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~This is much longer than I had intended it to be so if you take the time to read it all, thank you so much.~ I lost my best friend and partner to alcohol poisoning a few months ago. I'm 33, he was 36. We've been engaged, broken up, friends and back together again during the last 16 years. He was my first love. I like to tell myself that I'm coping okay because there are some days I can go to the shop or see friends or family and it seems like a normal day, but those days only make the next day even more unbearable. Like trying to live without him only makes his absence much more obvious and painful. Any time we argued over how much I was worried about the drinking and that I was terrified I'd wake up to him dead some day, he'd tell me not to be stupid. When I imagined that scenario I was certain it would end with me in a psychiatric ward. Too much had happened in life already and there was no way I'd ever cope with him dying. I don't understand how it's possible that my worst fear came true. I don't understand how I'm still sane. I don't understand how family members can already be asking, "You're still feeling that bad? I thought you'd be a bit better by now." I don't understand how during the two weeks it took for the coroner to release him and for his service to take place, his mum and I were making arrangements together and now she won't speak to me. The last message she sent me was so shockingly dismissive and cruel it made me physically ill for days. She turned up at our house 3 days after his funeral service and told me I had four weeks to move out. She removed his belongings the next evening while I was out, without giving me any warning. She took our cat home the day she found him dead in our home and at the time I knew it was the best thing for them both. Now she is refusing me access to my own cat and I regret being so thoughtful. She isn't "just a cat" either, she's our cat. We got her when we were living in another country together ten years ago. She's all that's left of our life together. When his mum referred to me as his 'special friend' during the service, I brushed it off. She didn't really know if we were together or not, we didn't talk about our relationship status with anyone this time around. It was nobodies business and we were happier without everyone's opinions and reactions. When she made me leave the house as if I was some stranger renting a room, I held my tongue. I had no rights, he owned the house and left no will. When she told me she needed some time before she had anymore visitors, I respected that and I didn't contact her for almost 6 weeks, even though she promised me she wasn't going anywhere, that I would always be welcome, that I could visit our fluffy baby whenever I wanted. When I finally tried contacting her, only asking to see the cat, the response I got from her was shameful. I don't know how she can be so cold and insensitive and it pains me so much when I wonder what her son would think of it all. He wouldn't have wanted it this way. A mother's grief, however unimaginable, is no excuse for this. It's Christmas soon and instead of he and I sitting watching movies and admiring our tree with our kitty snuggled up between us, I'm living in my brother's old room in my parents house struggling to remember what day it is. As if his absence isn't hard enough, everyone else is conveniently aware of how much time is passing. They're keeping a note of the things I'm managing and the things I'm not- especially if the things I'm not managing are putting others out. The evenings I pour a glass of wine are met with raised eyebrows. The amount of days each week I simply don't get out of bed don't outweigh the days I'm up pottering about, but they're still noted. I'm not eating enough or drinking enough water. I need to go outside more. I need to see friends more. I should maybe see friends less and visit family more. I need to "let it go", life is unfair and I can't control how others treat me. I just have to "mourn the cat the same way you're mourning him. Remember, you still have the rest of your life to live. You can't let this break you." My instincts that day were telling me not to leave him, but he was so convincing. He'd been almost two months sober and our friend and I had had this long weekend planned for months. Why did he squeeze me extra tight as I was leaving though? Was it just an 'I love you' squeeze because we hadn't spent time apart in ages or was it something sinister? Did he want to die that night? Was he really drunk and he simply passed out and fell to the floor? Lay unconscious until he stopped breathing? Or could he feel something was wrong and he was too scared or too drunk to call for help? The coroner couldn't give me those answers. We didn't even get a time of death. I will never know why he was found on the kitchen floor, but the bedroom door upstairs was damaged and there was vomit on the duvet cover. How did he not fall coming down the stairs if he was that drunk? Why was his backpack on the counter along with some shopping, as if he'd just come in the door when it happened? If he was really drunk, drunk enough that he passed out or had a seizure, he couldn't have walked to the shop. Why did I leave him that day when I was still concerned? Why didn't I insist his mum break our front door down that night, when I was hundreds of miles away and knew something was wrong?? Why did I listen to her going on about not wanting to disturb the neighbours and that he was "probably just passed out asleep"? I lay awake all night in that hotel bed, wide awake, staring at our messages, praying I'd see him come online just once. I didn't even want a reply anymore. If I could just see him online, I could relax. I remember sitting trying to eat an egg for breakfast the next morning, knowing that no matter what, we were cutting our trip short and going home straight away. His mum called me as her husband was trying to climb a ladder and squeeze through our bedroom window. I remember hearing him open our front door and say, "call an ambulance." She hung up and I rushed back to our room. I remember our friend hugging me tightly on the bed as I rocked back and forward waiting for his mum to call me back. Our friend was promising me he'd be okay, that he was just being a selfish idiot again. Alcohol was the devil. He'd drank too much and passed out and maybe even needed his stomach pumped, but he'd be okay. I think she was trying to convince herself, because I knew she was wrong. His mum called me back, I cried out before she'd even told me he was gone and threw up. Our friend and I had met through my partner many years prior. They were old school friends. She must have been in so much shock and pain too, but she managed to somehow get us home that day. We had been best girlfriends from the day he had introduced us, two peas in a pod. During the reception, after the funeral service, there was a book people could write messages in. In our friends message, she thanked him for all the wonderful, hilarious memories and for giving her me. I couldn't even think of anything to write. I remember our drive home, but I couldn't go home because he was still on our kitchen floor with his mum holding him, waiting on the ambulance to take him to the morgue. I went to my parents house but I couldn't settle and I made them take me home that night. I remember walking towards our dark house with my key in hand, praying this was all a nightmare or some cruel joke and that he'd be in bed with the cat, waiting for me to get home and yell at him for the panic he'd caused. There was his backpack on the kitchen counter, along with an open packet of jam donuts and some pringles. When I looked in the bin I could see how much he'd drank. The corner cabinet door was damaged and the fruit bowl was on its side, like he'd maybe tried to grab hold of something. Everything was just as he'd left it. The tablet was plugged in and still running a game upstairs. An empty chocolate wrapper was lying on the table by the sofa in the lounge. His beanie hat was exactly where he always threw it after he got home. His vape was sitting charging. He'd bought a pot noodle and some tins of pepsi max. The new ginger flavour. They've stopped making it now. I lay on the floor, in the place I could see he had been and cried my heart out as my parents watched in dismay. Mum stayed over with me that night and I didn't clean up until the next day. His mum didn't seem happy that I'd cleaned up but that was my home, not hers. I woke up in that house everyday until the day of his service, expecting him to walk through the door at some stage with yet another pair of new trainers and a McDonald's cheeseburger. To be honest, I waited everyday after the service too. Even as I was packing up my boxes in the early hours of the morning, the day the removal crew were arriving, I was mad he wasn't there to help. Why did I have to do all this by myself? Why did I have to do it at all?? He'd asked me to move in with him the previous year when he bought the house and now he just leaves me to deal with this alone? 114 days later and I still can't process any of it. It helps to write it all down though. I haven't been crying a lot again, I go through phases, but this is cathartic. Willow, my mum's dog, was sick this past weekend. We had to take her to the emergency vet. I spent two nights awake with her, feeding her water from a syringe and keeping her temperature down with a cool cloth over her ears and paws. He was her favourite human. I think of that every time she's trying to give me slobbery kisses. I miss him so much my chest hurts. There are so many things already that I wish I could tell him. He'd probably have already seen it or read about it, but it kills me I can't share these things with him anymore. I've never felt so empty and alone. I don't feel like I have a home anymore, that I belong anywhere and I've never felt this way before. I have no idea how to face the rest of my life after this. If one more person says "one day at a time", I'll scream. I wanted to post something somewhere online, hoping for some relief and because there is a severe lack of mental health support in my local area atm due to covid restrictions and a crippled healthcare system. I also wanted to find out if anyone else has had any experience with partner's families turning cold towards you or treating you badly out of nowhere? That's what makes me feel sick most days at the moment and I've been trying my best to move forward and forgive his mum. I can't imagine her pain and I've never claimed to. Still, she has no right to dismiss my grief, no right to treat me like I no longer exist and can't see our cat. I know there's absolutely nothing I can do about it that won't cause more anger and pain and upset though. I keep coming back around to the idea that I must deserve all that's happened. For all the times I lost my patience with him and moaned at him over stupid things. Lecturing him for handling work and his stress the 'wrong way' and for not setting boundaries with his overbearing mother. I didn't take care of him well enough. I was always asking him for more than he was capable of giving. I didn't accept him as he was, I was too demanding. I never did the dishes. I stopped spending the evenings with him when he was drinking. I couldn't stand watching him drink so fast and get drunk so quickly. I couldn't stand the smell anymore, or how badly it made him snore. No matter how much I begged, he would just say, "I'll take a break tomorrow night." I would give ANYTHING to have that snore back now. I would sit with him every night, even have a few drinks with him. If he hadn't been sober for two months and hadn't been to the GP and started medication for his anxiety, it might not have killed him.

Eight months have passed since my husband died, of septic encephalopathy. We were married for 53 years. His body had been failing for 3 years, and together we spent many hours and nights in emergency wards and hospital rooms. He was 75, paraplegic from polio when he was 6. In his last 3 years he had developed loss of function in multiple systems: heart blockages, myasthenia gravis, diabetes, lymphedema, osteomyelitis. He survived these impacts because he had such strong care giving from myself and our two adult children. He was an artist--metalsmith, jeweler, craftsman, sculptor, painter. I suppose that many (not all) creative people can concentrate on their art by being self-absorbed. By being manipulative, selfish, "using" other people, flirting and charming admirers, never feeling the need to apologize or admit errors. I married him because I believed we were alike; I painted, wrote poetry and essays, loved all the arts. As our relationship developed, I became not only his caregiver and financial support, but a dedicated enabler of his narcissism. In the turmoil and sorrow of his final suffering (trauma from his confused speeding in a power wheelchair over a curb, being propelled out of his chair, multiple injuries) I persisted on a path of self-awareness, trying to forgive him and myself for what we did to each other. At 77 and physically deteriorating, I knew I could not possibly give him what he wanted: to come home and be nursed by us. My adult children had lives and families and work to attend to. He was massively overweight; I could not put him on bedpans or move him onto wheelchairs. He told people I did not love him; he did not want to die in a nursing home. I mentioned all this in some previous topics. Since then, I have allowed myself to release some emotions. All those years of denying how I felt. Immersing myself in my children, my job, our financial needs. In the needs of my aging parents. It is scary to feel. It's scary to realize how stupid I was. It's scary to be angry, and sad. I think I have finally reached a point where I can start to forgive him. He survived great physical difficulties by manipulating. I can understand that. And I am beginning to understand how my early development in an emotionally distraught family led me to think I had to take control of circumstances around me to stop the chaos. Now I am alone. And I have to find myself. Make my own decisions. Make a life. Finally to see aloneness and age as positive factors. Able to create my own art. Able to let go my guilt about my middle-aged children's problems because I did my best as a parent and they are their own people. Able to write poetry. To put paint on a canvas, which I haven't done since 1970. I thought I would travel, but the virus stopped that. I never thought how much energy this would require. Sometimes I feel everything at once--rage, extreme sadness, ashamed. And I need to walk away, take a long nap, or immerse myself in an audio book, just to shut out the noise in my heart. It makes me very very tired.

After my father passed away, I seemed to be coping with it better than my mom and brother. But a part of me thinks it was only a facade. I lost all motivation. I began worse eating habits, which has resulted in weight gain. I seem to have sudden anger and sudden moments of crying. It's strange. I'm a very happy and optimistic person. I will be completely fine all day but when my mom refuses to buy parchment paper, I blow up. Or when my boyfriend and I are having a disagreement, I put it on my mom. I'm sure part of this is normal but I was wondering if anyone had any thoughts on how to help? With the sudden bursts of emotion, having absolutely no motivation and eating my feelings. I mean I am sitting right now and eating M&M's when I've already had lunch and I'm really not hungry. I have so many emotions and still am in disbelief over his passing that I don't know what to do or think. I know I have to move on but it is all so different now. So, any suggestions or advice for these things that I have mentioned?

Hello Everyone, This is my first time posting in this forum, though I've been reading it for quite a while - many thanks to all of you for your heartfelt sharing which has helped me know that my own feelings are normal. What's got me writing now is that I have become more and more aware of how enraged I feel at nearly all my so-called friends who over the past many years have acted basically like nothing has happened, when in fact my beloved husband died 16 months ago after a long journey through Dementia. It's like I'm invisible, or my pain is invisible - though I have openly spoken of it many times. Or maybe it's like they suddenly learned that I have a deadly communicable disease so they run the other way. Only one friend has drawn closer to me, and that has been a real lifesaver for me. Same story with my family. I mean, I literally tell people that I feel like my life has collapsed because the central pillar is gone. Does anyone hear that? Does anyone care at all? I'm just so enraged right now I don't know what to do with all these feelings. Sometimes I want to scream at all of them, sometimes I want to suddenly just move away and tell none where I went, or whatever. OK, so maybe they haven't experienced this kind of loss so they just don't know - but it sure seems to me that they don't want to know either. The information is everywhere if they cared to find out what it's like for us living with these profound losses. Thanks for hearing me. I'm just so fed up.

Forgive me. I'm typing this via iPhone: There will be typos and grammar errors. I'm not really used to things like this. I guess the best place to start is the beginning. My father died in June of 2012. He was 52 years old. We were at a family reunion in Ohio, a camp ground. He was talking to my uncle about his stand up comedy routines, when suddenly he began gasping for air. The doctors say he died of a heart attack and that he pretty much died at the camp ground. He had been so content. It was so sudden. We never got to say goodbye... My life seemed to change drastically after that. My husband of 5 years sexually assaulted me, then cheated on me with our mutal friend, and we ultimately separated. I remember telling my family what he did to me. No one seemed to really care or make sure I was okay. My brothers are actually still "good friends" with my ex and claim he's a good guy despite knowing what he did to me. I don't think I can ever forgive them for that. At family functions I smile and pretend I'm okay and don't feel any negative feelings about their loyalty to my attacker, but inside it's tearing me apart. I find myself wondering what my Dad would have done if he had been here. He'd have kicked his ass. He'd have done something. He'd have supported me... Maybe I deserved what happened. Maybe I changed since my Dad's death and my husband didn't feel the love anymore. Maybe he was needy and I just didn't have the energy anymore. I felt angry after my dad died. I didn't know why "God" took him from me. I was questioning a lot in my life. Somedays, I'm okay. I carry on like everything is fine. Then there are days like this where I feel so empty and alone. Since my divorce, I've found a new man who is very supportive. He knows what happened between my ex and me, and he's very loving and kind. But he never met my Dad. He never experienced loss like I have. I appreciate his support, but he can not fully comprehend how I feel. I hate that my dad is gone. I want to talk to him, to tell him everything that's happened and to hear his wise words of encouragement. I wish my brothers would have supported me and at least threatened to kick my ex's ass. Also, my mom remarried recently and I feel like she's so content in her new life that she forgets about Dad. We always have pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving. It's dad's favorite. But this year, it was left out. Forgotten. Why?! It was never forgotten before! It's stupid things like this that eat at me. I just want my Dad back. I didn't have the best relationship with my dad, but I still want him back. I want to be strong like he was. I want to be confident like him. I don't know why I'm here. I stumbled across this site and decided to sign up and write a post to express my pain. I just wish I could go back in time and change so many things, like all the wasted time I should have spent with my Dad, or ever marrying my ex in the first place. But I can't. I'm left feeling empty. I just want my Dad back.....

I am upset because my mother died on August 25, 2014 (last year) right before my birthday. (My birthday is August 24) I haven't been talking about it with anyone except this one friend who is a girl. However, I have had a lot of symptoms due to this loss. For example, my grades have gone down, I do not talk to any of my friends/teachers/family with the exception of a few. I also do not participate in class and I am mentally shutting down because I shut everyone else out. However, my parents are probably the most concerned. However, they also lied to me about my mother. Okay, well here is the whole story. I was 6 or 7 years old and she just vanished. I was so young at the time I did not care very much however I was a little upset at first. Then I turned 10 and I begged myself to see her again and this time, I was a bit more curious, so I asked my dad questions. I asked him "where was she?" and "When will she be home again?" My dad told me she was at a hospital. Then, a last month in October, they told me the truth. She was never in a hospital...she was in jail. She was a drug addict and she needed money to recover so she robbed a bank. When I found out this information. I got mad and depressed. All I do is yell at my dad's girlfriend who I yell at because I think she is trying to replace my mother even though she claims she is not. However, I am still in disbelief. It is really hard to get over this and I am forced to go to therapy but they make me. No matter how much I do not want to. I don't know what to do and I am always so down and upset. That is why I am here. Hopefully, one day I can get over my mother...I am upset and mad at her. But since she is not here, I feel like I redirect my anger at my dads girlfriend which seems silly but she is also the closest and easiest target. Now all I do is disappoint everyone with my grades and silence. One day...Please help me if there is any quick and efficient way to get over this stage of grief. Thanks everyone!

My mom died of cancer 36 years ago when I was 12 years old. At the time I couldn't properly grieve because I didn't feel safe. I was left to my own devices (my grandparents, dad and extended family were lost in their own grief and didn't know how to turn their minds to the children my mother left behind) and I was terrified to feel the pain. Also, I felt my grief was a burden or a nuisance to others and thus off putting. So I buried it and dragged it around with me for over thirty years. That delayed grief has sabotaged me for years. Finally I am at a point where I am ready to truly grieve but I do not know how. Part of me feels like I am still 12 years old and I am shouting at the top of my lungs HOW COULD YOU LEAVE ME? I am so angry. Intellectually, as an adult I know she had no choice but the 12 year old me is so LIVID that she did this to me. This anger in me is so deep, so pervasive. I am hoping that if I finally can grieve, the anger will abate and I will have some peace. Can anyone help?

Memorial weekend will mark the 6 month mark since Dad's death. A bit of an ironic "holiday" this year I think. As we'll be trying to visit all our other families' graves we'll also be getting ready to have Dad's headstone finally put on the grave. That seems to be like a final marker for me at least-so far all that marks his "spot" is a metal butterfly garden stake I put there & the broken sod; sometimes I could drive to that cemetary to visit other graves & pretend his didn't exist so it must not be true, right? I'd thought I was doing Sooo good with this grief stuff, even thinking that I didn't really need the very mild anti depressant the dr. gave me. Nope. Now I am to the point where I am going to look for a counselor. I have developed a lot of anger towards people since some of my closest friends have shown that they're not good dealing with "people like me"-I STILL keep getting told to "quit talking about your Dad, he's dead. Is there anything really to talk about?" by a "close friend" & co-worker I even considered a brother. He even told me since I came back to work the day after the funeral that it couldn't have been that bad if I came back that soon. Maybe I shouldn't have gone back that week but we depend on every dime & hour of my paycheck. I'm dealing with so much stress & issues at work that there is anger from that. Mom's has declined to the point where we are discussing other living options & knowing that in the next few months we will be selling Mom & Dad's house of almost 50 years & moving her & dealing with that. My only daughter gets married next summer & she wanted her Grandpa there so much-that's the one thing she'd ever dreamed of: dancing with Grandpa at her wedding. She & her fiance even went to the grave [how I have come to HATE that word!] & "told Grandpa we have to do this without him". I WANTED MY DAD THERE to see his favorite grand child walk down that aisle. Even as he recovered from his stroke he'd tell me "I know Allie's going to be a bride someday and I'll be there to walk her down to meet that boy.I promise you." My parents helped me raise her until she was 6 & out of all 18 grandchildren she was his favorite. I still cry every night.I relive that whole last week constantly-I am so afraid I'm forgetting the sound of his voice & the touch of his hand. And I'm angry at myself for not knowing my Dad better when he was alive-I'm learning more about him from my siblings, stuff I never even knew about him & I get so mad at myself for not knowing more-why didn't I push him to talk to me more?!! with me he was quiet & would show me things more & tell me he liked just sitting without saying anything why the hell didn't I make him talk? Why was I so d*** selfish to just accept his not talking?!!!!! I was his last daughter-I should have done more!!!! I don't tell my husband any of this-he has to listen enough to my venting about my job & dealing with Mom's situation. This is MY pain. I just want him back. I want my Mom back to before the dementia invaded her body. I want to hold his hand one more time. And I thought all this grief stuff would be over by now.