I still wake up in the middle of the night, heart pounding, gasping for breath. The weight of helplessness sits heavy on my chest, and no matter how much time passes, it never goes away.
You needed me. You were drowning in pain, and I saw it. I heard it in your voice, in the way you spoke a little less each day, in the way your laughter became something hollow. You were slipping away, and I told myself that you would be okay. That you were strong. That you would get through it, just like you always had.
I was wrong.
I should have done more. I should have called more, listened more, asked the right questions instead of assuming you would reach out if it got bad enough. I should have pushed harder, broken down the walls you built around yourself, made you see that I was there. But I didn’t.
And now you are gone.
I replay every conversation in my head, searching for the moment I could have changed everything. If I had said the right words, would you have stayed? If I had shown up at your door instead of sending another meaningless “Are you okay?” text, would things have been different?
I will never know. And that is what haunts me.
I am sorry. I am so, so sorry. For not seeing how deep the darkness had become. For assuming you would fight your way out of it alone. For believing there would always be another tomorrow to fix things.
If I could trade places with you, I would. If I could go back, I would hold your hand and never let go. I would remind you every single day that you were loved, that you mattered, that the world was not better off without you.
But I cannot.
And now, all I can do is carry this regret, this unbearable helplessness, for the rest of my life.