Grief is mostly fear. So is killing yourself. The same sort of fear you feel before the drop at the top of a rollercoaster. You don’t want to do it, but at that point, in your mind, you have to. There is no other choice. Of course, this is really only true for two of the three scenarios, but what’s reality doesn’t really influence anything. It’s our perceived reality that makes a difference in our choices, and sometimes those two realities don’t match up. Sometimes, they couldn’t be farther from each other. But you don’t know that. You didn’t know that.
I can feel myself slowly accepting what happened to you. I’m no longer kicking and screaming in my mind, being dragged through each second of the day. I still don’t want to do this. I don’t want to grieve over you, then mourn for you. I don’t want to move ahead to feelings that are still raw but more subdued, or at least, come in more manageable waves. This isn’t something I want to manage, but I am starting to realize I will have to, anyway.
I know you were afraid. More afraid of your own emotions than that bridge. You said so. What is it about feelings that scare people so much? What about yours scared you so much? People will say you weren’t in your right mind, and you weren’t. Obviously. But to say you were severely mentally ill doesn’t fit. It’s difficult for me to reconcile the Peter I saw every single day, the one that I was sure was so well and healthy, and in the span of twenty-four hours, you spiraled into a state people would call severely mentally ill. Perhaps severely unstable would be a better term. The podcast I listen to said killing yourself is often either the result of chronic mental illness and depression or acute, intense pain. I think yours was the latter. You were still my Peter, the day before. Whoever “my Peter” actually was. I don’t know if I ever actually knew you at all. Only a curated version of you. I loved that Peter, though. I would have loved the authentic Peter, too, if you had given me the chance. I’m sorry if I gave you any reason to believe I wouldn’t.
I hope you know how much I love you. How could you have, if this where we are now? Was I just a succubus of a partner, who took and took and took your love without giving you enough back? The podcast also said that if I am going to put myself on trial (which every suicide survivor does), make sure it’s a fair trial. When I get like this, start blaming myself, I think back to all of the affection between us. We were loving to each other. We were truly best friends. I read through our texts and I see it. The little jokes we shared. The moments of gratitude. The literal expressions of love. How even with Hugo sleeping in between us we would locked arms across our pillows. I remember our last good morning and our last good morning kiss and I see it. Good morning. Good mourning…(is there such a thing?). I don’t know if any amount of “I love you” ‘s would have made a difference. I don’t know if I shook you that day and confronted you about wanting to hurt yourself, if you would have ever admitted to it. I honestly don’t think you would have. Yours is a mystery I can never solve. But that won’t stop me from trying.
I just remembered when I was on my wildlife clinic rotation and I was trying to convince Charlie Cummings to participate in a graduation flash mob. He was firmly against it and I kept trying to change his mind. He then asked, “Would Peter dance in a flash mob?” and I said “No…” and laughed at him proving his point by using you as an example. That you would not be interested in it made his distaste for flash mobs more rational, in my mind. You were my sense of rationality, in that way. If you thought it was unreasonable, then maybe it really was, because it meant whatever it was mattered enough to you that you actually took time to actively consider it. And you didn’t do that with much, because not much bothered you. It was a great quality in you that I admired and try to weave more into my life, now. On the other hand, some things obviously did bother you, and you just didn’t show it. Sometimes I feel like our life together was all in my imagination. Our near-perfect life we thought we had. Am I dreaming now?