Yes, I realize that we’re nearing the end of 2020, but today some memories came back to me.

A year ago, almost to the moment (I’m writing this at 4am), I received two heart wrenching voicemails. You see, when my husband was upset, instead of processing through emotions and talking through them, he turned to any type of intoxication in his reach. Once he felt numbed enough, he’d talk.. At 4:40AM, the first message dinged, and I could hardly understand him. There were crickets in the background, echoing through any parts of silence as he slurred his words.

Distinctly though, he stated that he “knew” I’d never see him in the future and want him back, so he wished he could just forget the entirety of our relationship.

Well, I hope it worked on his end, because it’s been almost a year since he took his life, and he doesn’t ever leave my thoughts. Fantastic and horrible memories, because Josh had one mode: All energy toward whatever was going on.

I slip into flashbacks, seeing our bedroom walls on our first Valentine’s day. “100 Reasons I Love Angela”, hundreds of sticky notes everywhere.. and rainbow colored heart..all with a reason on it.

But sometimes I slip into a flashback of the week after our wedding, smoking a blunt in my sister’s backyard.. This was the first time he told me he didn’t want to make it to thirty. You read that correctly. He told me he had planned to take his own life for years. Entered the Marine Corps because he thought that would make it easier for people to handle if he died in battle. When he was kicked out, he tried in other ways, and was always stopped somehow.

I did everything in my power to keep him alive, and for him to succeed in not making it to thirty; that makes me a failure as his wife.

To this day, I still receive messages about it being my fault that my husband chose this ending. Like people believe that I don’t feel fucking horrible. I still go to call him on mornings I just want to hear his voice, hoping it’s a joke gone too far, as I dial and hear his cell phone buzzing from my suitcase, I realize this isn’t a nightmare to wake up from. This is real, and I will never receive an answer from him.

I feel like my home and everything I worked for, we worked for, has been ripped out of my hands and set on fire in front of me.

“It’s been a year, when are you just going to get over it?”

Probably never, guys. But that’s okay, because you don’t have to read my posts.

Update: I realize this wasn’t made public until August 21st, 2020. Had to muster up t