Clear and simple: I don’t need a man I have to drag along with me!
My name is Catherine Newell, and I live in Guildford, a town nestled along the banks of the River Wey. I’ve been with Max for almost three years, and for the last year, we’ve been sharing a home. I know his family, and he knows mine. Since spring, we’ve both begun working, which inspired us to make bold plans: talking about marriage, children, and a future that seemed so near and tangible. But it all crumbled one bleak day in early June when Max’s world shattered. His mother passed away—suddenly and cruelly. She collapsed from a heart attack while returning from work and died on the way to the hospital. The blow was devastating, the pain unbearable for all of them.
I stayed by his side constantly. Max is the man I love, the one I’ve chosen to spend my life with. I was there with him during those sleepless nights, wiping away the tears streaming down his cheeks, silently enduring as he drowned his sorrow in drink, emptying glass after glass. I held his hand while he fell into a pit of despair, a black abyss where there was no light. Even when he pushed me away, yelled for me not to see his weakness, I stayed. I couldn’t leave him alone in that hell. He was everything to me, and I was willing to endure his pain with him.
But months have passed, and Max remains the same—broken, lost. He has shut himself away, isolated from the world. He doesn’t meet friends, and sometimes days go by without him saying a word to me. No matter what I suggest—going out, distracting himself, moving on—he brushes it all off, staring blankly, silent. He spends entire days at home, gazing into space, doing nothing. He’s taken unpaid leave, risking his job altogether. I don’t know how to pull him out of this quagmire. I understand losing a mother is a great loss, but it’s as if he died with her. When I try to tell him life goes on, that we need to fight for the living, he snaps, “You’re heartless, cynical!” Maybe he’s right, but I can’t help but think about other things.
What if this isn’t the end of our challenges? Life doesn’t spare anyone—new troubles and blows await us ahead. If he breaks every time tragedy strikes, like a brittle twig, how will we cope? If I am always the one carrying everything on my back, I simply cannot bear it. And I don’t want that kind of life! I need a man by my side—strong, dependable, with whom we can share the burdens equally, not someone I have to drag along like a heavy load. I’m weary of being his crutch, his lifeline while he drowns in his sea of tears, not even trying to swim.
I’m afraid to admit this to even my closest friends. What if they judge me, label me as cold, heartless? I envision my friends looking at me reproachfully: “His mother died, and you’re thinking about yourself!” But I’m not made of stone—I suffer too, crying at night, watching him, this lost stranger my Max has become. Where is the guy who laughed with me, made plans, dreamed of our future? He’s gone, and I don’t know if he’ll ever return. I’m terrified—afraid to lose our love, scared to remain with him as he is, frightened to leave and then regret it.
I don’t want to abandon him in his time of need, but I also can’t keep playing the role of his caretaker. Every day, I see him fading away, and I feel myself fading along with him. Work, home, his silence—it all weighs down on me like a concrete slab. I dreamed of a family, of happiness, and ended up with this—endless sorrow and loneliness together. How can I save our love? How can I pull him out of this bog? Or is it time to save myself? I don’t know what to do. My heart is torn between pity for him and the longing to live my own life. Please, give me advice—how can I bring him back to life or find the strength to leave if he’s no longer the man I loved? I’m on the edge of a cliff, and I need a light to guide me out.
