Dear B,

I’m not sure what brought me back here. Still I found myself skipping through 34 pages looking for something I had wrote almost a year ago. I called it “My Own Personal Hell” I can tell I was crying when I wrote it because of all the words that I let be autocorrected. I read it and started to cry. How did I let myself get there? How did no one see it? how do you not see it now?

Today I dropped hints to maddy that not all the things I say sarcastically are untrue. I even talked about my therapist. You know you are one of two that know about that right? Did I ever tell you about how I didn’t get anything out of it? She was just another person that I pretended to be alright around. I’ve thought about it alot over the past year. Ive thought about all the things I want to tell people and by people I mean you. So, “here we go”

I want to tell you about how bad it got. I know you know it was happening but I never got the feeling that you really understood it. I don’t know what set me off. I just remember starting with one cut, then another and another. I remember sitting on the ground and digging into my back with the glass over and over. I remember the way the glass looked when I pulled it off and saw how the light hit it with my blood on its tips. I remember looking at my back in the mirror. All the cuts were so long, normally I kept them short because it was safer and easier to lie in a pinch. I didn’t care though. I just wanted it to stop. I saw my back. I counted them, over ten.. I put the glass in and watched it this time md then another and another. I sat back downand kept going. Finally I stopped out of exhaustion. I looked one more time to make sure I hadn’t done any too deap. I didn’t want a scar after all. No of them were bad maybe a mark for a little while but it would be gone before anyone would be able to see. I was slow about my work.
Methodical. I pushed into my skin until I felt the pinch of the skin breaking. I carefully pulled it across, sometimes pushing harder because I could. When that was done I would go back and trace over it. I made it perfect, it may have been a flaw on my skin but it was perfect in my eyes. I had sacrificed to make it peerfect. Now I see how sadistic that is but at that point it’s what I wanted. I counted them when i was done. 24, all long. They stretched far across my back. In a way it was my magnom opus. I didnt just see a little but of the pain I felt. I saw it. I reveled in the fact that if any one saw my back they would know I was crying out for help. They would come to me and say You don’t have to be strong any more. You can tell me whats happened. I won’t judge you. I won’t tell. I’m here for you no matter what.

The next day I could feel them with every movement I made. I stretched my arms and felt one of the open up. I yanked my arms back in pain. A girl asked what was wrong and I said nothing like always.

I didn’t know it then but you were exactly what I was looking for. You we’re the person who would hold me as I cried and say everything would be ok. You were the one who talked me down on late nights when you should have been asleep. It was always you. I believe in God because I met you. There’s no way it’s a coincidence that the exact person I need to pull me out of hell became my best friend at the time when I was going into my darkest days.

I don’t think you’ll see this but if you do I’m sorry. After all this is a letter I’ll never send. If you don’t? I’m still sorry

You’re still my best friend today and you always will be. I loved you then. Im in love with you now. I’m sorry it took me so much longer to realize that you didn’t belong in the friend zone. I’m so stupid for wasting time. I love you.

Love,
B