I love you more than I hate this talk

I’ve had this conversation more times than I ever care to have. It never gets easier and frankly, its sucks, every single time. You may not be, “mine”, so questioning why I feel this obligation to address the situation with you immediately, is valid. The simple answer is, I’m a seasoned veteran on the topic. I've been through the thick of it within my own household, so I feel a sense of responsibility to help where I can by taking on these tough situations to shield others from having to feel the anguish that comes along with helping someone who struggles with self-harm. 

Would it be easier to wait for your parents to be back so they can address the problem? Of course. Would it be easier to let the person who found the trail left behind from your dark moment, talk to you about it? Probably. Easy isn’t a word that fits into this topic and it's not what you need right now.

You need someone to call you out. Someone who loves you too much to look the other way and pretend like they can’t see the fresh marks on your skin. I hate that, "someone", is me. I hate that I can help and that in this situation, I know what to say and what not to say. I hate this conversation and chances are, you hate it too. Despite all this hate, the love I hold for you is stronger. I love you too much to ignore how you chose to handle a dark moment you had behind closed doors.

You had a bad night, and the tiny blades left behind told how you chose to deal with your feelings in that moment. The person that found them, called me for help. They know I’m all too aware of what “propaganda” could look like in the same setting and wanted advice on how to approach you. I couldn’t let them handle this on their own. I can't stand by watching as their heart breaks while they try to find the right words to say to you, knowing they have no experience on the issue or a way to relate. I have a list of things I need to get done, but a familiar emotion I've felt many times before takes over and makes the world around me stop. When something like this pops up, nothing else matters.

I fill you in on what brought us here and ask you what happened to make you slip. As predicted, you tell me you, “don’t know”. I knew this would be your response, but I have to make sure nothing happened to you to make you relapse. It’s okay to not know why you deal with pain this way. I know for you; it's just a way to let go of negative feelings. Regardless, I tell you that I wish you would find another way and that I wish you understood how much your actions hurt those that love you. Your wish is for those same people to understand that this isn’t about them. It's your body, not theirs. You get upset because you don’t want your parents to get light of what's been going on while they are away. You feel being blissfully unaware is best, especially while they can’t be here to help. Your frustration peaks with me when I tell you they already know. I try to explain that I had to tell them, but it falls on deaf ears.

I wish you wouldn’t have done it again. I tell you repeatedly that there has got to be another way. I tell you that if you want to feel physical pain to release those inner feelings, exercise. Run until you collapse. Do cruntches until you can’t move anymore. Hit a punching bag until you can’t lift your arms. Anything else besides marking your beautiful skin.
Try the opposite and be kind to yourself. Meditate, journal, pray, call me. I have ran to be by your side in equally bad situations and at the most undesirable times of the day. I will come to be with you while you rant, cry, or sit in silence. I will take a walk, go for a drive, watch tv, or sit and rot in your bed at 2 a.m. if it keeps you from cutting. I will ask questions, give advice, or stay silent and listen. Whatever you need to get through a rough moment, I got you. 

I have to ask this next question out of necessity. I learned that being blunt in these situations is for the best. So, I ask, “Do you want to kill yourself? Do you want to die?” The words leave my lips disturbingly easy because it’s not the first time I’ve had to say them. The delivery seems cold, but the pain I feel behind them is excruciating. I’m relieved to hear your angry reply of, “No! Why do people ask that? No!”

Suddenly I feel that I need to clarify that I don’t want to be having this conversation. I wish I was doing about a million other things in place of having this discussion with you. This awkward, emotional conversation, in a pickup truck, in the rain, in a grocery store parking lot. You sharply point out that I don’t have to be doing any of this and that you don't want to talk with me either. You raise your voice and emphasize that I didn’t have to pick you up and confront you about this. My voice cracks as I emphatically say, “Yes I do! I have to do this."

I have a brief feeling of worry and sudden awareness that maybe I have fallen short in making sure you know how much I love you. Do I not say or show it as much as I think I do? I can't go another moment without making sure you know:
“I love you so much. Do you not know that? You are a part of my heart, and I love you like you are MINE. So yes, I have to be here, and I want to be here because I love you more than you’ll ever understand.”

I’ve said all I can, and we drive home in silence.

I called your parents and reassured them that you were fine for now. I spoke normally, telling them everything we discussed, then suddenly, I broke. I let out a wail and cry that I had never heard myself make and it shocked me. I apologized repeatedly for not having control over this intense outburst of tearful emotion because I could hear it made them even more upset. They reassured me they understood why. They knew I had this conversation too many times with my own and thanked me for using that pain and experience to help you despite it all.

I’m torn about whether I want you to remember this day or not. The emotional awkwardness of the moment most likely clouds your memory of the positive words I wanted you take away from our conversation. Hopefully overtime those clouds fade and your mind focuses on how I just wanted to help you.

For now, center your mind on this: the trauma I have dealt with, does not mean I can’t be "bothered" with struggles you may be going through. I’ve seen the same pain in my own home, and I choose to learn from it. I want to help others who have the same experiences. I will always come when you ask and sometimes when you don’t. You are never a burden. You will never shock me. You will never do or say anything that could make me think differently of you. You are not mine, but my heart doesn’t know that, and I will always love you too much to ignore your pain.