Dear You

Dear You, 

You saved me from crippling depression. I saved you from a life of addiction. Then, suddenly, that wasn't enough. I went cutting, you went drinking. Suddenly, I wasn't enough for you, you weren't enough for me. This relationship was doomed from the start, each other being the other one's catalyst for their greatest vice. 

However, I love you. I love you more than I have ever loved before. I love you with all of me, to the point where it is painful to begin to ponder the depths of this great affection. You say you love me, but do you really? I have seen the snapchats that you refuse to open in front of me, I have seen the scratches on your back, I have seen how long it takes you to respond to my texts while you are doing god knows what. Or is my broken-down and shattered brain, crippled with a myriad of mental disorders, just acting paranoid? Thinking about this makes me feel as if I am going crazy. 

Is love not enough? You don't want to come with me to Colorado, yet you say I am the first girl you have trusted since HER. I saw the tears in your eyes when you said it! Is our love not enough for you? I don't know what else to offer; you already have my heart, my time, my life. You already have my passions, my dreams, my fears. I TRUSTED YOU. I trusted you when you said we would be together forever, I trusted you when you called me your future wife, I trusted you when you said you would never cheat on me. I TRUSTED YOU. I told my deepest secrets, my darkest afflictions. I shared with you how broken I am, that I am simply shards of glass, loosely constructed, and held together with band-aids. 

But you. You. You were my biggest band-aid of all. You were the band-aid on the bullet wound that is my brain, but now I am bleeding through. The band-aid is dark with stains of my blood, and I can't keep the outpour in for much longer. Time is running out, the clock is running out on our relationship. 107 days until I graduate. 186 days until I leave the state for college. How many more days until I no longer have you? How many more days until I can no longer hold your hand, kiss you, run my hands up and down your body? 25? 40? 3? We are a ticking time bomb, a flower wilting in the scorching sun of reality. We will die. That is for certain. And when we do, it is very likely that my sanity will die with us. 

It is very likely that those glass shards will scatter across the earth, never to come together again. The band-aids will peel off, the petals will fall and shrivel. My mouth will become so unused that it will mold into one piece of closed flesh. I will become quiet, entreating into myself, my eyes will become dark, shrouded with clouds. 

You were my only hope, you see, for recovery. Yes I have therapy, yes I have medicine, I even have supportive parents. But you. You. You did something somehow that no one else could do, if only briefly. You saved me. I saved you. Then, suddenly, that was not enough.