It’ll be the three year anniversary of your death soon. It’ll be the three year anniversary that a piece of me left with you. I remember you used to get so drunk, and all those memories would come back. I’d just have to sit there and hold you. If the images started appearing, you’d start screaming that K_____ was there hanging by his neck and you couldn’t get him down. How it was all your fault. Once I said that he wasn’t there, and you were imagining it. I still have scars from where your nails raked across me. I can still here your voice yelling” “Liar!”
You had other days when you were sober (those were few and far between) where you did worse than rake nails. I had bruises for a long time. And you used to say horrible things to me. But you stopped when you realized I already thought of myself as a “slutty bitch”.
After you broke up with me, I think you got better. I was so happy for you. I thought that since once in awhile we talked, or I’d stop by and I didn’t see needles and bottles you were doing better. I knew you still drank, but I thought you’d cut back. I promise, if I had known you weren’t doing better I would’ve helped you as much as I could.
I want you to know, that it kills me that I didn’t answer the phone before you pulled the trigger. You were amazing, and so important to me. I would give the world to trade places with you, and take all the pain for you…
I would’ve taken the bullet.