I Tried to Leave and He Took His Life

On October 21st 2019, my room mate and ex boyfriend killed himself.

He had texted me finding out exactly when I would be home and had planned for me to find him and I did.

That morning I had moved my mattress out of the apartment because my mother was afraid for me to sleep there. After we had broken up in August and I’ve been trying to move out with the urgency of my family, my ex started to grow extremely unstable around me. He made me uncomfortable, and scared me and I was afraid he was going to try to make a move on me in the middle night but every one else thought he would do something much worse if I didn’t get out fast. So my mom has pushed me to move the mattress that morning, and come back with friends throughout the week to slowly grab my things while he would be at work. She just didn’t want me alone with him for some reason. I recall not being that worried.

I had not warned him that I was moving my mattress. We had done it while he was asleep on the morning. I felt like something was terribly wrong when he texted me when he found out. Something didn’t feel right and he began to ask when I’d be home.

The last text I received from him was 2 hours before I found his body.

I had come home, and I had found him in the bathroom. My friend focused on staying calm and calling the police while I desperately tried anything in my power to save him. He had left a notebook for me, but the running water was destroying it and it was falling apart in my fingers. I was screaming so loud I couldn’t hear myself think. I was begging the world to stop turning. I was begging for it to be me. I was begging for him to come back.

but he was gone.

His body, his face- all of it, I can’t stop seeing it. I can’t stop hearing the water and the music. I can’t stop shaking, breaking down sobbing and then having moments where I stop crying and I hear ringing. I want to die but I don’t wish this on anyone in my life. I am permanently ruined.

I am broken beyond repair.

My mother came and scooped me out of the mud and grass in my front lawn screaming and sobbing. I was soaked in the water from the bath tub. She had taken me to her truck. She put a towel on my legs. She told me to breathe. I still don’t know if I can breathe.

My sister came. My friends mother came. My step farther came. I answered the same questions to the police over and over in between sobs. They kept calling me my first name, and my mother kept correcting them. And then they called me the wrong name entirely. I didn’t care, I couldn’t hear them anymore.

When they had told me he was gone, I felt my soul shatter into a million pieces.

I kept screaming “I did this. I killed him. I broke him and I want him back. I did this. I did this. I did this.”

I should’ve never left.

I should’ve waited until he was ready.

I should’ve never moved on.

I don’t remember anything in the drive home besides feeling him in the backseat. He listened to me sob, he watched in confusion and he faded away. And I broke even more.

I am now at my mothers. The police took my information. My whole family went back to the apartment and had gotten a list of my belongings so I wouldn’t try to go back. I had maybe grabbed 10% of my things. The rest I had left. The art, the furniture, the trash, the dishes, the blankets.

They all drip with death.

I can’t eat. I can’t sleep unless I take medication or cry until I pass out. I can’t walk into a bathroom without hyperventilating. I can’t listen to music. I couldn’t breathe in the shower, my mom had to wrap a towel around me and rock me back to reality.

I have not been alone since it happened.

Friends and family have been visiting. The past three days I had my best friend stay. She hid my self harm stuff somewhere. She held me while I cried.

I am on 30 day leave at my job. I will not be returning to school at least for the week. I don’t know if I can even keep going after this. My mom is taking over my bills and has since contacted my psychiatrist and my therapy appointment 2 months away, has since been moved to Friday. I feel like I can’t leave the house without wanting to crumble.

Everyone is telling this is not my fault. They’re telling me he was sick. They’re telling me that I didn’t kill him. That there’s nothing I could’ve done.

Based off of the texts he sent me prior, people are saying it was very clear he was trying to see when I would get home. If I hadn’t texted him letting him know I had a friend coming with me, there were extremely high chances he planned on doing something to me then himself because he was in so much pain and so unstable.

Murder, suicide.

Everyone keeps saying that I don’t deserve this pain. That I’m not broken. That I’m gonna be okay with time- it always gets better with time. They say: thank god, I’m okay. The odds are that I could’ve been gone too. We’re so glad you’re here.

Well I’m not.

It should’ve been me.