~Beloved Anastasia~

**trigger warning: suicide, depression, and anxiety**

September 19, 1997

Diary,

I'm up as always tonight. My insomnia is the worst it's been in awhile. Dr. Peters suggested I keep a diary to keep track of when I'm sleeping and when I'm not. It might seem strange to some, considering I'm a 24 year-old man. Honestly, I'd really do anything to help my insomnia dial down a bit, though. Dr. Peters said the diary might also benefit my anxiety and depression which are one of the main causes of my insomnia. I know I won't be able to sleep, but I'll stop writing for tonight. It feels weird doing this. Like I'm a little schoolgirl.

-Wren

September 20, 1997

Diary,

Today was honestly the same as always. Going through the motions, missing her. It's amazing how one small incident can change so many people's lives, so quickly. I've been reading a lot about 'The Butterfly Effect' actually. And, to be quite frank, it describes the situation perfectly. A single man in a world of billions decided to have one too many drinks, and yet the love of my life is gone. She was a daughter, an aunt, and a sister. The loss of her life affected everyone who knew her. Especially me. I sound so selfish, don't I? It seems as though I only care about myself in this time. It's been three years since she's been gone, and yet I'm still wallowing in this pain. This self-pity. Dr. Peters tells me it's not healthy. She says it's time to move on. As if it's possible. Even the first year after her death, when I turned to whiskey, I could still remember her through the haze. I'm better now. I realize nothing will bring me comfort in this uncomfortable, harsh world. Every day, I dread the dawn, and eventually the dusk. It signifies another day without her. Without Anastasia.

-Wren

September 25, 1997

Diary,

I figure I owe you an explanation. Of her story. Our story. I first met her when I was 17 and she was 16. I was a regular at Cecil's Cafe, the more reason to go. and she had just moved into town. She had eventually gained a job at Cecil's, and that gave me all prettiest name I'd ever heard. Well, second prettiest. Her name was Anastasia. Anastasia Spinster. The prettiest name I'd ever heard was Anastasia Beckett. My last name on her. Anyways, I met her at Cecil's, and as soon as I saw her, I knew we had to be together. She had raven hair, and spotless ivory skin. Her lips were the perfect coral color, even without lipstick. Her eyes were a beautiful amber color, a color I had never seen before. I slowly gained the confidence to talk to her, and eventually, I asked her on a date. Unbelievably, she agreed. I took her out to dinner, at a fancy restaurant. To be frank, I didn't really have the money to take her, but I scraped up just enough. Pretty soon, we grew closer, and eventually, I asked her to be my girlfriend. She said yes, and if possible, we grew even closer. Four years later, we became wed. It was my happiest memory in life. However, I guess all happy times come to an end eventually. It was December 21, and Anastasia was out with a few friends. I was at home, sick with a fever. Around 10:00 at night, I got a call from the police department, informing me that Anastasia and two other women had died in a car accident. They had been hit on the side by a drunk driver. As soon as I heard those words, the anguish that coursed through me was insurmountable. After that day, life was never the same for me again. I fell into a dark place, my life riddled with depression and anxiety. As stated earlier, I turned to alcohol, and that made things worse. I couldn't sleep, yet I stayed in my bed all day. I didn't eat, I didn't really do anything. As ashamed as I am to admit it, I didn't get up to go to the bathroom either. Life didn't seem important anymore. I let myself waste away, losing unbelievable amounts of weight, along with sleep. Eventually, my brother convinced me to get in with Dr. Peters, and hence, this diary was born. I was ashamed of the way I'd let myself wither. But, I knew I couldn't help it. She was too important to me. Anastasia Beckett.

-Wren

September 26, 1997

Beloved Anastasia,

I miss you. I miss you more than words can express. Life without you is a harsh, unbearable time. I know you wouldn't want me to be sad. You'd smile and tell me things were going to be okay, to move on. There were other fish in the sea. But Anastasia, no fish is as bright, as colorful as you. Without you, it feels as though my heart is missing. My soul. How can I live without it? The simple answer is, I can't. I cannot function as a normal human. I'm losing sleep more and more every day. I'm sorry, Anastasia. I should've made you stay home that day. If only I'd asked you to stay with me. You'd still be here. Our house is so empty without you. It's drab and dreary, even the brightest walls, dull. I don't understand how you could be taken from this world so easily, when you were so innocent. Yet, there are still people out there who aren't, but are still living. I question my existence daily. How is it fair for me to stay on this Earth, when you could not? It's not. Anastasia, I love you, and I'll love you forever. I'm so sorry that your life had to end in such a harsh way. Such an insignificant thing, leading to a cataclysm. You are still the most important thing to me. Your family is wounded without you. Your father has wasted away as easily as me. Your sisters are confused and lost without you, Anastasia. It's an upsetting time for everyone, even though it's been years. I'm not sure I'll ever fully recover from your lost life. I try to accept that your death happened for a reason, but it's nearly impossible. I look forward to the day when we can meet again.

I Love You,

Wren

September 30, 1997

Diary,

I finally got a bit of sleep yesterday. It was strange, considering the most sleep I tend to get is about five minutes. You would think the lack of sleep would have a heavier effect on my body, but I think I've just grown a tolerance to it. Dr. Peters congratulated me on my sleep yesterday, as if it was something to celebrate. It's just sleeping, and honestly, it brings me no comfort. It makes me anxious on those rare days when I get sleep. My mind doesn't realize that my body is asleep. It feels as though I'm becoming brain-dead. When I'm asleep, I get glimpses of my current life, as if looking at myself from the outside. It's pretty pitiful, the way I live. I don't understand how I could just slip away from reality like this. I feel like Sara Maitland from 'A Book of Silence'. I've isolated myself from society, drawn inside of myself. Dr. Peters wonders if the only things I have are insomnia, depression, and anxiety. I don't know if I agree with her, but she is the doctor after all.

-Wren

October 5, 1997

Diary,

Anastasia's sister, Catherine, came by today. She told me I looked horrid and I needed to do something with my life. She was always blunt and straightforward. I don't blame her. I looked in the mirror, and I did, in fact, look horrid. I told Catherine I didn't know what to do without Anastasia, and eventually I ended up crying. Catherine told me that I needed to go to counseling, and I explained Dr. Peters. Catherine informed me that it wasn't really doing much for me. In fact, she called Dr. Peters, and informed her that my condition was worsening. The last time I'd talked to Dr. Peters was September 30, which, believe it or not, is the longest I've gone without talking to her. It's pitiful, five days being the longest I've gone without talking to my psychologist/psychiatrist. Dr. Peters previously put me on Zoloft, but it did nothing for me. Today, Dr. Peters suggested I come in tomorrow so she could find out which antidepressant would benefit me the most. It feels weird taking medicine all because of the loss of my wife. Wouldn't anyone be distraught?

-Wren

October 6, 1997

Diary,

Today I went to Dr. Peter's office, and she told me my depression was, in fact, worsening. She put me on Pexeva, and told me that I needed to check in with her next week, and continue that for as much time as needed. It was honestly upsetting news, and today, I'm a bit more upset than usual. Instead of just sitting in my house, staring out of the window, I sobbed uncontrollably. My life is worsening and with Anastasia gone, I have no way to fix it. I start my Pexeva tomorrow. I guess we'll see if it works. I honestly don't have much hope.

-Wren

October 7, 1997

Diary,

I'm contemplating my existence again. What's the point in staying here? It would be so easy to leave. I've been staring at my pill bottle and it's brought some very unwanted thoughts out. What if I took all of them? There's no reason to be here anymore. Catherine called again today to check in on me, and I faked a cheerful voice and said that my medicine was helping a lot. If only she knew the truth. My desire to end my mental and physical suffering is so strong, I'm not sure if I can resist. I found an old bottle of wine in the cupboard today, and needless to say, it's all gone. My head hurts, and my hands are shaking. My mind is racing, and I couldn't sleep even if I didn't have insomnia. What to do with my life?

-Wren

October 8, 1997

Diary,

I spent all yesterday, last night, today, and tonight obsessing over my death. It's insane how I can go from happy to depressed and even suicidal in such a short time. I think part of it is my need to meet Anastasia again. Her death made me obsessed with my own. It's funny how the world works. How mental health is so fragile. I don't want to talk to anyone. Not even Dr. Peters. I'm afraid to admit how fragile I am right now. Besides, would anyone really understand?

-Wren

October 9, 1997

Diary,

I understand that while life is unfair, there is also a happy side. For most, at least. For me, there is nothing but pain and darkness. You read stories online about people who were depressed and they found there passion and became better. My passion is Anastasia. And she is dead. Therefore, my happiness is dead, as well. I don't think people realize how upsetting things can really be for certain people. I thought I was a strong person, but apparently I'm as fragile as a shard of glass. I could get blown away by a small gust of wind. Here today, gone tomorrow.

-Wren

October 10, 1997

Diary,

I'm going to do it. I'm not sure when, but I will. These thoughts are dominating my brain, turning it into a mush and making my life revolve completely around death. Anastasia's, my father's, my own. Thoughts race through my mind constantly, never-ending. It's an endless loop of how I could die. How will I die?

-Wren

October 12, 1997

Diary,

My name is Wren Edward Beckett. I was born on December 2, 1973. I have two brothers and a mother still living. I was born into a family of 6, and my mother was the most hardworking woman I'd ever seen. Despite the love of my family, I've decided that this world is not fit to hold a troubled soul like me. Life was too hard, too uncomfortable without my beloved Anastasia. To my family, please don't blame yourself. This was my decision and you guys had no effect on it whatsoever. It's not anyone's fault beside my own. To Catherine and Anastasia's family, your daughter/sister was the greatest person I'd known, and I was very lucky to have her as a wife. I know this is selfish of me, but there is no way I can remain here, drowning in my anguish day after day. Luke, my little brother, remain optimistic and remember I love you. I love you all very much and I hope that you will carry on without me. I know this news is upsetting and hurtful, and you have every right to be mad at me. I don't blame you. Keep carrying on without me. That's the most important thing. I'm sorry I'm so selfish. Please forgive me.

Wren