My boyfriend of 7 years relationship committed suicide because of me

It has been exactly 51 days since my entire world stopped spinning. On May 21st, I lost the boy I loved with all my heart. We were together from September 2019 to May 2026. Almost a third of my life. I am posting this because I am completely shattered, masking my pain all day at college, and just screaming into the void asking, "7 years for what?"
Our story started in a classroom in September 2019. Everyone knew he liked me, and I liked him too, but he was incredibly shy. He actually believed he had no chance with me and told me later he was perfectly content to just keep me as a secret crush from afar. So, I took the first step. I just waved at him. He was absolutely shocked and awestruck. That one little wave changed the trajectory of both of our lives. We started talking, texting constantly, and growing up side-by-side.

He gave me a promise ring, I loved him fiercely and fully intended to marry him. Because I am naturally the one who takes on responsibility and looks out for everyone, I poured that same motherly, protective energy into taking care of him. I eventually rented a house with all the facilities to make sure he had a warm, perfect, safe haven.

But in the final weeks, an unfathomable storm hit. I had a completely harmless conversation with a guy from my hometown. I told my partner about it because we hid nothing, but his mind just couldn't process it. That single moment somehow triggered a severe, terrifying onset of paranoia. He began doubting me constantly, going through my phone, and calling me awful names. He became completely convinced I was hiding secrets and sleeping with other people. The illness made him obsessive and controlling.
I tried so hard to save him. I pulled him out of that darkness so many times, fighting his paranoia for him, but he kept slipping back into the delusions. Eventually, I was so exhausted and terrified by his erratic behavior that we had a massive argument. Over the last three days of his life, he kept asking to meet me, but I didn't go. I was so drained and broken that I felt I physically couldn't take any more pain. I needed to protect my own peace.

On the final night, he had been drinking with friends. The alcohol stripped away whatever impulse control he had left, and he picked a fight with me. He started shouting at me over the phone, and I just couldn't handle it anymore, so I ended the call. He called me around 40 times, but I didn't answer. I just wanted the fighting to stop.
Then he sent me his final texts. He told me that whatever is going to happen is on me, that he was going to make me suffer, and that this was the last time he would ever text me. I didn’t take it seriously because he said these exact words to me so many times, he used to threaten me by saying he’s going to leave the state so I thought that’s what he means by this .
Then, he hanged himself in the very house I had rented and set up for him.
I didn't know. Two days later, I went to his house to surprise him, hoping we could finally clear things up and fix everything. When he didn't open the door, I went back home and asked his friends to break the door open. That is how I found out he was gone.
I didn't see him dead. I was in such deep shock that I couldn't even bring myself to go to his funeral or his cremation.

Now, it is July, and I am back on my college campus in Bangalore. I am faking smiles and laughing just to get through social interactions, but the exact second I get alone, I completely break down. I am drowning in so much guilt, grief, and pain. My traumatized brain tortures me constantly, telling me that if I had just answered one of those 40 calls, or if I had gone to see him those last three days, or if I had never waved at him back in 2019, he would still be alive. I feel like the worst person in the world for not being there for him at the end, and for not going to his funeral.
He used to talk about death in such a beautiful, profound way. He said it was like the water on the shore when the heavy waves hit the solid ground, the droplets jump up and are finally free. I am trying so desperately hard to believe that his spirit is that droplet now, completely free from the crushing paranoia that hijacked his beautiful mind.
But I am still stuck here on the shore. I am holding his ring, furious, devastated, and asking him, "Why didn't you take me with you? How am I supposed to live like this?"
If anyone has survived this kind of complicated, traumatic loss especially the guilt of those final texts and not attending the funeral please tell me how you make it through the hours. Because right now, I just don't know how.