My eyes closed for a good night’s sleep, and when they opened again the next morning my girlfriend was dead.

The first thought was that I’d just been dreaming, that it hadn’t actually happened. But I knew better than that. The ache in my head told me it was real. <br><br>Every night it was the same: the shattering of glass, the revving of a car engine, and Rachel’s last terrified screams. I’d already done everything I could to block out the images, to stop them from haunting my days too. Alcohol, heroin, cocaine, ecstasy, marijuana – nothing worked so the night after we sat down and talked it through we went out to buy the handful of pills that would end it all.<br><br>Rachel and I were twenty-three when it happened. We’d been together for six months and had known each other for three years. We were students at the time – but the car which crashed into us the night of her death had not been driven by a student, and neither did it seem to be driven by a drunk driver. That was the verdict from the police interviews at least, which was something I was grateful for. The guilt and shame would have been torturous. <br><br>In the end it didn’t make a difference though. Rachel was still dead, and now I was dead too. I just had to choose how I wanted to die. <br><br>The night of her death was our one-year anniversary, and it was also the night I planned to propose. It was the happiest I’d ever been, and I knew it was the happiest she’d ever been too. We’d been living together for a few months, and our apartment was a home full of love and happiness. We had no idea how much it meant to us back then, and how much it would mean to us afterwards.<br><br>Our plan for the evening was to go out for dinner and drinks. It was a chilly but clear night, and I’d managed to convince Rachel that we should walk. She didn’t like the cold, but it was only a twenty-minute walk to where we were headed. She agreed eventually, and was even happy about it. <br><br>We’d been walking for only a few minutes when it happened. The sound of tyres screeching, a car flying out of nowhere, and Rachel’s terrified screams. <br><br>I was in shock the first few days afterwards, and the days and nights running up to the funeral blended together. It was a blur of tears and sadness, of memories and heartache. I barely remember any of it. I didn’t want to remember it, and that was good enough for me.<br><br>Afterwards I isolated myself. I was never good with people, and now that Rachel was gone I felt as though there was no use in trying anymore. The few times they’d all been there for me, I’d pushed them away. They were worried about me, of course, and they wanted to help me cope. They’d all been in a similar situation and were able to give advice, to push me through this difficult time in my life. I didn’t listen though, because I didn’t want to cope. I wanted to die. <br><br>I had no one, and nothing. I didn’t even have a home anymore. Our home was empty and cold, and the sight of Rachel’s possessions always brought me to tears. In the end I gave most of it away, donating some of my own possessions too. I moved into a dingy little studio flat, and I drinking and took drugs whenever I could. I did everything in my power to forget, to kill the pain and the loneliness. In a world full of people I was alone, and now nothing was more terrifying to me than that.<br><br>The pills came next. They too were useless, but as my options were beginning to run out I was getting desperate. In the end I concluded that death really was the answer. It was the only way to stop the pain, to let go of Rachel and get on with my life. I’d never find another love like we had, but I was beginning to realise that I didn’t need to. There was a world out there waiting for me, and I didn’t want to miss it. I wanted to explore it, to explore all of it. I wanted to be happy again, to find peace and contentment. I wanted to love again, and I wanted to fall in love again, and the only way to do that was to give myself a second chance. I had to let her go, and I had to die with her. I had to close my eyes to the pain and heartache, and open them again to a new life and a new chance.<br><br>It was the plan at least, to close my eyes to a life of loneliness and open them to a life of love, happiness, and adventure. <br><br>But how was I to know where that line was? How was I supposed to know that the next time my eyes closed they’d be closing forever, that the next time they opened again they’d be opening to a completely new world?