Believe Me

Last night was terrifying. It wasn't the worst night of my life, but it was up there.
Nothing will ever come close to the worst night of my life.
But last night was terrifying. I can't remember the last time I felt that alone. The girl is back, and she won't leave. And you aren't here to make her leave or even try to talk her out of staying so she's back for good.

I knew this would happen. I knew she would come back.
When you were here, I needed you every second of every day of every week of every month. And you were there instantly and then I was okay. Somehow you put up with me needing you like that, somehow you put up with my "issues". Maybe you just kept telling yourself it would get better, that one day I'd be okay and you wouldn't have to put up with it anymore. Maybe you kept telling yourself that you were leaving soon, so no matter what--whether I was better or not--you wouldn't be here to put up with it, you could love me from afar and take the good parts and not the bad.
I don't blame you, I would want that too.

But here's the thing, I'm not better. In fact, I feel worse than I did before. I didn't believe it was possible, but I do. So now I need you more. I need you more than every second of every day of every week of every year. But you are 1016.3 miles away and I can't have you like that.

I wrote you a journal. And in that journal I wrote down every single good time we had over the summer. My hope was that it would remind you why you put up with me when I was like this. My hope was that it would give you some motivation to not give up. My hope was that even if I couldn't give you good times, I could give you the memories of them.
It's almost like a will--the journal. The good me wrote it as a will, because I knew that once the summer ended and you had to leave the good me would die and the bad me would inhabit my body. It's the good me's will, because the good me is dead now.

I tell you I'm scared and I can't loose you and that I'm sorry more than I should. And I don't know how much of it you believe.

But you should believe me when I tell you I want to kill myself.

Talking yourself down from killing yourself, it isn't easy. It isn't possible, in fact. You need someone else to do it, someone who cares about you. I needed you to do it, because sometimes I feel like I'm losing you when the bad me is here. Sometimes I feel like you just don't want to deal with the bad me. And when she's here, when she's me, when I'm her, I don't know how much of it you believe.
But you should have believed me last night.
I still want to kill myself, Flyer. More than ever before and the only way I'm stopping myself from doing that is telling myself that I can't get up from my bed. If I don't get up, I can't get to the knife I so desperately want and I can't use it to slit my wrists and my throat and anything else that will bleed.

There's no end to this. This is who I am. A big part of me wants to let you go, because I know that all I'm doing is holding you back. I knew I would. Because if you did everything I want you to, it would be holding you back. I want you to call me when I feel this way, but you can't because you have your own life. And I want you to be here to stop my hands from strangling myself, but you can't because you're gone. And I want the next 55 days to disappear so I can skip right to the part where I'm with you again and can feel happy again, but you can't because nobody can.

Please, take this seriously, and believe me. You can't see the pain I'm in so it isn't real to you, but listen to me, and believe me. This pain isn't going away. This is who I am now. Do you really want this? Do you really want me? Do you really want a dead body for a girlfriend who is 1016.3 miles away, constantly doubting everything and hating everything and trying to commit suicide? You're only 18, you have so much love. You can't possibly want to throw your life away on me. I don't deserve that. I want it, yes. But do I deserve it?

-Beaskie