A while ago Matt and I had a conversation about life and death and all that sort of thing.
And I got a bit emotional because I didn’t want to die, because I quite liked being me, and I didn’t want to stop being me.
Which he thought was very sweet and many hugs ensued.
Not now though.
I don’t want to be alive.
I don’t see the point.
I just don’t have any choice.
So all those people telling me time will help, and add distance, and perspective, and that I’ll learn to live with it had better be right.
Or I’m going to be proper fucked off at having wasting years struggling without getting anywhere when I could just check out now and have this awful devastating heartbroken pain be gone. Maybe I’d end up with him, maybe I wouldn’t. But I’m sure as fuck lost as to how to carry on living without him and what we had, however imperfect it may sometimes have been. I can’t envisage anything better than what we had, so why bother?
I have no idea how people live through this.