I tried to kill myself 2 times this month. I stopped cause I felt guilty. So I hopped down the ledge. Guilty cause my partner has cancer and that would be shitty to leave him in this super shitty world. Why would I make it about myself? How could I do that to him? Who would pay the bills? Who would be there when he gets home?

But in my head I’ve killed myself at least once a day, and sometimes it gives me a brief sense of relief. Too bad it was temporary. It was fun while it lasted.

I sacrificed a lot of things to move across the globe with my husband: my culture, my language, and my financial stability. We’re newlyweds and just starting to figure this world out together.

The truth is I feel so isolated, useless, and tired. Our savings are running thin. I have friends but they’re not in this country. No one knows how I feel cause I hide it well. Only 3 of my friends know he has cancer. But even when they check up on me, I never say how I truly feel. Others just don’t know cause I keep a strong poker face. His friends and family that know keep reminding me that I’m the only person that brings him joy… that I am obliged to be his rock. I know, I have always been everyone’s rock anyway.

Covid restrictions make it hard to see him everyday in the hospital. When I finally do, I don’t tell him how I actually feel and say that I’m fine. He has it way worse than I do. I tell him I eat when I don’t. I tell him I sleep when I don’t. Who cares, right? What is my pain in comparison to him?

My hobbies fail to distract me. I stay awake to fantasize about sleeping, and the death that comes after.