I'm not really the type to share, I vaguely recall telling some people here one night when I was drunk on the Chatbox, but...well, it wasn't very coherent or pieced together.
I...I've been having a lot of personal problems lately. I've been using the demon drink too much, among other things. I'm not even an alcohol person, I just needed something other than weed to get me to a level where I can function properly. I've been really depressed lately, and have been on that downward slope since 2012. In 2010, I met this girl. It was actually my friends sister. We met at his funeral. It was on the way out, I was too shook to go up to her, plus it'd be inappropriate to flirt at a funeral. I got her number after a brief conversation, don't even remember what we talked about, probably about him. She reminded me of him, I expected his sister to be a polar opposite - because my friend was a damn goofball, and the only time he mentioned his sister, she was going to school.
Didn't take long before we became hooked on each other. It was strange at first because I started to think if what I was doing was right, am I in a relationship with his sister or am I donkeyfucking his sister raw while he sits in a grave? Those thoughts faded as I fell deeper and deeper in love. I met her folks, they liked me a lot, probably because her father liked the fact I was black - he seemed to be the type who'd care about that. She told me that her dad was a little racist and wanted her to stay with her own kind, which I thought was strange for a black family tbh.
So say a year has passed, she finished up her teacher's college course, I was working the same job I work now (dry wall/construction) and I had enough money to buy a small house in Oshawa, the north side. Mortgage rates are low, but the pricetag is high. It's three bedrooms, one bathroom, with a big kitchen and a garage. My dream home, for me and her. Turns out a few months later, think it was 3, she's pregnant. I'm like...cool, fuck it, that sounds good, we're set up. The next months that go by are the worst I've ever had to experience. Wasn't two weeks into her pregnancy that we learned she had cancer. The drive home with her was...man. I couldn't stop crying. I was somebody who prided himself in the fact he never cries. Hell, before that, I hadn't cried since I was 12. She kept telling me it's ok, it's ok, we can beat this. Oh, I believed it, too. Countless nights spent in the hospital, by her side, watching her pretty hair fall out, seeing her turn sickly, her back turn into a display of bones.
During this time...I'm actually stone cold sober. I spend my entire day just trying to fit a certain mold, one that she'd like to see everyday. I never let her see my dwindling hope. I knew she was fading, but never let her know that. She went in for her first surgery to take out some of the tumor. She never woke up. I spent a week begging God that he'd save her. God never responded. Her family visited her every few days, they weren't well off financially and lived a few towns over. They...they supported me throughout. I felt it was necessary to call them and ask them what they wanted to do. They told me if she's not responding to anything in a week, pull it. So I pulled it.
I come home, to this empty house. With my dead wife's furniture everywhere. The bedroom that was meant for my child. The next two years have been hell. I haven't spent a day not high on -something-, even though mostly it has just been alcohol and weed. This year I've had an increase in insomnia, violent dreams and suicidal thoughts. I'm starting to lose my mind.
I'm telling you guys this because I said I'd end my life by October 8th, my birthday, earlier this year, if things do not improve, if I can't kick the drinking, etc. So if you don't see me after the 8th, I'm gone. Thanks for reading.
