Search the Community

~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.

My boyfriend and I have a beautiful ragdoll cat I call Bunny. We played with him as much as we could, but we both work and wanted to get him a little companion for the day time. 4 months ago, I came home with a tinny little fluffy ragdoll. His personally was unlike any pet I’d ever had. He was the most loving, innocent, playful and fearless little guy. I ended up getting so attached to him that I called him my baby. The cats got a long well and played together a lot. Because we were all isolated together, all I did was play, pet and enjoy their company. The little guy (who I called mouse) would wake me up with Purrs every morning and often cuddle at my side. I showered them with love and toys. The little one was so attached to me, he really had a special place in my heart. I took him to the vet because he had ring worm, and while there, the vet said it wasn’t a good idea to let him out on the balcony. I was redoing my balcony and spent all my time out there. Both of the cats were desperate to get out. I felt so bad to hear them cry. I knew if I watched them, they would be okay. So for months we all played out on the balcony. I watched them and everyone seemed safe. It was my biggest nightmare to think one of them would jump - and I imagined it sometimes which would often bring me horror. But while they explored, and got up on the table, they never tried to jump. They only wanted to play or sit in the sun. Then 4 days ago, I looked down for one minute. I heard a noise. My little mouse had lept onto the table and jumped. I ran to the edge. I watched him fall all 40 flights down. I’ve never screamed like that. I’ve never felt like that. I don’t know what he saw, or what he was thinking when he fell. I don’t know how scared he was or if he was wondering where I was. He broke his neck right away at the bottom of the fall. I don’t know or can’t say how much he suffered but it haunts me. I loved him like a little child. Someone from another building had called the police after hearing my screams and they came up to my unit wanting to call emergency because of my grief. I was holding his little body. He truly was the most beautiful cat, inside and out. He was 5 months old, and I remember thinking earlier that day, I couldn’t wait to see what he would look like when he was older. I am sorry for the long post. It’s been 5 days and I can’t really eat. I was prescribed pills to sleep and for the panic attacks. But every day I watch him fall, over and over in my head. I truly cannot come to terms with it. I blame myself of course. I knew not to let them out - I didn’t think it would actually happen. But I know it’s my fault. I am just so devastated I wasn’t careful enough with something I loved so so much. I used to love my balcony and now I see it as a horror scene. I miss my baby and I just want him back.

Hi everyone, I was searching online to just see if anyone has experienced something similar to what I have just experienced and I have, thanks to this site, so it has been a little help thank you. Yesterday my beloved cat Orca, a beautiful, scatty and unique 1.5yr old Bengal died and it was all my fault. I feel sick to my stomach, and the pain is so bad. I was in total hysterics when I found her. She had climbed into the washer/dryer and completely unaware, I shut the door and turned it on for a 30 minute drying cycle. I heard absolutely nothing, no crying, no thudding, nothing. I can only think that she must have climbed in when I had gone to my bedroom to hang up some of the wet clothes. We have a washer dryer, so I opened it after the wash cycle, took out a few items that needed hanging as opposed to drying and made my way into the bedroom to hang them up. I then went back to the washer/dryer and closed the door and started the cycle. We have a front loading washer/dryer, so unless you bend down on your knees you can't see in. I wish, wish, wish I had checked. I wish that I had to add a couple more clothes to the machine, I can't stop thinking about it! At around her dinner time, I decided to feed her, I called and called for her but heard nothing. I took her food bag and shook it, that usually does the trick but nothing. I turned the apartment upside down and began to panic. I also went outside calling for her, as I thought she might have got out the window, but nothing. I then came back in and just said to myself "she must be somewhere, the little sneak". I didn't in a million years think she had got in the dryer. When I went to open the machine to take out my clothes, I could see her beautiful patterned fur amongst them all! I couldn't believe it, I pulled her out as fast as I could, and for the slightest of seconds I thought she might be OK, but she wasn't. I can't get that image of her out of my mind, it is going to haunt me forever. I had seen her moments before I went to take out some of the wet clothes, she was, like normal, on the spare bed, half asleep. I went in and gave her a stroke and a cuddle and then went about my day. I can't, can't can't believe this has happened. I am always so worried about her, when I catch her near a window, or chewing fairy lights, I was always running around making sure she was safe, and now this. My heart is broken. She was my best pal, she would greet me from work and wake me up with my 'cat alarm' at 6:30am. She helped me through my break up!! I just feel so so sad! Sorry for the rant, but I needed to say something :(((((((((