How did I feel when you told me that you did what I’d been doing for months? 

Unreal. I think I stopped breathing momentarily. I was angry for the first two minutes because I thought you were trying to scare me into seeing how it made you feel & showing me that you were angry. But you weren’t angry. You kept talking…you were broken. I can’t handle ever seeing you like that again. 12 hours away and you were breaking down…I saw the pain I caused, the fear I put in you, & the stress I had you dealing with on account of my actions. 

Anything I was or wasn’t feeling went away. You were saying all the things I had said to you for a while and for the first time I couldn’t understand how someone could feel those things. I couldn’t fathom you thinking that numbness or hurting yourself would help anything. I didn’t care how sad or upset I had been anymore, I could only think about you and making the feelings you were expressing to me go away. I couldn’t allow you to feel so upset and so negative. 

I really do not think I was breathing while I was trying to get through to you & get you to talk to me and be with me and promise that you would never do something as stupid as listen to me again. What had I caused you to do? How had I hurt you so much that you could hurt yourself? What was worse was that you wanted to know if helped like I said it would. Like I said….as if I had known anything about helping anybody during that time in my life. If I could’ve, I would’ve been on a plane to you that very second. I just wanted to stop you.

I paced my room. I cried – and not the cute movie cry, it was more like an ugly Teen-Mom-Farrah/Kim-K-TV combination cry. Nothing made sense anymore. I had broken you and I didn’t know how to fix it. I never want to feel that pain & fear again. I never want to put you in a place like that again and I never want you to experience feelings the way you did that night again. I can’t live with myself if I let you live like that. It opened my eyes to a lot of things. And that’s the number one reason I haven’t taken to marking my own flesh since that day. Not because I feel I’m in a better place necessarily, & not because I don’t want to hurt myself, & not because I think it’s not a good coping mechanism (though all of these things are usually true) – it’s mainly because I can’t let you feel anything like the way I felt when it was you. I can’t scare you that way. I can’t make you cry anymore. I just don’t want to hurt you. 


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