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My Fiance's Suicide

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I am deeply saddened for not only myself but for everyone that can relate to this story of mine and my fiance's. 

On September 18th, 2018 around 10am we had signed, stamped, and sealed our wedding invitations. We had been together nearly 5 years, living together for 3, and under the very high stress that forces itself along with buying our first beautiful house and planning a romantic wedding for 18 months. 

For the first year of our relationship, we spent every spare moment together talking about what made the world go round, dancing, enjoying lazy days off watching movies, making grocery store trips an adventure (no exaggeration) and falling hopelessly in love. He was a scholar with the mind of an engineer, the hands of a mechanic, and a heart of gold. I was the sweet, silly, and loyal girl next door that put excitement and adventure in his life while working towards my BA in HR. We always said he was the book smarts, I was the street smarts. We rounded each other out, clearly complimenting one another's qualities and there was absolutely no denying it to those on the outside of our world. 

We handled disagreements and set backs diplomatically together for the first 2 years. All the while I had slowly but surely come to discover he had struggled with depression and everything that came with it: low self-esteem, lack of ambition (although still highly successful), isolation, heavy use of alcohol, paranoia, etc... Yet he hid this side of him extremely well. We believe it's possible he may have had Asperger's, but he was apprehensive to seek guidance on the matter. If you had met him, you may have sensed he could be on spectrum, but no one had ever suspected depression. 

No one, except me, that is. I ordered natural herbal antidepressants the past 14 months, I hid alcohol, I sought out professional help which he agreed to and then backed out because he was petrified his right to own a firearm would be taken away. And being a huge libertarian, that was something he could not and would not subject himself to, even as much as he wanted help. I then found a counselor that would treat him without his signature. What a relief, I thought! But yet again, he backed out of that appointment as well. 

With the stress of the house, his mother and father adding a tremendous amount of pressure, and planning a semi-large wedding that neither of us dreamed of. We wanted a sweet and simple wedding, to have a honeymoon baby, settle into our nest, and live happily ever after. Unfortunately the stress of "Life" got in the way. Things started to turn ugly... we turned ugly on one another. And then the sun would shine on us nonetheless, making our love beautiful once again. The cycle continued for 18 months. Once every 2 to 6 weeks. And it was getting tough, enduring that kind of hardship for that amount of time especially when we knew we had handled things so well beforehand. We held on tight and pushed through. The bridal shower came and what a DIY success it was! I decided after that event we owed it to ourselves to take an entire week off wedding planning and just be US again. It was absolutely, positively fucking magical. Blissful, relieving, rewarding, you name it. Mostly, we were us again. 

I made sure that although he refused professional help, I sent him plenty of articles on drinking, isolation, Asperger's, hobbies, etc all with excellent reputable authors. I told his parents constantly how much he drank and we had several very in depth conversations about the struggles we were experiencing. His parents basically said, "Night shift is hard but if you two love each other, which you clearly do, you will figure it out. Oh and don't drink so much ;)" They didn't seem to understand and with my fiance's being such an introvert and masking his true emotions exceptionally well to others, I was on my own in this fight for his life, for our life. 

After the week off of wedding planning, I got back to business, feeling more stress than ever before. I got a short attitude with him the night before we stamped our wedding invitations. Then the following morning he said he would help. We finished the invitations in near silence, I just didn't have much to say and I didn't realize he was feeling especially sensitive that day. After the invitations we took a good break and then went out his schedule for work. He couldn't comprehend the dates and times... As intelligent as he was he had an incredibly difficult time processing time. So I started to lose a little patience, becoming short with him. So we take another break. And when I hand him the piece of paper explaining what dates to take off of work, he ran across the kitchen and slammed me hard into the corner. I instantly got dizzy and when I regained my balance, I started crying. I realized blood was pouring from my cheek which I later learned was from my natural long nail that cut my cheek as I tried to block my face from slamming into the corner. 

He apologized and I didn't forgive him right away. We bickered some more, I smashed a glass on the ground, and slapped him on the back several times. I then opened the front door because I knew it would deescalate the situation. We were quiet for a few moments and I thought the fight was over... Life would go on. He went upstairs and I asked once more if he understood the schedule. As he was across the other end of the spare room, he reached slowly for his gun, which was behind him. I told him "Don't do that." And for scared and walked away. 

On my 4th step out I heard an eerily quiet gunshot. I went back in the room and everything was intact but he was lying on the floor, motionless, breathless. I dropped to my knees and held his face and, " Oh Patrick, what did you do? Oh Patrick what did you do?" He started to breathe. I immediately called 911 and continued to soothe my fiance every second, making sure he knew I was there, that he was loved, and that everything would be okay in a calm manner, I was so worried he was scared and hurting. Patrick responded to me Everytime I spoke to him and even when I lifted his eyelids, he raised them to look at me. He never once looked like he was in pain and the way that he shot himself he should have instantly been dead. But he held on for nearly 2 hours and could comprehend what was happening while showing no signs of pain. And oddly enough, I don't remember much of the sights, sounds, smell, or feeling other than all I literally cared about was soothing him. Nothing in the world mattered to me other than that. 

I was in shock for the first few hours. The days followed all I could physically do was take sleeping pills and when I awoke, I cried a gut wrenching, soul crushing sob. The wake and the funeral were nothing short of brutal, quiet grieving within myself. I didn't take xanex, I loved that man with everything I had and I was going to be strong for us. I've never quite liked the feeling of not feeling anyways. 

His family has tried blaming me... Which minus one hurdle of buying the house, they 1000% supported us together. Advocated it and encouraged it. Aunt's, uncle's, cousins, grandmas... Everyone loved us together. And then as soon as he committed suicide, it's all my fault? 

I've held my love, our love with the digity it deserves and Patrick has sent me so many signs it's almost unreal. I know that he is at peace now and I feel his kind soul around me sending me messages all the time. I don't think I will ever stop missing him. I am hoping that by sharing this confusing story with all of you sweet survivors that we find some comfort being able to relate one another and guide ourselves into something beautiful again. Suicide is never anyone's fault but being the victim of depression itself. 

Thanks for listening. 



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Dear Annierose,

My deepest sympathies and condolences. I am so sorry for your loss.

You are very courageous and brave to share your story with us.

Thinking of you.

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This is such a hard pill to swallow knowing your guys would soon form a union together. You are a strong warrior whose post will make an impact on others. 

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