Dearest. I'm sure I'm going crazy again. I am confident that we can not face another of those terrible moments. And this time does not heal. I begin to hear voices and I can not concentrate. So what do I think the best thing to do. You gave me the greatest happiness possible. Have you been in any sense whatever a man could be. I know that I'm ruining my life. I know that without me you could work and you do, you know ... See I can not even worthy to write these lines. I want to tell you that I owe all the happiness in my life. You have been infinitely patient with me. And incredibly good. I want to say - everyone knows it. If anyone you would be able to save you. All abandoned me except the certainty of your goodness. I can not continue to ruin your life. I do not think two people could be happier than it was us.
V.
Virginia Woolf's letter to her husband before his suicide, March 28, 1941
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