My heart became a shipwreck when the doctor told me your soul departed. A thousand times I told myself that you were going to pull through. That your soul still had some time left on this earth. I thought the stitches were supposed to hold a little longer. In an empty hospital waiting room the news blindsided me. Like a car crash that only ends in tragedy. I’ve often wondered when was the day that I had lost hope for my own soul. Now I know that day was the day. Your death became my cross to bear and I crumbled under the weight every day after. Every day that same nightmare kept me awake and I still haven’t slept the same since that day. I combed through the memory continually and thoroughly looking for a way for us to switch places. I’ve torn and ripped through ever fiber of that event trying to make the outcome change. And I’m so sorry, none of it’s possible. Lately I’ve been trying to wrestle with the idea that I can’t blame myself forever. That maybe it’s time to forgive myself. Maybe it’s time to let go. But I’m so afraid. Letting go of this cycle I’ve been in feels like I’d be letting you go. Letting go of all this pain and shame doesn’t feel right. I’ve become so accustomed to believing that this is the way things have to be. I have to suffer for what part I played. I’ve said before that I was the one who pulled the trigger. The more and more I’ve told myself, the more I believe it. Fear and guilt rule my life and I’m sorry, I have to start trying to live without them. Holding on to the hope of things changing, I in turn have done nothing to change myself. I haven’t let these deep wounds heal because I keep sawing away at them every day. I’m sick of tearing myself limb from limb just to feel justified. So this is me trying to love. This is me trying to breathe in hope. Enough damage, enough torment, enough shame. This is me trying to let go and heal.