That was even more difficult than the loss of my first love. He saw how much positivity, love, loyalty, and happiness I possessed and he made it his mission to leave me completely empty, void of any happiness, void of self worth, and left me with scars that keep me hiding in my isolation. I’ll never know why I deserved these things to happen. I feel as though when I reflect on who I used to be, memories seem familiar, but it’s as if I’m watching someone else’s memories. I isolate because it’s my safe place.
This is a letter to a guy, who is a widow. He lost his wife most tragically. He watched her get murdered.
You know my story too. You know that my husband may or may not have killed himself. My logical brain doesn’t allow me to think he did base on how his body was found. I wasn’t there, and my biggest regret for you as a widow is that you were there when she died.
Every so often I get wind of a story like mine, “Young Widow Conceives Dead Husband’s Baby” or something to that nature. I just talked to a young lady from Australia who won her court case that took 22 months. She is now able to use her partner’s specimen to make a baby with the blessing of both of their families, and a judge who deemed her stable enough to conceive. Her news article is now circulating throughout the Facebook groups such as Word Porn, and others I am sure...
I knew immediately that if I let myself sink down into the depression that was calling my name, I may not make it back out. I asked myself how I could lose my whole identity. I can barely remember what dreams I had, what I wanted to be, all the places I had once dreamed of going.