I feel incredibly guilty every single day.

My ex boyfriend who was still a very close friend of mine 4 years after we dated ended his life on March 5, 2011. When we dated I knew he was very troubled, but just because someone suffers from mental illness does not mean they do not deserve love and affection and relationships. Most of the time he was ok, sometimes he was depressed and distant.

We broke up because I ended up not being able to handle his mood swings and changing personality but I did give it a good go for 3 years. I still spoke to him every few days about what was new in his life, girls, work, my new relationship, food, whatever.

He ended up moving to Montreal for graduate school. He stopped speaking to his parents so Christmas 2010 I invited him to my orphan Christmas dinner back in our hometown. He acted in a way at my dinner that made my friends feel uncomfortable. I had just about had it with him, so after everyone left I laid it out for him, meaning I told him the truth about his life, you know the kind people hold back telling people because they know deep down the person knows their 'truth' but it's very hurtful? Yeah. I had to work on Christmas Day (I worked in health care) and after I left my apt he threatened to throw all of my stuff outside, my cat, etc. I left work to go deal with him and kick him out of my apt.

We didn't speak again until the end of Feb 2011, he texted me to say "are we ever going to speak again?". Now if it wasn't him I wouldn't have been so forgiving. But we did start to speak again for a few weeks. He had a new girlfriend (this is 4 years after we broke up) and they had just broken up. I knew he took break ups hard and the fact he was calling me to talk about it I knew he may have been in a bad way. He asked me to come down to Montreal for a few days to which I agreed. I arranged a ride with a friend who was going that weekend and took the time off work. He called me after I made the arrangements to say actually he was ok, no need to come down. I asked if he was sure, and he said yes.

Two days later he called me begging me to come down. I put my foot down and explained he can't control me like this. I had previously asked if he was sure he didn't want me to come. So I told him no.

I didn't go. He killed himself.

I know it's not my fault. But if I had gone, he would be alive, at least that weekend he would have been. And I'd be able to sleep at night.