Please Kill Me

I just took all of Chris’ clothes out of his dresser and closet and put them in boxes and bags to bring to Hadley, MA. Bonnie wants to put them in her basement.

I have never felt so completely alone in my entire life. I began crying with the removal of the first article of clothing and I haven’t been able to stop, yet. My apartment looks strangely like that of just a woman’s apartment. No sign that any man ever walked these rooms, much less my own husband. I hate this life. It’s cruel. I feel sick and I’m hungry but I not fucking eating anything. I wish I could not eat anything ever again until I died from it. I wish I could do it. I wish I could do it.

I hate Chris more than ever right now. I hate him for leaving me. I hate him for meeting me in the first place, for asking me out for coffee, for ever smiling at me and for coming into my life only to leave me fucking alone. A L O N E. I hate him for never coming back, for getting cancer, for wasting away for his body “beginning to shut down”, for craving popsicles and root beer in his last dying days. I hate him for moaning in pain while I lay next to him feeling completely helpless. I hate him for getting stoned every night because it was the only thing that took the chemo edge off. I hate him because I now know way too many terms associated with cancer. I hate him for being perfect for me.

I wish I could die.

I sat in the closet with my arms around his clothes, sobbing, trying to breathe in what he smelled like. His clothes don’t smell that way anymore, but lucky for me his smell comes packaged in a little white and green container called Speed Stick. I keep it in my cabinet and breathe it whenever I want to remember, which is always.

This level of love can’t ever happen for me again. Chris was my perfect guy. There’s nowhere to go but down, from here. Maybe I’ll end up with someone a little less cute or a little less funny; maybe a little less smart or a little less patient and understanding; a little less tolerant of my silliness. Oh, I know...how about a little less EVERYTHING? Oh, what I wouldn’t give to stop hyperventilating.

What a mess. How did everything get so bad? How did I become so undeserving? WHEN did I become so undeserving? I don’t understand this. I have tried a thousand times to figure out why Chris deserved to die. He should have lived. They got all of the cancer out of him. That should have been it. and now I feel as though I’m spiraling toward a lifetime of living in my past. That’s what I should do...just grab a bottle of vodka and take to the curb so all of the junior high and high school kids can point and say, “Hey, there’s crazy Robin!” whispering about how I was once married and working with a promising hobby in community theater. “And now look at her.” they’d say. “She just walks around mumbling about how unfair life is; about how she was shortchanged. How sad.”

Grief. What a royal, fucking pain in the ass.