dear maura,
therapy was normal today.
the 8:00 am appointment, the cold, sterile office, dr. wilson, his hawaiian tie hanging off his neck, the small conversation of my mental health and if i'd been taking my medicine regularly, me nodding my head in agreement.
i try as hard as i can to rush the check-up. each step through the tiled halls reminds me of you. the way you would grip tightly onto my hand for your consultations, the way i could feel your golden heart beating hard in your chest so much that it spread to your palms. i didn't interpret your anxiousness clearly. the cheerful and assistive doctors weren't anything to be afraid of. despite the seemingly algid and somber atmosphere you perceived it as, there was a warm aura.
but it wasn't the place you were fearful of. it was the worrying thoughts that swam through your head. i knew your love for our relationship was strong but it wasn't enough to prevent your death.
i couldn't ever bring myself to discuss the topic. i was worried it would trigger something and you would suffer from a breakdown or worse. but i should've fought that. we could've battled whatever agonised you.
even telling you what i adored about you would've helped. that could've given you strength to face your troubles. that virtually makes me the one responsible for your suicide.
as a recommendation from dr. wilson and our families, i will compose letters of what i never told you.
these notes will never bring you back but it will release the unspoken statements that i held onto for so long, believing that if they made way into your ears, it could've retrogressed you into a more exacerbated state.
so as a recommendation of dr. wilson, our families, and myself...
this is everything i didn't say.
love, luke
