuron Disease), MS, or some other neuro-degenerative illness.
Fuck, I've hit the fucking jackpot!
It is great to finally find a Dr who is not treating me like a fucking nutcase but fuck me, can I not just have a little bit of good luck for once?

I am sad and angry and broken and confused and scared and lonely and fucking pissed off and disappointed by life, I feel let down and abandoned and hard done by. I am forlorn, devastated, desolate, bereft.

I miss him, my body misses him, I am angry at my body for continuing to function, I am getting all this pent up sexual energy and I cannot even masturbate because it makes me cry, it feels like cheating on him, but he is gone, dead, never coming back!

Why, why, why? I walk around in circles most of the night howling, asking why, talking to him, to god, to anyone and no one, it's all the same, there's no answer, only silence and my sobs and this endless pain.

There are all these images that pass through my head, disturbing images, perhaps too morbid for some but I keep seeing them. I see him being very upset, getting in the car and driving to the bush (to the place he told me he had found but never told me where it was), drinking too much, crying, fighting with the world, climbing that tree, sitting on the chosen branch for a while and very meticulously and in a quasi reverential way slipping the noose on his beautiful neck, arguing with himself a lot more, justifying his decision and finally jumping off the tree. Only 3 minutes to die. I hope he was unconscious after minute 1. The saddest part is what comes next, he is there, alone, exposed to the animals and the elements for a week, no one was there to hold him and take him down sooner. I was not allowed to see his body, I know exactly what he was wearing. I hope he had a second to think of me and how much I loved him. I hope he felt loved by me to his last moment.
I know he had been practicing and perfecting the technique for years, there was nothing I could have done! and yet I wish things were different, I wish I could have been there to tell him I love him so much. I wish I could have done something.

There will always be a gap in my heart now. I really want to be with him.

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