It finally hit me, what I really lost when he broke up with me. I lost the only man who ever seriously talked about children with me, the only man who I ever yearned to have babies with. It took me 27 years to find him.

And now I've lost my chance to be a parent.

I know, it's not supposed to work like that- couldn't I find someone else, find a sperm donor, something? No, I need to be part of a team if I ever have kids, and there's nobody else I've ever met that I really wanted on my team the way I wanted him.

And I am doomed by my own choices to now work with other people's children, knowing there will never be one of my own.

And he probably thinks I'm mostly over him by now.

Permission

Do you know what Thanatophilus wants more than anything? Permission. He wants one person to say that they/the world would be fine/better if I committed suicide. He knows that other people's need/love for me is my best excuse- and if he could get just one person that I care about to say that suicide is a perfectly good option, he could convince me to do it. The closest he's come, in fact, was in the aftermath of a breakup that still weighing heavy on my mind.
He even, sometimes, tries to convince me that if these people really loved me, they'd give me the permission he wants. Twisted, isn't it?

So why don't I actually seek this permission?
First, it's embarrassing. Can you imagine going up to your best friend and asking them to tell you it's ok to kill yourself? This becomes more of a problem because of how my family has tarred me with the epithet "dramatic"- there's no chance they'll take me seriously, I'll just invite more harassment.
Second, I'm afraid I'll get it. Yes, I know how weird that sounds. No, on a rational level, I don't think anyone's going to actually give me permission. But suppose they do? Imagine they're having a bad day, and I ask at just the wrong moment. Then what? If I don't do it, I'm just being dramatic again. More scorn.

I spent a large chunk of today remembering. Remembering his hand in mine, his eyes, shining with what I thought was love. And remembering that moment where he compared me to the abusive, schizophrenic woman he married. That's what I got for a year of my life, a year of my devotion. I was told it wasn't enough, I expected too much, and he needed to be with the woman who moved into his house and stole his entire attention from me. The same woman who cheated on her husband (letting him know and ignoring the fact that he refused permission is still a cheat), and then divorced him. The same woman who insisted that this was going to work, and worked as hard as she could to push me away.
I don't know what else I could have given him, what else I could have done. All I know is that my best wasn't good enough for him.

And for a time, I felt that was almost permission.

Attitude

So, I was in a small vehicular accident the other evening. It's not my first. I have suspected for a long time that I am a terrible driver, and my record bears this out.
Where Thanatophilus becomes involved is in talking to my mother afterwards. Apparently, I have a "cavalier" attitude about this stuff. What she doesn't understand is that pretending not to care is the only way to keep her from talking to Thanatophilus directly. He wants to say things like, "I suck at driving, would you like to drive me everywhere I want to go?" and, "Maybe I should keep driving, and try to make sure the next accident is fatal."
Mom of course would accuse me of "being dramatic", a character flaw she assigned me at the age of 2, and refuses to believe I could ever grow out of. I'm not sure why she seems to think I have to find the non-existent middle ground between drama and cavalier, when I have not yet met someone who can do that after an accident, but apparently I should be able to think perfectly straight, and be totally upset yet drama free.
But I did make that evening come out not totally as bad as it could have. I went to an awesome concert, and then handed my card (remember that I work with kids? I do some freelance work.) to one of the musicians I follow. The idea that he has my number is pretty exciting to me.

Know what's weird? When I am alone, Thanatophilus looms huge, and I wonder how life can possibly happen with me in it. But when I am responsible for someone, or even with someone, I am totally in control, Thanatophilus is nothing but a tiny heckler in the depths of my mind. I like being needed. It lets me feel useful, which I think is the feeling that Thanatophilus most hates. Being liked is nice, but being needed is much better.