Here I am nearly 42 months later still trying to pick up the pieces


Black woman sad

To be blunt, it’s been over three years since my boyfriend hung himself and today would’ve been his 18th birthday.

These days, I don’t even think of him that much anymore, but on days such as today, that are stark reminders of what could have been, I feel his loss so acutely that my chest constricts in pain.

It hurts more knowing that for literal years after he committed suicide, people blamed me because I broke up with him three days before he died. I did that because he was so deeply depressed that he had been emotionally manipulating me to stay with him by saying things such as “I’d kill myself if you left me.” It doesn’t help that I was so young when it happened (14 and a half) that the genuine love and affection I felt for him during our sixteen-month relationship is invalidated by those around me. I might have been incredibly young, but I know what I was feeling was real.

The worst part is that I warned people, his family specifically, multiple times, telling them that he had been hurting himself and that I was scared he’d try something just as he did. And no one listened to me. It hurts knowing I did all the right things and yet it wasn’t enough to save him.

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