2 years, 7 months. Dont worry, it never got easier.

I told you you had to die, and you did.

Flashbacks are still debilitating. The times of vulnerability where his eyes contained the deepest, most sincere sadness and loneliness I’ve ever had to witness in an individual.

How much pain he had to feel.

That there was no refuge from his suffering - that the only way he learned to cope was by detaching from humanity - the only fun he got to feel was the result of treating life as a game in which the objective was to determine how much he could get away with without consequences; legal and social. Thinking of the most absurd thing possible and doing it.

Recklessness. Endangerment of others. Messing with people. Proving that eventually everybody stops trying.

That my last messages were so hostile, and his last moments were spent pleading for me to help him; I couldn’t look past my own ego and think clearly for just one moment.


January 31st, 2019, 5.30am. I received the last messages from you.
I would have needed to intervene 3 years before-hand if I was going to change anything at all, but I still haven’t forgiven myself for never forgiving you.

Your death forced me to open my eyes, and acknowledge that nothing in this world lasts for as long as you think it will. Your death allowed for the dissolution of everything I had decided to build my beliefs upon. What I'd known to be 'true'.

You were the only person who had ever treated me well, with true and unconditional love.

Unfortunately I was also the only person in the world you were capable of caring for. Unfortunately I really was the only person who could have helped you survive. But I opted out.

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