Last night we both hypothesized that if our relationship continued with its troubles and such the way it has been for several more months, that we would kind of just end.
We agreed on it and how truthful it was.
Well. I contemplated- what is the point in watching something die? Why draw it out, and suffer so much? So after he came home from work [four AM] we went onto the porch and he had a smoke.
I brought that idea up to him. Initially, he kind of half smiled and darkly chuckled. Then as the seriousness progressed, he sat down, cried, vomited once, choked. Normal responses. Mainly.
I tried coaxing him; I asked him if he wanted us to try again, if he wanted us to stay together. He mumbled some things equivocating "yes" but I never really got a straight answer.
Eventually, he decides he wants to stay at my house [I gave him an option]. Well, my mom let him sleep on the couch in the front room and she said he would like to talk to me. I come down, we speak briefly, he clings, and then I say ...
"You're not allowed to kill yourself." He retorts with, "What you say doesn't matter anymore". I loved him even during the break up. I simply could no longer handle the relationship.
So, I go upstairs to get dressed for a stroll about town, and he leaves right before me. David slammed the door, taking with him several important possessions I had handed him [the engagements ring he bought me-after he handed me his-, cigarettes, his cellular phone and charger].
I go outside and watch him walk away, careful to leave enough distance. I call his friends/our friends, asking that they watch out for him and make sure he does not self-mutilate or kill himself. Well, Tim texts me asking why David wanted rope.
I appropriately contact the police, Tim finds him, and I am escorted home ina a cruiser.
It is 7:08. We "ended" around five AM, at one year, ten months, and three weeks.
Piss.
"If your stomach feels weak my work here is DONE."
