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Before I met you, I didn't see a point.
Every day, always the same. Lay awake for hours thinking about what could be, what had been before everything. Sleep fitfully, unable to relax. Rise in the early hours of the morning for another miserable day. Day in, day out.
Trudging through halls, keeping a smile on my face even when all I wanted was to curl up in a corner and die.
And in those days, it was hospital after hospital. Needles and IV's, countless amounts of tests that told me that there was nothing wrong with me. Orange prescription bottles beside my bed and at the table with names I couldn't pronounce. Each one making not a single difference. And when I got sad because of the pills, they put me on more.
Kind words from people I barely knew, and glances at me when they thought I wouldn't notice. My friends, the old ones, cared just enough to stick around during my most painful hours. But I suppose it wasn't enough. I wasn't enough. Eventually, as all things do, they drifted away. A fateful night that was supposed to be fun. A bonfire in the parking lot, a softball game in the gym. All I'd wanted was to eat. How selfish of me. I don't remember much of that night, nor the days after that. I do, however, remember the lack of concern when I lay on the ground, feeling like my ribs were crushing my lungs, barely able to breathe as my body refused to listen to me. The feeling of my heart beating so fast all I could see was flashes of light and the green of the grass beside my head. The impact of a shoe in my stomach as my "friend" told me to get over it. My first panic attack in the middle of the school yard, the person I trusted with my secrets standing over me, yelling at me as people around took pictures and whispered about me. The only reason I didn't leave that night was because my dad found me on the ground, and he held me until I came back from that dark pit inside myself.
Then, it was just me and the person who had been my closest friend for nearly my whole life. He was understanding and patient. He was also hilariously naive. But I suppose, I was too. It started small, before the panic attack. Our trip to DC. Something small between us. But was it ever mutual? I think about it sometimes. I think about the events leading up to when it happened a lot. Reminisce about what I could've done differently to prevent it from happening. I don't like to remember the details. Even now, when a boy looks at me in the hallway or at the mall or whevever i am, i can feel my skin crawl. I didn't tell anyone because "it could always be worse". That's still true, and I'll always be like that. Then, that same week, whatever trust I still had was dumped. He chose my friend over me. Claimed it was an accident. That incident cost me two friends. My distance afterwards cost me my last.
Eventually, I made a new friend. I found something to look forward to. And then, nearly 2 years later, I found you. Our meeting was purely by coincidence, I think. I remember seeing you over by the wall, away from everyone. I don't know what it was, but I felt like I needed to work with you that day. You were so quiet, and thinking back, I might have been too loud. But I guess that didn't matter much, because after then, you started opening up. Little by little, just awkward flirting and questionable statements from both of us until I couldn't stand it anymore and asked for your number.
That was 8 months ago. I've never been happier. It's true, I still feel the pull of that blade, the same one that created the scars on my arm, on my leg. I've been clean since December last year. I still think about taking my bitter sleeping pills, one too many, if only just to let it all go. But I don't. I won't. Because I have you, my heart. You are my guiding light. You are the hand that holds mine as we walk to a better future together. I'm not thinking about what our future holds, though that's always there in the back of my mind. All I can hope is that our path leads forward, for however long you'll have me.