Lov3
Amor(Autistic)
- Dec 24, 2025
- 377
I have to admit, it's been a year and a half since my ex-partner passed away—and I was there when it happened. I spent a long time haunted by the thought that we should have died together.
Today, I deleted everything we had left, but before that, I read through the last messages I still had one final time.
I've cut off so many ties that no one—neither friends nor family—knows where I am, whether I'm alive, or even if I'm in another country. The only people I speak to are my landlord, my psychiatrist, and my psychologist. In other words, I don't really talk to anyone. I don't even speak to online friends anymore. I used to disappear without saying anything and come back later, but people got upset—and I understand that no one likes being ghosted.
All this time, I've been living off money I saved from past jobs that paid well, occasionally taking temporary work. There is one person I talk to now, and there seems to be some mutual interest between us. But I know I'm just fooling myself into thinking I could have something again with someone. And even if I could, I feel like I'm already condemned—I would only end up hurting them.
I keep thinking back to when I was 19. I thought a lot about ending my life with a rope, and I almost did it. But my grandmother was in poor health, and I didn't want to make things worse. I believed that in the future things would get better—but they never did. They only got worse. I went through things so difficult they left permanent marks on me. I survived wars, but I feel mutilated by them.
"To be or not to be?" Why carry such a heavy burden?
Sometimes I think the future could still make everything better. But then a cold, lucid thought follows, telling me that it never will.
Maybe these really are my final words. I have nowhere to return to. I can't go back to friends or family—they can't take me in, or they don't want to, or there would only be resentment. I'm tired of pretending to myself, tired of lying to myself. The future holds nothing for me. Now, I just want to spend a few days enjoying whatever time I have left.
...and
If I had known my future—everything that would happen to me over the next ten years—when I was 19, I probably would have hanged myself right then and there, without a single doubt in my heart.
Today, I deleted everything we had left, but before that, I read through the last messages I still had one final time.
I've cut off so many ties that no one—neither friends nor family—knows where I am, whether I'm alive, or even if I'm in another country. The only people I speak to are my landlord, my psychiatrist, and my psychologist. In other words, I don't really talk to anyone. I don't even speak to online friends anymore. I used to disappear without saying anything and come back later, but people got upset—and I understand that no one likes being ghosted.
All this time, I've been living off money I saved from past jobs that paid well, occasionally taking temporary work. There is one person I talk to now, and there seems to be some mutual interest between us. But I know I'm just fooling myself into thinking I could have something again with someone. And even if I could, I feel like I'm already condemned—I would only end up hurting them.
I keep thinking back to when I was 19. I thought a lot about ending my life with a rope, and I almost did it. But my grandmother was in poor health, and I didn't want to make things worse. I believed that in the future things would get better—but they never did. They only got worse. I went through things so difficult they left permanent marks on me. I survived wars, but I feel mutilated by them.
"To be or not to be?" Why carry such a heavy burden?
Sometimes I think the future could still make everything better. But then a cold, lucid thought follows, telling me that it never will.
Maybe these really are my final words. I have nowhere to return to. I can't go back to friends or family—they can't take me in, or they don't want to, or there would only be resentment. I'm tired of pretending to myself, tired of lying to myself. The future holds nothing for me. Now, I just want to spend a few days enjoying whatever time I have left.
...and
If I had known my future—everything that would happen to me over the next ten years—when I was 19, I probably would have hanged myself right then and there, without a single doubt in my heart.
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