My friend, my god... no. No, you are not ready to leave. What you have is not a scar infringed upon you by an unfair destiny, that may never cure and whose pain becomes unbearable... this is a wound that shall heal, should you let it. Should you stop re-opening it, thirsting for the pain of your skin ripping, taking it as a deserving punishment for your mistakes, pouring your blood and tears.
Life has been unfair with you, my friend. Don't be so yourself. You deserve better, you more than many others, for what you have suffered. My friend, we are mere mortals, powerless to forces beyond our comprehension as death. You cannot stop the Angel of coming for us. You cannot deafen your ears nor that of others from hearing his voice citing your name. You may shelter those around you, but no hide may keep you away from it's touch, should his hand seek to land upon your shoulder.
You have no power to stop Death from doing it's task... and it's not your responsibility to do so. What has happened, so has it been. Others have told you this already, this is not your fault. We are mere mortals, destined to such inevitable end, and you can't change that.
I understand... it is horrible to accept what we truly are, powerless to the will of the Angel. Indeed, we may take many actions to keep his attention away from us, precautions and self-care, but in the end we are powerless to stop him from doing what he must, and this applies both to you and all that are around you. If it is terrifying to accept you have no control over this reality... I understand. It is a terrifying realization. But instead you put this responsibility over your shoulders, as if you could stop death. You couldn't. Neither then, nor now. Perhaps you may have to accept this terrifying fact, but in doing so I hope you may release yourself from such undeserved responsibility. From such undeserved blame.
My friend,
It's not your fault. You couldn't have done anything to prevent it.