My boyfriend died from suicide almost a month ago. He was my soul mate and my reason for living. He came to me to try and make a new life. . . because he had been struggling with thoughts of suicide in his home country. I feel like such a failure. I tried to save him. In the end. I couldn't. Because he did not want saving. I have to accept that. There's so much more that I need to talk about. I don't blame anyone for not reading it.
So we met online, fell in love, blah blah blah. There was more to it though, originally he told me his family was abusive to him. Something I now believe to be false. I feel manipulated and betrayed that he lied about that. I've met his family now on several occasions. And after he died, his father detailed to me that he had stolen from him, ran away, called the police and made false accusations, etc. things he would later repeat with me.
We had our honeymoon period, which was great of course. But we did start having fights. A lot of it I attributed to his age, he was very young and immature. Which I accepted with as much patience as I could. We did have a physical fight though, once during New Years when we were both drinking fairly heavily. I told him that morning. He should go. Because I've been in these relationships, I have the experience and I know once someone lays a hand on you. It never fully goes away. I tried to convince him to leave. He wasn't having it. We spent the day holding each other and crying and I promised him that we would never be physical again in hurtful ways. A promise I always kept.
I was also right that the hurt didn't go away. He seemed traumatized by what happened, and developed a severely unhealthy ptsd reaction to alcohol. Something I took full responsibility for. It was incredibly hard for me to stop drinking. Try again and again, I just couldn't do it. I have mental health issues and also struggle with suicidal ideation. I'm not the type to drink heavily at all, I don't drink hard liquor or anything and just stick to coolers, have some, play some vidya and go to sleep. He would fight with me constantly about quitting, and he would get pretty nasty about it at times. It dragged on me. I wanted to stop for him to be happy, but at the same time I felt like he was being controlling and that what I was doing wasn't harmful. This lead to various arguments from everything from "yes, I agree completely, I'll do whatever you ask" to the other "you're making a bigger deal out of this than it needs to be, can't we move on from this, why are you using this against me constantly", etc.
This goes on for at least 2 years. Over and over. The same thing. This is where my guilt comes in. Why couldn't I stop? Why couldn't I just quit for him? Now, this past year. He had actually been physical with me twice over it. I won't go into detail, but he was just so sick of my drinking twice a week, that he felt he had no other options to get me to stop. So he did what he was before completely incapable of doing. He hit me, and he hated himself afterwards. He also blamed me for changing him. He said because of me, I was turning him into someone he didn't want to be. Now he already had self-confidence issues before. After this, it caused him to spiral.
Several times he called the police on me. Made false allegations that I had hit him (one time, in June actually, after he had kicked, pushed, and threw a drink in my face) I didn't tell the police this. But he stayed at a shelter for a few days.
It seems like all negative stuff. But it wasn't. There were thousands of hours of laugher, love, cuddling, talking things out. He was actually and extremely kind and gentle person. He never raised his voice at my kids, took them to school, taught them all kinds of cool stuff. He had a form of autism where he couldn't understand social cues and found it very difficult to make friends in real life. When he was 7, he stopped hugging his family or telling them he loved them. He never made a single friend at school. Not one. This is why he communicated with most people strictly online. He could formulate his thoughts better there. He had none of these issues with me. We could sit and talk for hours and make love, and none of his communication issues would be present. Except when we argued. Which he would almost always do so through text.
One of our bigger fights was over the summer (all through text, minus the making up part). He had once told me he had tried to kill someone through micro poisoning when he was 14. Someone who he had convinced himself was abusing him. He had told me this a long time ago, but when accused me of being abusive, I told him that I was afraid of him. What's to stop you from trying to do something like that to me? To which he told me he never would because he loved me. But he did hint by saying "if anything, I'd kill myself before anyone else".
Eventually, sometime between May and June of this year. We had both hit a low point. We were both experiencing deep lows in our mental health issues. Me, because my panic attacks had returned in full force for no apparent reason and every night was horrific. He had sunk into an extreme depression, which he hid from me a lot. I see the signs now, but he didn't burden me with them. Mostly just tried to help me through my own issues, calming me down and saying he'll always be here for me. Going with me to the hospital when I couldn't breathe, etc. He did send me hints that looking back, I see now. I thought he meant he was going to move back to New Zealand. We were arguing a lot too, because of just the sheer amount of stress we were both under. All of which I still have recorded on our discord.
After his death, I learned through discord what had happened, which also lead me to this site. It's been a blessing and a curse. I found out he had been telling people that I was abusive and he thought he was trapped. That he felt no enjoyment from life, and never had. That he thought he was ugly, had no skills, had no future. How he has been suicidal since he was 12 (which I knew) and just wanted everything to end as he just wasn't fit for this world. And a lot of very dark thoughts I'm sure we're all too familiar with. I don't believe /all/ of this. We certainly had many toxic elements to our relationship and we're dangerously co-dependent. But I know he did at times feel enjoyment, and take little pleasures here and there. I loved him more than any other human being on this earth (including my own children) and accepted him for his flaws (of which he had many, we all do). I was ready to be there for him through anything. And his family too, were there for him as well, if ever he wanted to go home, all he would need to do was call his dad. He was not trapped here. But he didn't want to leave. I even tried to break up with him. He wouldn't let me.
He took SN. Checked on him at 11:30. When I went to go to bed at 12:40, he was gone. I later found it. I kept some and gave the rest to police. It was a very large bottle.
My guilt is consuming me. Had I quit drinking, I don't think he would have been pushed into making this decision. He had every detail so meticulously planned so that he wouldn't fail. He was an INCREDIBLY SMART person, literally the smartest person I've ever met, and that's not a rose-tinted exaggeration.
His death is going to be mine. I can't leave my bed. I can't eat. I can barely drink. I can't function or take care of my children, who are staying with my gramma. I was already having some extreme issues before this all happened. This guilt and anger at myself. The sadness and loneliness from losing the one person who was closest to me, who truly understood me. I don't feel like I have anyone else that I connected with on such a level. I can't live with this weight. I feel exactly as he felt in his last months. And some of the things he said when he was angry, I realize now maybe he was completely right. Maybe he was right about everything. Maybe I am just a stupid, manipulative, alcoholic bitch. Fat and ugly and pathetic. Can't even get up to take care of my kids. Worthless. Useless. Disgusting. I don't think he ever intended me to find out as much as I have. This entire month, I've been clinging to his old clothes, and wishing I could join him. If I don't do it myself, the pain is going to kill me outright. Everyone says this is normal, this is just the grieving process. But I know it's not. I know the difference, I've dealt with these thoughts since I was 15. It's more than just wanting to be with him, it's a yearning for the end, feeling like there's nothing left worth living for, like you've done all you can and you failed and you're forever a failure. I don't think I will make it through this.
Any thoughts on our story are much appreciated. I'm sorry it was so long.
So we met online, fell in love, blah blah blah. There was more to it though, originally he told me his family was abusive to him. Something I now believe to be false. I feel manipulated and betrayed that he lied about that. I've met his family now on several occasions. And after he died, his father detailed to me that he had stolen from him, ran away, called the police and made false accusations, etc. things he would later repeat with me.
We had our honeymoon period, which was great of course. But we did start having fights. A lot of it I attributed to his age, he was very young and immature. Which I accepted with as much patience as I could. We did have a physical fight though, once during New Years when we were both drinking fairly heavily. I told him that morning. He should go. Because I've been in these relationships, I have the experience and I know once someone lays a hand on you. It never fully goes away. I tried to convince him to leave. He wasn't having it. We spent the day holding each other and crying and I promised him that we would never be physical again in hurtful ways. A promise I always kept.
I was also right that the hurt didn't go away. He seemed traumatized by what happened, and developed a severely unhealthy ptsd reaction to alcohol. Something I took full responsibility for. It was incredibly hard for me to stop drinking. Try again and again, I just couldn't do it. I have mental health issues and also struggle with suicidal ideation. I'm not the type to drink heavily at all, I don't drink hard liquor or anything and just stick to coolers, have some, play some vidya and go to sleep. He would fight with me constantly about quitting, and he would get pretty nasty about it at times. It dragged on me. I wanted to stop for him to be happy, but at the same time I felt like he was being controlling and that what I was doing wasn't harmful. This lead to various arguments from everything from "yes, I agree completely, I'll do whatever you ask" to the other "you're making a bigger deal out of this than it needs to be, can't we move on from this, why are you using this against me constantly", etc.
This goes on for at least 2 years. Over and over. The same thing. This is where my guilt comes in. Why couldn't I stop? Why couldn't I just quit for him? Now, this past year. He had actually been physical with me twice over it. I won't go into detail, but he was just so sick of my drinking twice a week, that he felt he had no other options to get me to stop. So he did what he was before completely incapable of doing. He hit me, and he hated himself afterwards. He also blamed me for changing him. He said because of me, I was turning him into someone he didn't want to be. Now he already had self-confidence issues before. After this, it caused him to spiral.
Several times he called the police on me. Made false allegations that I had hit him (one time, in June actually, after he had kicked, pushed, and threw a drink in my face) I didn't tell the police this. But he stayed at a shelter for a few days.
It seems like all negative stuff. But it wasn't. There were thousands of hours of laugher, love, cuddling, talking things out. He was actually and extremely kind and gentle person. He never raised his voice at my kids, took them to school, taught them all kinds of cool stuff. He had a form of autism where he couldn't understand social cues and found it very difficult to make friends in real life. When he was 7, he stopped hugging his family or telling them he loved them. He never made a single friend at school. Not one. This is why he communicated with most people strictly online. He could formulate his thoughts better there. He had none of these issues with me. We could sit and talk for hours and make love, and none of his communication issues would be present. Except when we argued. Which he would almost always do so through text.
One of our bigger fights was over the summer (all through text, minus the making up part). He had once told me he had tried to kill someone through micro poisoning when he was 14. Someone who he had convinced himself was abusing him. He had told me this a long time ago, but when accused me of being abusive, I told him that I was afraid of him. What's to stop you from trying to do something like that to me? To which he told me he never would because he loved me. But he did hint by saying "if anything, I'd kill myself before anyone else".
Eventually, sometime between May and June of this year. We had both hit a low point. We were both experiencing deep lows in our mental health issues. Me, because my panic attacks had returned in full force for no apparent reason and every night was horrific. He had sunk into an extreme depression, which he hid from me a lot. I see the signs now, but he didn't burden me with them. Mostly just tried to help me through my own issues, calming me down and saying he'll always be here for me. Going with me to the hospital when I couldn't breathe, etc. He did send me hints that looking back, I see now. I thought he meant he was going to move back to New Zealand. We were arguing a lot too, because of just the sheer amount of stress we were both under. All of which I still have recorded on our discord.
After his death, I learned through discord what had happened, which also lead me to this site. It's been a blessing and a curse. I found out he had been telling people that I was abusive and he thought he was trapped. That he felt no enjoyment from life, and never had. That he thought he was ugly, had no skills, had no future. How he has been suicidal since he was 12 (which I knew) and just wanted everything to end as he just wasn't fit for this world. And a lot of very dark thoughts I'm sure we're all too familiar with. I don't believe /all/ of this. We certainly had many toxic elements to our relationship and we're dangerously co-dependent. But I know he did at times feel enjoyment, and take little pleasures here and there. I loved him more than any other human being on this earth (including my own children) and accepted him for his flaws (of which he had many, we all do). I was ready to be there for him through anything. And his family too, were there for him as well, if ever he wanted to go home, all he would need to do was call his dad. He was not trapped here. But he didn't want to leave. I even tried to break up with him. He wouldn't let me.
He took SN. Checked on him at 11:30. When I went to go to bed at 12:40, he was gone. I later found it. I kept some and gave the rest to police. It was a very large bottle.
My guilt is consuming me. Had I quit drinking, I don't think he would have been pushed into making this decision. He had every detail so meticulously planned so that he wouldn't fail. He was an INCREDIBLY SMART person, literally the smartest person I've ever met, and that's not a rose-tinted exaggeration.
His death is going to be mine. I can't leave my bed. I can't eat. I can barely drink. I can't function or take care of my children, who are staying with my gramma. I was already having some extreme issues before this all happened. This guilt and anger at myself. The sadness and loneliness from losing the one person who was closest to me, who truly understood me. I don't feel like I have anyone else that I connected with on such a level. I can't live with this weight. I feel exactly as he felt in his last months. And some of the things he said when he was angry, I realize now maybe he was completely right. Maybe he was right about everything. Maybe I am just a stupid, manipulative, alcoholic bitch. Fat and ugly and pathetic. Can't even get up to take care of my kids. Worthless. Useless. Disgusting. I don't think he ever intended me to find out as much as I have. This entire month, I've been clinging to his old clothes, and wishing I could join him. If I don't do it myself, the pain is going to kill me outright. Everyone says this is normal, this is just the grieving process. But I know it's not. I know the difference, I've dealt with these thoughts since I was 15. It's more than just wanting to be with him, it's a yearning for the end, feeling like there's nothing left worth living for, like you've done all you can and you failed and you're forever a failure. I don't think I will make it through this.
Any thoughts on our story are much appreciated. I'm sorry it was so long.
