Breakup With a Bang

On August 1st 2017 my life changed forever. It’s a date that will never leave my head. I was living out my dream. Woke up every morning next to the love of my life, spent the day with our puppy, cooked him dinner every night that we sat at the table to eat, and snuggling before bed. I was nine hours away from my family and friends, but I had everything I needed. Until August 1st. Two days prior we were hanging out on the beach with a bunch of his friends. He sat next to me and told me he couldn’t love me anymore than he already did, why he loved me so much, and that he would never be okay if he were to lose me. Fast forward to a little while later. I went into the freezing cold ocean, got out and hugged him. He was so mad, but it was in a playful way. At first. Right after that I laid on his friend who was laying face down. At that moment I became a whore, and he wouldn’t talk to me or touch me. Three miles from home I had tears rolling down my face as he got nastier and nastier. I stopped the truck in the middle of the road and got out. No shoes, no phone and no clothes. He got into the drivers seat and drove home. When I was about halfway home a stranger let me use their phone. One of his friends came and got me, and brought me home. The next day he had duty, and I received a text saying he wanted me to pack my things and move back home. I couldn’t wrap my head around how my fairytale turned into a nightmare. I went to the store and bought sleeping pills, and ended up taking the entire box that night, waking up every hour or so and taking more. August 1st. I woke up for good around 5am. As soon as I opened my eyes I was looking at the 45 on the bedside table. I picked it up and held it up to my head, with tears streaming down my face, barely able to breathe. The metal felt cold against my temple. I tried to pull the trigger, but I couldn’t. I went to the kitchen and grabbed my bottle of sangria, brought it back to my room and drank the whole thing. Then I drank a bottle of wine. At 830 AM I left the house to go to the gas station for another bottle of wine. At this point his friend that I talked to every day knew I wasn’t doing well emotionally, and came to the house. He sat on the ground next to me while I drank my wine out of the bottle and cried. He asked me for the gun, but I couldn’t give it to him. I told him if I was going to pull the trigger, I would have by now. Every time I put the gun to my head I would cry even harder, thinking about how it was our dog, Bubba’s, first birthday, and how he didn’t deserve that. Almost immediately after his friend left, I started getting calls from the man I loved. I ignored them all and he texted me freaking out, telling me not to touch the guns, and that he was on the way. I don’t remember much more after this, because I had drank so much. I remember him showing up, walking into our room, and trying to forcefully grab the gun out of my hand. I remember the sound it made as it went off. I remember the fear that overcame my body, and when I turned my head to see the damage, I looked right through my hand, that was missing a chunk. I remember him screaming for his friend to call 911. I remember him grabbing a towel, wrapping my hand tightly, and holding it above my head while I just screamed. I remember begging him to come with me to the hospital and the fact that he didn’t. I remember laying in bed with more morphine than you can imagine being pumped into my body with a hole in my hand, a broken heart, and the regret of not pulling the trigger earlier. While I was in the hospital he packed all of my things, and my best friend, mother and aunt went and got it all, as well as picking up Bubba. After surgery I came right back home to Rhode Island, and haven’t heard from him since. He may have “saved my life” but in reality, he took it.