u/MI-HOY-MI-HOYNI

The woman I loved killed herself, and I don’t know what to do with what I’ve learned afterward. I don’t even know why I’m posting this. Maybe because I can’t keep carrying these thoughts around by myself anymore. A few days ago, the woman I loved died by suicide. Ever since then, I’ve been caught between grief, guilt, anger, confusion, and a thousand questions that I know I’ll probably never get answers to.

What makes this harder is that our relationship wasn’t simple. Now her ex is claiming to be her fiancé in the obituary.

When we met, it felt like I found someone who genuinely understood me. We talked constantly. We shared things most people never tell anyone. We talked about the future. We talked about life, goals, fears, art, dreams, and everything in between. She made me feel loved. She made me feel chosen. At least that’s how it felt. Then after she died, I learned things that have completely messed with my head.
She left letters behind. Most of them were written to her ex. Not me. Him. The man she lived with for years. The man she had years of history with.
The man she reached out to in her final moments.
I’ve now read some of those letters, and I honestly don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.
Part of me understands that they shared years together. I understand that history matters. I understand that when someone is dying, they may think about people from every chapter of their life.
But another part of me feels completely crushed.
Because while I’m sitting here grieving the woman I thought I was building a future with, I’m also wondering if I completely misunderstood my place in her life.
Did she actually love me the way I thought she did?
Was I important to her, or was I just important to me?
Was I her future while he was her past?
Or was I telling myself a story because I wanted it to be true?
I hate even writing those questions because they feel unfair to her memory. But they’re real.
I keep replaying our last conversations too.
The last texts.
The last phone calls.
The things she said.
The things she didn’t say.
There was a point where she texted me, and I had absolutely no idea what was about to happen. Looking back now, every message feels different. Every word feels loaded with meaning I couldn’t see at the time.
And the guilt is eating me alive.
I know everyone says that suicide isn’t the fault of the people left behind.
I know that logically.
But logic doesn’t help much at 3 a.m. when you’re staring at the ceiling wondering if one phone call, one visit, one conversation, or one different choice could have changed everything.
The thing that’s destroying me most is that I loved her enough that I would’ve dropped everything for her.
If she had called and told me what she was about to do, I would’ve been there.
Immediately.
No hesitation.
No questions.
And she didn’t call me.
She called someone else.
That’s the thought I can’t escape.
I don’t know if I’m grieving her, grieving the future I thought we had, grieving the version of our relationship that existed in my head, or all three at once.
I feel guilty for questioning whether she loved me because she’s gone and can’t defend herself.
I feel guilty for being hurt.
I feel guilty for being angry.
I feel guilty for making any part of this about me.
But I also can’t pretend these feelings aren’t there.
For people who have lost someone to suicide, especially a romantic partner, how do you make peace with never knowing?
How do you stop analyzing every final message and every final decision?
How do you accept that someone may have loved you deeply while still leaving behind things that make you question everything?
And if you’ve been in a situation where the person you lost seemed emotionally tied to someone from their past, how did you deal with that?
I miss her terribly.
I loved her.
I still love her.
And right now I honestly don’t know what parts of my grief are about losing her and what parts are about losing the answers I’ll never get.

(WEED) Class B misdemeanor

BRAIN SOUP