Thanks for the wonderful night =) well before you had to have your mom pick you up since you locked your keys in your car =P
Anyway, while we lied in bed together, naked under the covers, you brought up this story of a kid who killed himself. How this kid flipped out and killed himself, but I didn’t hear you say why. And why didn’t I hear? Because I was having flashbacks.
I wish I could tell you, but I just can’t. I wish I could tell you what happened to me 3 years ago, but I can’t. I can’t bring myself to tell you how I attempted suicide October 30, 2007. I just can’t.
As you finished the story, I was quiet. Thinking back to that night where I swallowed all those pills. How I woke up at 4am with a horrible stomach pain, that’s unimaginable. Thinking of how I spent a week in a psychiatric hospital because of it.
You asked, “Are you ok?” I was quiet. You turn me around, and I give you a blank stare. You say “____ what’s wrong?”
“Suicide is a sensitive topic for me,” I mumble.
“____, you know you can talk to me about anything.”
Yeah I know I can, but it’s way too soon in our relationship to tell you something THAT personal to me. I can’t tell you how I used to cut myself 3 times a week, how I was so emotionally unstable that nothing could fix me.
I’m pretty sure you’ve seen my scars on my arm, I mean it’s like 80 degrees out, and I’m not gonna wear long sleeve. And they’re so obvious.
But when I do tell you what happened, don’t judge. No one ever judges me on that, they can’t because they’re just in shock and disbelief.