He sent me the letter at 1:00 pm. I didn't get it until 2:59 pm when I was leaving work. I think he was dead by then anyway. It still doesn't hurt any less. The last two months have been a blur. I can't really remember much. All I can remember is that ever since October 5 I've thought about taking my own life everyday so that I may join him. I've been told by his family that I deserve to rot in hell and that this is karma. It's nice to know that they feel it is completely my fault for his death. I know they're grieving though so I don't say anything. Two months--everyone expects me to get up and move on, but I can't. I still hear his voice, his eloquent use of vocabulary. I still look at my phone everyday expecting to see a message. I do the same with my email. And with my mailbox. I miss him so much. How do I go on? The only reason I'm still here right now is because I am heavily medicated so that I can just get out of bed. To say I miss him really doesn't describe how much I really do. He was part of my reason for living, the reason why I decided to make plans a couple of years down the road rather than just tomorrow. I loved him and I told him everyday that I did. I regret that we got in a stupid and petty argument weeks before his death. I lost about 5 days. 5 days where I could've told him how important he was and how much he had to live for. When I spoke to him on ichat the night before I made the biggest mistake: he told me he just felt so fucked up and I told him that he really wasn't and that I knew he could get past it. He told me I was so amazing but he wouldn't tell me why--he said he'd tell me later. Later never came. Luckily I told him I loved him that night but I never got the chance to the next day, Wednesday. Instead I told him I was busy and couldn't talk. I shut him off. Something I will never forgive myself for. T*** I'm sorry. I love you so much honey pie; you were my best friend. How am I supposed to go on without you? What about all of these plans we made?