It is obvious to me that you don’t really love me.
I went to see Dr. För****. I think I have a problem. I started crying in the middle of work on Sunday and just walked out of the building. After talking with my employer on the phone from the parking lot, he gave me Monday off so that I could go talk to someone. I just want the pain to stop because I can’t handle the complete sorrow that I feel. I feel like walking out in front of a bus. When I think that way I also think that it would not matter. You wouldn’t care. You would just go on dancing at sport’s bars and playing pool like I never mattered at all. Vir*** would be totally happy too. She told me to go away once and having me dead would really solve a lot of her problems. She could then marry you and become a citizen. That would solve her illegal status.
Dr. För**** is the person who said that I was like a moth destructively trying to reach the beautiful street light with its illusion of warmth and caring only to be burnt alive and left to rot on the street below. I’m doing this to myself. I’m allowing myself to be torn up by an abusive partner in a very abusive relationship. I know this, but I don’t know why. Why is it that I am so obsessed with you? Why is it that I would be willing to do whatever you want even though those things are so often completely against my own interests?
My doctor, Dr. För****, also told me to call immigration. Fight back. That’s what I have been thinking about. Do I or do I not take care of the problem with a single phone call? If what you are saying is true and it doesn’t matter what I or you do, we’ll get back together eventually, then I could totally fuck this bitches world up and you would forgive me.
Do I let you go and on with my life and never talk to you again? If you care so little about me that you would hurt me like this, why would I ever speak to you again? How could I ever trust you again? I did it once before – stopped talking to you. I could easily block all communication from you. All I would have to do is move and ask my ex-wife to change her phone number. You would never find me.
Do I do what you want and let you divorce me and so that you can live with an intolerant woman in the hopes that someday you get bored with her and come back?
Those really are the choices. Are they even choices at all?
In any case, I have an appointment with Dr. Klu***. I might get myself locked up. It would be so easy to take all the pills in the house. All I would have to do is go by a bottle of whiskey, drink away my inhibitions and just do it. I think that I might tell him that’s the way I feel. Nobody would even notice for weeks if not months. I would have to dump the dog in the woods somewhere so that she didn’t eat my corpse. But when you are dead, who the fuck really cares?