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I am finally throwing out my exes stuff and freeing up my psyche. I have been going through some of it and I discovered some letters we wrote to each other and some of his personal diaries.


One thing I discovered was a suicide note he wrote the night before he was finally arrested. I have never seen it before.


In it he wrote near the end, "I am tired of attempting murder. I am tired of attempting suicide." This may be the only time, written or verbally, I have seen him admit he tried/wanted/threatened to kill me. Near the end, it was daily. This was one of the hardest things for me to accept when I went through therapy and one of the things that ultimately enabled me to leave.

I have had two great loves in my life. The first one, as with anybody's first, was when I was emotionally young and foolish. He was the first partner to ever truly love me back and I can't say I did anything but mess it up. I was not ready; I was not mature.

The second was quite possibly my soulmate. We had an amazing couple of years together. We were so insync with each other. We felt natural, even when we fought. I have never loved anybody more, never tried harder, and never felt such a loss upon losing them. I had grown up so much since my first and I wanted this to last forever.

And yet, now that it has ended, the greatest, most profound memory I have of my lover scares me so much I still shake with goosebumps: quivering on the ground with a knife pressed against my neck, begging, pleading, for him to calm down. There had beeb a repeat of many other times, many other outbursts, many other very real dangers, but there was something about that moment that changed me. I don't truly know what it was. Maybe he was more erratic, maybe it was because he was escalating, maybe it was the absolute hatred in his eyes I saw he had for me.


That memory is so fresh that I can barely think about it. Several times before he had his hands around my neck while I tried to not pass out; those seem almost clownish now. Trying to write about the moment it clicked for me is like taking a buzzsaw to my nerves. My eyes have taken their place as the drain for the Pacific Ocean. My cheeks are pink and my emotions red.

I will never know why I am alive today. There are times when I speculate, but through the entirety of my experience with him, it has been hard to describe any real logic coursing and guiding his rage. Since we have separated, he has undertaken a campaign to blame me for his actions and try to shame me through social media. Like many domestic violence victims, many of my friends and family did not truly understand, if they were supportive at all. His friends completly blame me, if they even know the truth. In his suicide note, he lists embarassment as one of his reasons for wanting to kill himself.


Yer, one of my best friends blames me- it was obvious what he was like from the beginning. His family made it clear that I was entirely to blame and this would not have happened if I had bern better to him. I, myself, grew up in a family full of self-hatred, that was constantly at war, and took every opportunity to put me down because I was the weakest. When his family accepted me as one of their own and then disowned me just as quickly, I really questioned if they were right. Some people think I seem strong, but I am not.

I don't know what changed inside of me the day I finally called the cops on him and stopped lying to them about the abuse. I didn't even mean to stop lying- he had honestly scared me so badly I forgot to lie. The moment the truth came out of my mouth I realized what I had done, but for once, I sat there with the detective and explained the threats, the weapons, and the violence as it actually without the editorials to make him look good.


Knowing that a part of him was willing to admit he actually wanted to kill me, I feel just a little bit better. It's been very hard to date or live my life since we broke up. The emotional abuse was worse than the physical- so many of the rest of his diaries are full of explanations for why I make him mad and what I did wrong and how I bitched at him. Yet, as I read them, I can't help but smile a little at his rage. Perhaps we really are soul mates- his suicide note dated the night of the incident where I called the cops and he ran before they got there. It was that day we both finally admitted the truth.

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