I Swear You Will Be Fine

Dear Josh,

I think you would have heard of this phenomenon – actually, it’s more of a cognitive distortion – that I’m going to tell you about. It’s called the “invincibility fable” and it’s commonly experienced by adolescents. It is the belief that one is immortal, immune to danger, and that negative consequences of risky behaviors will not happen to them. I don’t actually think only adolescents experience this. I think most people tend to believe this. I could be wrong, but I know I believed it. It sounds insane to believe, actually. “What do you mean bad things won’t happen to you?” “Bad things can happen to anyone!” Well, yes. But we tend to think it won’t happen to us… right? At least I did. Before you, or before a series of bad things happened, I thought bad things mostly happened in the movies, or to really unlucky people. I thought I was out of that equation which now sounds narcissistic and possibly entitled. How could I think I was special enough to avoid bad things?

I wouldn’t say I was a cynical person, or that I am now, but I think I was relatively realistic (even before what happened to you happened). I held the belief that maybe I’m not meant to be a happy person, even before this happened. Then I met you, and I thought you know maybe you were the one good thing I could keep. Even when I was “relatively realistic”, I didn’t think this would happen. Then again, I was realistic. Keeping you – that wasn’t asking for the moon. I have to admit that even in the height of your distress I kept telling myself this wouldn’t happen. Even when you had told me about the possibility of your life ending, I didn’t think it would happen. Not because I minimized your struggles, but because I just didn’t think bad things would happen to us. I thought we were invincible. I thought I was invincible. Especially after all the bad things that had happened to you and me, I thought we had the right to ask for invincibility.

Was my brain trying to convince and protect me? Was it doing that to calm me down? Should it not have? Should I have screamed to my parents, demanding to come home because my boyfriend is threatening to pass on? I don’t know what I was supposed to do, Josh. What did you want me to do? What could I have done?

In a book I recently read, a therapist tells his struggling client that suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. This was something I wrote down in my little notebook of thoughts. Did your therapist tell you this too? I wish I had thought of this to tell you. You are smart enough that this statement might have snapped you out of the tainted lens BPD made you wear. Whenever I read or hear about things I wish I had told you, I am filled with a little more regret. Was there a “right” thing to say?

IPhones do this cute thing of reminding you of an old memory. The other day, I came across an old video you filmed of me playing with Knight. I can’t believe I have to say “old video” now when referring to our memories. In this video, you said something funny and I laughed. And I instantly thought, “Is that how I laugh?” Can you believe it, Josh? I forgot the sound of my own laughter. I had to sit with my feelings for a while after that. I can’t believe it. My laugh feels foreign to me. It felt like I was watching someone else. What if I forget my personality too? I’m scared of losing myself and not knowing how to get me back. I know that I’ll never be the person I was with you, and we are supposed to grow with grief and become this other person, but I liked myself with you. I don’t know the other person I’m supposed to grow into, and frankly, I’m scared. I’m scared of the person I have to be without you.

There’s so much to grief that isn’t spoken about. I wish there was a way out.

Can’t wait to see you again. Thank you for visiting my dream last night. My friend who passed on in early 2024 was there too. He’s a nice guy. I hope you have met him. I love you more, always, and forever.

Love always,
Sha