Truth be told, I am angry as fuck that my husband died. Scratch that, he didn’t die, he was killed. He was killed by some dumb fucking cunt that couldn’t be bothered to look both ways. Apparently, the baby shower she was already late to was more important than making sure she didn’t kill anyone. You know what, fuck you, Tammy, you fucking cunt.
Truth be told, I hope her husband is killed one day. Killed in an accident so she knows how I feel. Yeah, maybe that’s harsh, but I don’t care. She ruined everything. Shit wasn’t perfect but I was content and dare I say ‘happy’ with the way things were going. She took everything away from me in an instant and I am FUCKING ANGRY!
Truth be told, I am angry that I wasn’t there when he died. A man came to my house the day after he died. He was crying. He wanted me to know that he was with him when my husband was struggling for life and most likely dying. He wanted me to know he didn’t “suffer.” What a fucking joke. If my husband had any inkling he wasn’t going to live, he suffered. Maybe he didn’t suffer physically, but he suffered mentally. I knew that man, inside and out. I know what would make him suffer, and the thought of never seeing his sons again would make him suffer.
Truth be told, I am mad at him for not living,. Why didn’t he try harder? This is completely irrational, I know. I just wished he would have tried harder.
Truth be told, I am mad at myself. I was told to stay in my neighbor’s vehicle. I shouldn’t have listened. I should have gotten out of the vehicle and ran towards him.
Truth be told, I am mad at myself for not being with him when he died.
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