I’ve been wanting to talk about this for years, but I never know where to start or how much to say, or how to end things. And then days where I finally have the energy to write about it, I stop because the story gives me a really uncomfortable feeling.
I’ve written about Bill. I’ve written about Joe. Hundreds of times. But I never really told anyone about Chris. I mean I’ve mentioned little bits about him when my guard was completely down, but that’s it. Here goes.
We met when we were 16 and started dating quickly after. We rushed into things, I could have easily avoided everything. I learned he was bipolar maybe a month in, but it did not concern me too much because he was seeing a therapist once a week and taking Prozac every day. I really don’t know for sure when it happened, but he just stopped treatment. He would skip his pills, or take 5 times his dosage, and use hard drugs and alcohol. Maybe he figured he didn’t need them, or maybe he didn’t like the way it made him feel. I dunno, but things got so out of control.
He just completely went to war with himself and dragged me down with him. He would cheat on me, verbally abuse me, and then when I wanted out he would say he was going to commit suicide or threaten to hurt himself or me. The incident that sticks out the most happened one February. I was cleaning my room when I got a phone call from him. He said he was making a noose and he was going to hang himself. I tried talking him out of it but nothing was working- he was extremely determined this time. I tried distracting him the best that I could while I used the downstairs phone to call his step mother. She took forever to pick up. and by the time she did he had already tried once and after hearing him cough up a lung, he was trying again. Luckily she was able to stop him. She said he was all white with all these popped blood vessels when she found him. They called the cops and he was taken to Stonybrook for evaluations and then placed in a psych ward. He spent maybe 5 weeks there? He would call me from the payphone once a day and we would talk for about five minutes. He was back on medication so he was a lot nicer and eager to be released and to turn things around. I believed him.
Everything was awesome when he was first released. He was so calm and sweet and thoughtful, and I really thought that things would stay that way. I remember Tekken 5 was released that week and he got it for me. Later that week, he was acting shady and I called him out on it. Long story short, I found out he was dating a girl he actually met in the psych ward. And he dumped me for her! I’ve been through a lot with men, but I would have to say having someone cheat on you after you kind of.. saved his life is just so unbelievably fucked up on so many levels.
The story gets even worse. After he broke up with me I tried moving on. But then eventually he wanted me back and would not take “no” for an answer. He basically began stalking me- waiting outside my classes, getting his friends to deliver notes, finding out where I was going out and coincidentally ending up there. He’d write me these notes telling me that he was going to slit his throat right in front me of me and that I would watch him die.
Eventually I just couldn’t deal with being stalked and threatened anymore and that’s when it just kind of became World World Me. For a while it was starving and purging and then eventually hard drugs. But that’s a whole other story that I’ve already shared. After a year or so, he moved to California for a bit, met a new bimbo and left me alone for the most part, even when he moved back to NY. Some time later he asked for forgiveness. I reluctantly accepted and we actually put everything past us and stayed civil with each other.
One day I was at work and my mom called me. She asked me if I heard what happened to Chris. I thought that maybe he was in trouble with the law, but she said he died. He ended up purposely walking into a speeding car and killed himself.
Three eerie things about his death:
I still remember the last time we were together. He was leaving for his trip to California. He said good bye to me and I said “I feel like I’m never gonna see you ever again”.
He had contacted me a few days before he killed himself asking me if I wanted to hang out and I kind of coldly turned him down.
he actually killed himself right across the street from my job at the time.
His death brought up a lot of feelings, I would cycle through them. Obviously sadness because he played a big role in my life. Guilt because I could never seem to save him from himself. Relief, as horrible as that sounds, it’s a guarantee I will never have to be subjected to his bullshit. And just anger. Anger cause this guy who tortured me was basically spun into a demigod the moment he became a grease stain on Route 112.
I’m over it now, but every time I find one of his notes or think about him for too long, I get sick to my stomach.
