10 days

TW: Suicide ideation, suicide mention.

There are 28,652.5 days in the average human life span in the U.S. It is hard to believe that the entirety of my life was weighed by only 10 of those. 10 days to hang on to. 10 days until I could have had everything I ever wanted, everything I ever deserved. 10 days and my heart and my mind would have been fulfilled forever, but she took that away from me. She couldn’t wait. She cut the legs out from underneath of me, and watched as all my plans fell over and crushed me in their screaming, weighted darkness, scented with failure. Now there are 3 days until I make the biggest the deal of my life, and then the second biggest deal of my life. 

The first deal I must make, regards my career. What I believe to be my defining purpose. I sacrificed so much to get here, to be in this position. But I fear I may have pushed too hard. I have balanced everything on top of this deal, and if it falls apart, so too, do I. The irony is, I have already come undone. She has stripped away any joy, or excitement I would feel from completing this deal. It doesn’t matter to me anymore. The only important thing is the money I promised to her. If I can do one thing right, it’s fulfill the promise I made her before my second deal. 

When this first started, I was alone. Fitting that it comes to a close in the same fashion. She came to me after my first film deal, after 15 years of sticking by her side, and twisting myself into knots watching her waste her love on other people, I finally had my chance. But it didn't last.

Many people told me she was in it for the money. But I didn't feel that way. Not once. Perhaps it was just that I didn't care. You could make a pretty compelling case that that's what happened, and when things got tough, and the money wasn't there when she wanted it, she bailed. But I cannot bear to think of her with such negativity, despite the evidence that suggests the contrary. I loved her, and for me, that was all that matters. I would have fought anyone who tried to paint that picture of her in my presence. I knew what I felt. Perhaps it was never real, but for a man who doesn't feel much of anything, she made me feel, and that you cannot put a price on.

I had worked tirelessly hour after hour, taking on projects I never would have touched for her. I got up at 4 AM every morning to be up with her on time for work, I ordered her coffee on a daily basis, kept her amazon wish list delivering gifts, everything I could do. I knew I was becoming overwhelmed with work, delays, negotiations breaking down, but I did everything in my power to keep it together. But a man cannot dictate the time of others, and no matter how much his tries to control his own orbit, whenever you must revolve around other human beings, things inevitably spin past a point where you can dictate the terms.

I promised her the world, and I thought I could deliver it. I set up a deal that could change everything. One flick of the pen and I wouldn't have to work again for a couple of years at least if I didn't want to, but we hit delay after delay. I needed to hoard my money for housing, travel, survival. And when the money stopped, so too did her faith in me. I know what many of you are thinking, but it wasn't like that, or maybe it was, but I didn't care. I still don't. When you love someone with the ferocity that I loved her, you will tear down any notion of dis ingenuity. Even now, after all that has happened, I would defend her purity to the death. She wanted more money, I wanted more time. Neither of us were willing to budge, and in the end, she walked away. 10 more days was all I needed. 10 days to build my world, and now 3 days before it breaks.

While the first deal leaves a lot of money hanging in the balance, the second deal is far more costly. It is a bargain. One I have struck for her. Because I cannot go on like this anymore. I am tired, and empty, and I cannot try anymore. I need the noise in my head to silence. And so, for her, I will make my final sacrifice. In exchange for my life, for the ending of my torment, so that my soul may finally rest, as it has carried the enormity of my burdens for far too long, she will receive the spoils of my manuscripts. I will leave everything I am, and everything I have, to her, as I myself, was always hers.

And so it is, 10 days have become 3. 3 days before the end of my life. 3 days before I chew those tablets and end this theme park ride. I am neither happy about this, nor am I sad. I know that this is what must be done. Perhaps it’s my own fucked up way to say, “I’m sorry I could never be enough.” Or maybe it’s just a final flare-up from an ego that I’ve stifled for far too long. Whatever it is, it is finality. It is the end. So perhaps now, where my life ends, hers can truly begin. My only hope is  that they not remember me as “weak,” or “pathetic” or many of the other words attributed with suicide. I hope that they remember me for who I was; a man who lived and died with the courage to wear his heart on his sleeve, no matter how many times it was shattered, until there was simply no more left for anyone to break, not even himself.