Hi. I just joined this site. Three months ago to the day, my boyfriend of 3 years, who I lived with for 2.5 years and was house hunting with, picking childrens' names, buying pets together... committed suicide. I knew that neither of us were happy with our job/financial situations, but i thought we were on the same page. We had plans, and we just needed to wait until they came together. I didn't know he was depressed. i didn't know that suicide was anything he'd ever considered. He was my rock. I thought we were set- marriage was something we talked about like an assumption- all that was missing was the money for a ring and wedding. In my heart (and I hope/think his) we were already married. We didn't need some official to tell us we would be together forever. We'd get to that... it was an expensive formality. I never had a wandering eye. i was never tempted to cheat. i never doubted that whatever problems we had, we'd get past them. To me, he was the only man in the world. And I sincerely believe he felt the same way. His suicide note was written to me, and although it explained nothing, it was full of love and apologies. Everyone thinks i'm getting better but I don't know if I am, or if I've just stopped crying and talking about it all the time. It just doesn't feel like there's anything to talk about anymore. But every minute of every day it is like a blanket of lead wrapped on my shoulders. And the worst thing is that I had NO IDEA. My therapist says that when someone is determined to do this, they will intentionally fool you into thinking things are okay. That feels like a betrayal. It all feels like a betrayal. He let me go to work that morning thinking everything was fine. We were picking movie times for that evening. In the middle of work I got a call from the police that he was dead. If his work hadn't called his old phone number (his parents) and they hadn't gone over to see if he was there, I would have been the one to find him. How could he do that to me? How did I not know that this was going on? How did I never notice that he was depressed, that things weren't okay, that this was even a possibility? I thought we were normal, average, people. Our life was happy and beautiful. We loved animals and owned several. We were silly and goofy together. We made up terms for things and almost made a secret language. He was Fuzz (he was a very hairy man) and I was MiniFuzz (because I was much shorter than him). How did I never see beyond our horror movie obsession, our pets, our silliness, and see what was really going on? And why didn't he tell me? Anyone been in a similar situation? Anyone have any answers they have found?