I am Tormented by My Own Guilt

Hi guys. I?m an 18 y/o F, here?s my (rather lengthy) tale of woe. I lost someone to suicide. I suffer from PTSD and depression now because of it, and it's crippling me.And I feel as if I will shortly go the same way.

Early 2014, I was a 16 year old Junior (uh-oh). I had my first relationship that same year. My high school was composed of various students brought together by having a talent in the arts. It was very demanding but I cannot remember myself feeling so at-home than I did there. My art happened to be ?Visual Arts.? Self explanatory. The school was predominated by girls, 4 to 1 ratio for the boys, but I assimilated nicely.

Anyway, there was a fellow student in one of my classes that same year (let?s call him R). His art was Commercial Music, and played the guitar magnificently. Picture a tall, hearty metalhead with long hair and combat boots, he screamed rockstar.

I never actually spoke to R up until that point, but his physique was rather difficult not to notice when he walked the halls with an enormous guitar case. We were placed into a project together and somehow I intrigued R as much as he did to me. (This is still beyond me, as I was a spazzy stout girl who wore frilly dresses and oversized bows.) I even drew him during class because I found him fascinating to watch and listen to (AKA I developed a crush but was too pretentious to admit it). Eventually R gathered the guts to ask me to a Korean BBQ with his musician friends and invited me to a date afterwards. I was floored and happily agreed, and the rest is history. First date, first kiss, first love, all that jazz. We quickly became a close couple, the kind in which you were not only a SO but the best of friends. I showed him my favorite films and took him to places enjoyed to bring a smile to R?s face, to try to reciprocate just how happy he made me. We even resorted to calling each other corny lovey-dovey names like ?Sugar-Plum? and ?Schnuckums.? I can?t explain the deeper sentiments we felt for each other because my usual way of explaining things won?t do it justice. Before we got together, we didn?t feel as if we needed someone, but together, we felt at peace with the world. We weren?t so alone afterall. About a month into this, he admitted a secret to me. He made it out to sound as if he murdered a custodian and kept the body in the janitor?s closet. R told me he was diagnosed with a high functioning form of autism known as Asperger's. Admittedly, I was not thrown off guard by this, as R exhibited some of the symptoms of this social disability and it seemed to fit the bill. But he looked terrified at my impending reaction. I only held him in a tight embrace and said that I still cared for him for all that he was, and accepted it. He cried tears of joy, and I shortly followed. As time went on, we were like bread and butter. Our parents became well acquainted and were ecstatic to see us together. We were kids experiencing first love.

But there was trouble in paradise.

As time went on, R began saying certain things that sparked red flags in my head. He said that he was planning to commit suicide before senior year if I hadn?t come along. ?I would be dead by now if it weren?t for you.? ?You saved my life from myself.? ?I?d have no purpose in this world without your love.? ?I?d kill myself if I was ever taken away from you.? I was scared. Not much for my own life, but rather, his. I was scared because I grew to adore and cherish his company (basically I fell in love).

I felt R was growing too dependant on me (and I to him) and that I began holding him down from making the most of his talents and achieving personal growth. I felt the adult thing to do was for us to separate and grow up before we become smothered in teenage infatuation. I hoped in time we would find each other again. After the hectics of school and college admissions pass and we can breathe.

It didn?t turn out well. I tried breaking up with R in the most dignified way I could think up. At his apartment complex (where he and his family live) and in person. It was tearful and resulted in R trembling on his knees crying into my dress. I was trying to restrain from taking him back, I didn?t want to play with his tender emotions. Tears were welling up in my eyes and I felt nauseated at my own sickening act. He tried jumping off the roof of his apartment. Twice. Eventually I called his parents warning them not to leave R alone for too long. The duration of the week after that, he acted strangely at school. On one occasion he even wore dark sunglasses and a hoodie, which he later explained to me that it was because he was crying his eyes out at the sight of me. I felt like an absolute monster at reducing such a talented, wonderful person into a vulnerable shell. I offered him to call or text me as a close friend should he feel any dark thoughts suppressing his logical thinking. I was still there for him. But exactly a week after, my thoughts meant nothing. It was the night before August 29th, R was messaging how he wanted us back together ?as one.? He left me flowers on my doorstep and cards proclaiming his devotion to getting us together again. In tears I had to tell him I could not do that. It would be too cruel to make him go through it. My goodbye text message at 1:30 in the morning was my last. ?Rest easy.? At school, I was immediately called into the counselor?s office. I was glared at by policemen and my school?s principal as I entered the receptionist's room. I was on the verge of passing out by the tensions in the waiting room. Eventually I was called in the office by my counselor, only to look in horror at the profile on her desktop. It was R. My counselor had watery red eyes. She told me. R commited suicide. They found him dead in his room.

It?s difficult to say my reaction, my fingers are stiffening at the memory. I crumbled. I died inside that same day. The only reason they even told me was because the police needed someone to question.

I didn?t eat, and was bedridden for an entire week. I was 5?4? and 120 lbs, but dropped to a dangerous 88 within a matter of weeks. All on my mind was ?I killed him I killed him I killed a sweet innocent boy I deserve to die fuck fuck I killed him.? I began to cut as self-punishment, and to force myself to complete my piling schoolwork. I couldn?t kill myself because my parents were grief stricken as well and never kept their eyes off me. The funeral was horrible. I screamed bloody murder when they placed his coffin in the ground. I angrily yelled at my mother to tell me how he died. She muttered amidst tears that he hung himself. Asphyxiation.

Finally I had enough, one night I hung myself in my closet with a scarf. My father found me because the thumping noises my body violently made against the walls woke him up. Luckily he found me relatively quickly and prevented any serious brain damage, but I was unconscious. I will not try to describe the horrors he told me he felt when he found me dangling there. Or how my mother feared my dad cut his throat in hysterics when he ran out the door to call for help. I was resuscitated quickly, and sent to a mental institution for 2 weeks. They also kept me under extra surveillance because I couldn?t keep a decent morsel of food down. I was a cat?s hair away from getting a tube of food in my stomach. I was a model patient though.

I came home, only to find my folks wanted to leave the house of horrors and we moved to the next town over. They always slept in the same room with me for a good while. I was in intensive therapy and taking large amounts of antidepressant medication too. I felt somewhat more stable. On the brighter side I was also given a beagle as pet therapy. He is my loving and doting friend right now, I even called him Wolfgang after my favorite composer.

I was forced to leave my school because I had too many absences, and was reduced to homeschooling. But my parents put me in a nearby high school for reasons unknown and here I am now. I don?t talk about my depressive episodes much, but that doesn?t mean there aren?t unrelenting feelings of pain and guilt and sorrow on my shoulders. I wanted to do as they asked because they suffered too much because of me. I wanted to give them some peace, despite this hellish suffering in my mind.

I miss the kid like hell, and this unrelenting guilt burdens me every waking day. I feel I am doing an injustice merely by staying alive, that I am undeserving of a future because I ruined someone else?s. Despite what my peers and my loved ones say, I can?t shake off this damned feeling, and I?m ashamed of my self-pitying behavior infecting others.

As of right now I?m stumped between a rock and a hard place.

On one hand, I?m scared shitless for my parents? well being if they found their only daughter dangling from a scarf again, only dead. My father even explicitly told me that if I were to ever commit suicide or die from a tragic accident, he would shortly follow, and so would my mother. I?m scared that if I kill myself, I would have also gave my parents? a death sentence.

But on the other hand, I can?t think beyond the grief. I feel like shit knowing this. My thighs, stomach, shoulders and arms are all crosshatched with raised, bright red scars. My fall from grace. But it was my own unraveling. I?m constantly battling each day between my urge to die, and the shrinking desire to make my mother and father feel at ease. I miss R. I?m sorry for such a lengthy post, I wanted to post this here because?.I don?t want to heave this on anyone I know and love. This is all so convoluted and confusing to me, and I killed the one I loved. What kind of person am I?Do I deserve a life? Am I good?