There are a lot of reasons I didn't want to be his girlfriend, and I should have had the right to date or not date whoever I choose without risk of suicide just because I said, "maybe we should be friends." I craved deep meaningful friendship, but he reacted as badly as one possibly could have, and made no attempt to talk or work it out.
My desire to be seen as a human instead of a sexual object, is apparently so abhorrent, that a man would sooner kill himself than respect that I simply don't want sex. I thought I was doing the selfless compassionate thing by setting him free to date the girl he recently spent an evening with who expressed interest in him. I wanted him to be happy. I didn't get mad.
I even left it open-ended with a "maybe" in case he wanted a different outcome. I didn't expect him to fucking die just because I didn't answer his call on my birthday because I was getting a faucet installed in that moment. I feared he'd try to ruin my day with drunk drama and I just wanted one sacred day of peace. I called the very next day. No response.
He was a raging alcoholic. I didn't want to stick around to see him die but I didn't leave fast enough, and his choice to binge drink in response to reasonable boundaries ended up being my fault anyway, and before learning his medical history from family, I did blame myself, at first, because of the timing.
I had distanced myself because he made me uncomfortable, his drunk texts caused me stress, he needed constant validation from thousands of tiktok followers to an unhealthy degree, and he used his internet platform to publicly defend a high profile domestic abuser and belittle the female victim. His obsession with serial killers also made me nervous. He once grabbed me forcefully when he was drunk in a very rapey way and I had to continually push him off me because he wouldn't listen when I said "no." But I didn't want to drive 80 miles back home in the rain so I locked myself in his room to sleep while he passed out on the couch. He was openly anti-feminist (at first) and I feared that if I continued seeing him I might become a victim. He had severe road rage, another red flag, and was highly argumentative and enjoyed trolling people online. I worried it was only a matter of time before these qualities were directed at me, so I tried to stay on his good side. I saw the good in him too, I wanted him to be happy, and I hoped to remain on good terms regardless.
His longest relationship before me only lasted 6 months and he was furious that his ex didn't want him back after he ghosted her. She was raising a young child and probably didn't want his drama in her young child's life. He tore apart her character, and I thought it was concerning that he was so hateful about someone he loved, especially considering he expected her to obediently take him back after he gave her the silent treatment for months.
When I visited he drank from the time he woke up till nighttime, and I had to really protest if I was hungry because he never ate. I'd leave his place with the worst hangovers of my life, but he made it so hard for me to leave, even when I said I had animals at home that needed feeding. He begged me to move in with him. He told me to bring all my animals even though it's pretty insane to transport an 8 foot cage 80 miles to a freezing cold apartment for fragile animals that require a constant 70-75 degrees to stay alive. He didn't care. I must not love him if I wasn't willing to sacrifice my pets for him and give up my house and my entire life for him, was the gist of his thought process.
He referred to me as "babe" over and over again even though I repeatedly asked him not to, and he knew it made me uncomfortable. He called me his girlfriend to everyone even though I never consented to that, and tried to convince me that I had consented when I was drunk, therefore I had to accept the contract and title I never consented to. He was pushy and wanted me to drive 80 miles to visit him constantly because he wanted my body (no mention of my mind), but made attempt to visit me only once when it convenient for him because he was in the city for work.
He pushed christmas on me every year even though I am not christian and I repeatedly had to explain this, which fell on deaf ears, which was weird since he was atheist. His christmas texts became so obsessive and started feeling like harassment. I kept gently reminding him but he never respected my boundaries, so I gave up and eventually learned I needed to block him every december if I wanted any peace.
He didn't understand when I felt unsafe accepting his repetitive invitations to thanksgiving and christmas gatherings during the worst of pandemic. He unsurprisingly got covid twice, which tripled his risk of stroke, which killed him. I tried to help him stay alive, but he disregarded my pleas.
It's not romantic to die for someone. It would have been romantic to LIVE for me. I don't know how to have a relationship with a dead man.
Yet even with all the sexist little comments, the demands, the drinking, the discomfort he made me feel... I still wish I had been able to have one goddamn sober conversation with him before he died, to say goodbye. But he cut short any chance of connection when he drank his last drink. Two days later he had a stroke and was declared brain dead. Two days after that went on life support. Declared dead the next day.
Let this be a cautionary tale for any future addicts who want to date me. I can't save you from yourself.
If I was in charge of life and death, he'd be alive today, but I don't have those kinds of powers. I saved myself and chose sobriety over him. That could have been me in the grave. Now all the feelings he couldn't process are mine to bear. The regret, the anger, the love, the grief and bewilderment, all on me. His body begged him to stop but he didn't respect his own body's boundaries any more than he respected mine. Now I am tasked with grief I never asked for, another addict, another suicide. I just wanted to renovate my house, my god! I never knew death would be the price I had to pay for one day of peace, for a goddamn working faucet.
R, I am sorry for your pain. I wish you'd been honest about your medical problems so that I could have made you feel better about it, held your hand all the way to the light at the end of the tunnel. But all I can do now is absorb all the pain and mess you left behind, and remember the good times. I hope you were reborn into a better life than the one you were given. A fresh start for your liver, a mother who loves you, a wife. Or perhaps you'll be reborn as a woman, pressured into sexual "love" under threat of suicide.
If I were Goddess, I'd vouch for your record to be swept clean. I forgive you.
Real love is LIVING with pain and surviving. Real love listens and respects boundaries. You can give me absolutely nothing as a cold body underground, and I can still feel love for you, beyond life or death, despite everything. I give you love anyway. That is how I go on living. I love beyond the physical. That is why I will visit your grave and whisper lovingly to a ghost. That is why I will spend years, maybe a lifetime talking with you in my mind. You wanted love? You got it. That's the easy part for me. If only you'd understood that love has infinite forms. I am angry and hurting and I am reeling. But I will always love you.
9:22 a.m. - 2022-10-27