Suicide notes: Husband

After a few days, some writing and a whole lot of talking to you (and eventually getting you to listen and even answer) I don't feel suicidal anymore. After all it was never in my system. I'm sure it was brought by the meds and the shitty situation that's still not entirely over. Still, I get this urge every now and then, this wish to run away without telling anyone, starting over again and never ever coming back. I reckon thats another way of killing myself. I would be like killing this self that's apathetic and bored and tired and broken and falling out of love with you. I don't wanna fall out of love with you. You're perfect. You're the top, that's why I married you when no one took me by the marrying kind. I've never gone backwards from one boyfriend to another. I've always progressed, one has always bettered the previous in some way. And there is nothing beyond you. I only miss the fact that you don't know how to dance, but come on, there is no dancer you anywhere in this world. That'll be too much. The multiverse would collapse. 

I came to realise our problems started when you moved in with me, only we didn't realised things were changing and our relationship was worse until a good year and a half later, when all your mum's cancer shit and my depression were there to take the blame for it. 

I don't think we should end this, as epic as our arguments might be. I don't think we should divorce. And I definitely didn't want to kill myself because of this. I just think we missed a point and we need to take a step back and look at ourselves. Nevertheless, this started as a bunch of suicide notes so I'm following the lead and keep writing as if this was farewell. Don't panic. It's just aesthetics, love.

Beloved, I lied. It is not true that you're perfect and I only regret that you can't dance. Nobody is perfect and there is one more thing aside the dancing skills that I miss in you. Somewhere between starting to date and moving together you shut down completely. Or maybe you were never the emotional kind and I just didn't realise or I was under a wrong impression. The thing is, now that everything seems to slow down and settle, and we can't blame our problems on ridiculously continuous outside shitstorms, now I realise you're the man in the high castle and God forbid you ever do such a thing as meddle with non fictional emotions. Movies, books, shows, songs... everything's a-ok as long as we don't tackle your mom's death. You're a perfect gentleman, caring and attentive, as long as I'm not in the middle of an existential crisis. If that's the case you're miles away from me, both physically and emotionally. You barely know how to touch me to give me solace when I'm sad. You speak nonsense, you say obvious things or you repeat what I just said with other words. You just don't know how to deal with feelings. Anymore? Never knew? 

We both are beautifully arranged bouquets of mixed feelings about to explode. For us to work you kinda need to know your way around feelings, my dear. One of the reasons I fell in love with you was that you gave away the impression that you got that way mapped out and walked around with your eyes closed a thousand times. So what the hell is going on now? Why is this new for me? Why didn't I realise before? How could this happen? What happened?

I am tired. I am fed up. I can't trust you when I'm at my lowest and I can't trust myself so, what's left? What's left but leaving? You can't help me and I only seem to annoy you so what are we doing?

I don't want to kill myself because of this. I don't want to leave it all behind because of this. But it doesn't help either. And when I'm down, really, really down, the only way out seems to be leaving.

I've been trying to fix it – I've been trying to fix the whole damn metaphorical house – but I can't do it alone, obviously. I need you to come down the high castle and be yourself again. Tear down the walls, lower the gate, fill the moat with sand, let down all defence because you're awesome and there's nothing you should be wary of.

I need you to be once again the guy that could hug me without hesitation and say cheesy but true words when I was in need of them. That self-confident, charismatic fat ass nerd that moved around the office like a movie star. The guy who regularly talked very openly about his own homesickness or how he felt at work with his very manly mates and prided himself in loving ABBA unapologetically, listening to them through his purple headphones.

I remember now, you bastard. You did used to talk about feelings. You did used to feel and acknowledge others feeling things and you were able to discuss the matter. So what now? Come on, please. Please, please, I beg you, please come back so I stop feeling like I should leave.

Then maybe I can teach you how to dance? I don't know much myself but we can give it a go. What do you say?