Home

Home is such a nice word and I never realized how lovely it is to feel “at home” until recently.

Following my boyfriend’s death, our apartment no longer felt like home. I told a good friend that I felt like, I want to go home, but didn’t know where that was.

Several days after I said those words to my friend, she called me. She started talking to me about her mom. She is a widow and lost her husband tragically as well. Then she told me her mom needed a roommate. It’s my friend’s childhood home, and her family has owned the house for 33 years. Another awesome fact is that the house is in my hometown.

I went to meet my future roommate the next day and hit it off with her immediately. I got a ride to her house later that same evening, and I stayed.

The energy in this house is good, and you can feel the history. It’s comforting. I feel safe for the first time in a month.

I do miss Jason so much. I still keep looking at my phone, expecting him to call or text me. When I look at photos of him it feels like he could just walk through it and kiss my lips. I wish he could. A part of me wishes I had kissed his lips one last time. I couldn’t have done that though, I was too freaked out. He landed right on my chest, like he was sleeping there. I knew by the hole in his head that he wasn’t asleep. Fuck.

How do I get that picture out?

If only I had let him sleep that morning. If only we hadn’t been arguing. I can’t stop doing this shit to myself, and it’s crazy. Couples argue all the time and don’t wave guns around. They most certainly don’t put guns to their heads and pull the trigger, even if they think it’s unloaded.

I have this dialogue happening in my mind every freaking day. Usually by the end of the day, I’m mad at Jason. Jason and I went through a time when he was very abusive. It was awful. Sometimes when I’m feeling really angry with him for leaving me like this, it dawns on me that this was an abusive act in any situation. If he didn’t mean to die, then he was trying to scare and manipulate me. Abuse. If he did intend to kill himself, he wanted me to see it. He wanted me to suffer for my words. Abuse.

Immediately after I have these thoughts, I feel incredibly guilty. Milliseconds after Jason shot himself, I blamed myself. It looked like he did it because I had just said I wouldn’t marry him, after I had already said “yes” an hour before. He had pointed that gun to the living room where my friend slept and threatened to kill him if I left him. I told him that his drama, behavior, and bullshit was why I wouldn’t marry him. Then he pulled the trigger. I blamed myself immediately, before I even got out from under him. What I wasn’t expecting, was other people blaming me.

Now I’m on my way to me and Jason’s apartment. Our home. Only now, it’s not our home. It’s a time capsule containing bits and pieces of our life together with bits and pieces of me and Keith’s life together as well. I have to pack everything. I have to be out on the 29th which is exactly one week away.

Then, I’m going home.