Honey, you know I love you, and you know I want us to hold one another while we asphyxiate in the back of your Fairlane, but honestly it's not working out the way I'd hoped. When we first met, I thought you were the one. Good looking, smart, funny - and determined to bid farewell to this world of pain. Remember all those nights we spent talking for hours about means and methods? I favoured pills and booze, but you finally talked me around to asphyxiation, in the process teaching me the value of compromise. God, how I loved the way you looked that day in the hardware store, running your hands over the length of piping that would one day - or so we allowed ourselves to dream! - carry the carbon monoxide from the car's exhaust to our eagerly waiting lungs.
Then, about a month ago, I began having doubts. Your ex started letting you see your kids, you got a promotion, your acne began clearing up. You became a different person, a happy person, and we began to grow apart. When we first started seeing one another, we'd spend almost every night curled up on the floor in the fetal position, weeping. Lately, I'm lucky to get one night of reinforcing pity from you. It's like my suicidal tendencies mean nothing to you anymore. Without the mutual desire to end it all, what hope is there for the future?
So I'm leaving you, my love. Leaving you to your happiness, your optimism - your life. I'd die for you, but not with you, and it's the latter that really matters. But if you change your mind one day, look me up. If I'm still kicking, I'll be more than happy to join you in a reciprocal downward spiral of misery and anger. Know that the option is there, should you need it. For now, though, goodbye.
Couples experiencing problems with their suicide pact should call the Suicide Pact Advice Line on 1400 767.