Untitled Story Part 1

Wednesday June 16th

I never really picked a day to do it because, in the grand scheme of things, I never really thought about the 'when' of my suicide, more the why and the how. 

Why? - well, that was simple, I had always said I wouldn't last long without her. I used to say as such to Emily when she was alive. She thought it more depressing than romantic but, for me, it was a deeper way of saying I love you. She didn't agree. She never liked to think about the end. 

Why would she? We were far too young to think about a parting beyond a break up and that wasn't going to happen because I loved her more than anything and she loved me too despite my myriad of flaws.

 She was my absolute everything from the moment I set eyes on her to the moment I had to say goodbye.

So the why part was easy. I had nothing to carry on for. I could never, ever replace her so I figured if I can't join her (I'm unsure on all the afterlife stuff) I'll just duck out gracefully.

Not that the 'How' part is/was in any way graceful. Not at all. I was stood on a chair with a rope light around my neck. I had actually plugged the light in so it was flashing rainbow colours. In an odd way I hoped this might take the edge of the grim discovery of my lifeless, swinging body. 

I left a small note which I didn't go over board on. I didn't want to harp on and on about why I was doing it and all that stuff. I did toy with a poem but ultimately decided it to be way to pretentious for a man that mostly avoided poetry. I didn't delve too deep with my reasons as it would be obvious to anyone that knew me. In fact, most would probably wonder why I hadn't done it sooner. 

But here I was, stood with a rope light around my neck, mildly drunk and ready to hop off the chair and finish it. 

Now, the reason I'm keeping this diary is not because I didn't go through with it. I was dead set on it. I had no quarms or fears at all. No, why I'm writing is because of what happened as I went to step off the seat. 

I was stopped by a noise from upstairs. The sound of a door being slammed hard and then what sounded like someone running along the landing. 

Startled and angry, I removed my illuminated noose, grabbed something heavy enough to use as a weapon and charged upstairs, full of the kind of piss and vinegar that usually flowed through other, tougher men.

And this is why I needed to write this because, whatever happens to me, I need to get it down to show I was sad and not crazy. That was happened, and is happening, is very real.

The door of our bedroom had been slammed shut with such force, that there was a large, deep split in the middle of the wood. This damage was exacerbated further when I shoulder-barged my way into the room, expecting to come face to face with a home invader. 

There was no one there and no sign of anyone entering or leaving. 

There was, however, something written on the mirror. I swear to you that scrawled in marker, in stark capitals, were the words : 

'Please don't' 

To be continued..