The note

10/11/07

The note

I did not write a note the night I counted out the pills. I found I had nothing to say.

I could not say I was sorry because I was not. I was at the end of my rope and I did not know if there were any other options but this. I was not sorry to be killing myself because I was so numb and empty and void at that point, killing myself was going to be a relief. I was not sorry because I thought I had caused so much pain, so much trouble at this point that this would wipe the slate clean and there would be nothing to apologize for.

I could not ask for forgiveness because I wasn’t sure I deserved it. I had lied to my husband consistently about how bad our financial situation was. I had lied to him about the fact that I was no longer in love with him and had not been for some time. I had created so much tension in our house by being determined to do what I wanted to do, the things that made me feel so strong and so good, and that drove the space between us wider and wider. I had lied to my parents about money as well, causing them great hardship as they bailed me out over and over again. So much to forgive, no right to ask forgiveness.

I could not explain what I was doing because I didn’t understand it. There was nothing left. There was no emotion, no pain, no desperation. Just emptiness, just hollowness. How do I explain that I need that emptiness to end?

I could not blame him because he was not to blame for all of it. After all, I was convinced all of our problems were my fault so, therefore, the blame fell on me. I could not leave this life and say he made me do it. He did not make me do it. I chose to do it.

I couldn’t tell him that I loved him and that I was sorry to leave this way because I wasn’t. The only emotion I had was knowing that my death would cause him pain and I wanted to cause him pain. I wasn’t sorry to leave this way because there was no other way out. When I tried to walk out on him, he stalked me down the street, even when I stood in the middle of traffic, threatening to let a car hit me, he still stalked me. How do you leave that? This was the only way. And I could not lie to him any longer.

I thought about a note but there were not words to be said. Even now, I don’t know what I would have said. Maybe that’s why I didn’t do it. I needed to have words to say, something to leave behind, a reason other than the infliction of pain upon someone else. I could not find that reason, I could not articulate that reason. So the lack of a note maybe saved my life.