She was so beautiful to me, at one time. I loved her with all my heart and soul. I wanted to make her happy. But now she hates me. I drove her away. She would have died for me, this woman, and then one night she tried to drown me and we both decided that it was time for us to go our separate ways and live our unhappy lives away from each other.
I never made her happy. I burdened her with my illness and helplessness. I leeched off of her. I leeched away her money and I fed off her emotions. Finally, I sucked away all the love she had for me and a woman who once would have taken a bullet for me drugged me and tried to drown me in a bathtub. But at the last minute, she realized that she wasn’t willing to go to prison for the rest of her life for some pathetic parasite like myself, as she later told me. So, she called 911 and when I awoke I gave her a gift. I reported that I’d attempted suicide.
And then, once there was a younger man I loved. He admired me when he was a teen, and when he was older he confessed to me. I loved him, too. But never the same was as I had her. I took him in; I cared for him as best I could. Until one day I came home from work and found his limp body and a note that simply read “I loved you too much to leave any other way” and the gun had another bullet in it, which I knew he’d left for me but I didn’t do what he clearly would have wanted and so here I am still living in spite of the fact that two of my loves would rather I be dead.
I remember when I used to let him lay near me. When he would lay his head on my chest, and I’d just run my hand through his hair and once he whispered to me that he wished I could be happy. And he told me that he only wanted to make me happy and the fact that he never could hurt him beyond anything that was even comprehensible to me and I felt his tears on my bare skin. And I suppose he’s right, because in the end, I am still alive and he took his own life.
