An irreverent journey through bereavement & grief after my best friend (/boyfriend/it's complicated)'s suicide.
13.1
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I didn't write to you yesterday, not because I didn't have anything to say, but because I had too much, and today was your service. There are so many things unsaid.
It's been 4 weeks since they told me you died. Exactly 4 weeks since I found myself standing outside your unit, crying lightly, and shaking; Summer hiding terrified beneath the bed that still supported your empty body - empty because you were gone from us all by then. 4 weeks and this still feels like a nightmare I have yet to wake from.
Notes from yesterday, because I was too tired to write to you. 1. You bastard! There are easier ways to get out of putting up the Christmas lights, you know. 2. Seriously, who's gonna buy me a birthday cake now? 3. You're supposed to be here to do all this stuff with, slimebiscuit.
You bastard, you're supposed to be here. You're meant to be the one who takes the dogs to the vet, you know that. Missy has an abscess or a boil or something, and I need to figure out how to take her. Fuck you (aka, one more reason to miss the hell out of you).
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