I wonder if this will ever not hurt; that I lost you.
That in a split second, you decided to sacrifice your life for my survival.
Too often, I have wanted to throw this gift away.

When I was younger, I told you that if you died, I would kill myself.
I said it as if it were a promise; a way to prove my love for you, or show you that you mattered, but, I don’t think that’s ever what you wanted.

The universe has had many chances to end me, but I have missed every one of them.
Why? Who would wish such a torturous existence as this upon anyone?

Without you, being alive feels like a burden, and the world seems as if it is only out to get me.
There is no one left to ask the hard questions, and so I ask myself if there is a point in
getting close to anyone if good things never last?

Without you, I feel guilty for not being over the ways you hurt me.
I am drowning in regret over the words I never said.
Every missed goodnight kiss, or sloppy hug.

Without you, I want to kill myself, so why haven’t I?

The last year we had together was anything but perfect, and I’m so sorry.
I’m sorry I was jealous of your boyfriend,
sorry I needed you, sorry for all the nights you found me sleeping on the edge of our roof.

Sometimes, it’s hard to believe that you loved me; that you’d actually care if I did kill myself.
I can’t get past the time you kicked me out, or how you’d laugh at my relapses, or
the amount of times you chose someone else over me.
I am trying so hard to heal, but it is impossible.

How can I grieve you without grieving the pieces of me you took away?
How can I mourn the experiences we’ll never have without resenting some of the ones we did?
How can I miss you without feeling like I deserve to be hurt by someone else now that you’re not here?

I love you Mom, I do. But, you wounded me, deeply, and I don’t think I ever told you that.

I try to remember the good times.
Like, the Saturday before you died; we went out for froyo, had good, honest conversation, and
for the first time in a long time - everything felt okay.
I remember 2 A.M. trips to Walmart in our Minnie Mouse Onesies, and joy rides in your convertible.
I remember the bliss of living with nobody but you, on a 40 acre farm, and all the adventures that came from that.

If we had been given more time, could we have gotten back to that?
What would it have taken?
What compromises needed to be made?

I don’t know which is worse, Mom;
My life without you, or the one I could’ve had.
I will never know, and so, I guess there is no use in asking, but
I choose to believe that things would’ve gotten better.

I choose to believe that I am better off alive, and that
this is the decision you would want me to make.