You said

I'm sorry, dude.

"I want to die, you know I want to." I typed on my phone, and clicked send.

"You don't have to do this. Please." He replied.

"I don't know how much I can take this."

"Just.. please don't."

Tears pouring unto the screen, my hand shakes as I pull out the knife on the counter, unsure but was ready to stab myself.

That was in 5th grade. I was suicidal. I would often cut myself to get reactions from my classmates, a cry for help. I'm in 10th grade now, that means high school I guess.

Some say I'm better now, that I'm doing well. I guess I am. I haven't cut myself in a long time, and so I've only bruised myself. It's much easier to say that I hit something.

My depression has gotten worse. I know that I won't try and kill myself. I've called for help, visited a psychiatrist. They gave me meds and I was off, never saw them again. Probably because we can't afford it.

Grandma says depression isn't a real illness, I believed her for awhile.

I've gotten good at pretending, at least I hope I am. My dad knows, I trust him.

Back to 5th grade. I was doing a lot of attention seeking back then, maybe even now. I'm scared I'll be back to that state. I don't know if I can keep this up.

My thoughts are often violent. I don't like them of course. They're what you call 'intrusive thoughts.'

I don't know why I mentioned that, but I guess it might be important.

The conversation you read, it was exaggerated and romanticized. It was my 'boyfriend' and me at the time. We were at 5th grade. I was experiencing a lot of intense emotions, wanting to die, killing myself, self-loathe.

The messages were more childish, it didn't have a dramatic tone. Both of us would use anime-otaku lingo, it was silly.

At the time, I wasn't a great person. I think the 'relationship' was a mistake, heck, we were 11 year olds. What would we know? We thought we could make big decisions. It was funny.

What am I even writing, am I seriously writing on how my partner in 5th grade got me out of trying to kill myself? Have I not moved on from him? I don't fucking know. All I know is that my brain keeps trying to convey that I should go to him, talk to him, tell him all my problems because that's what I did whenever I had bad episodes of depression.

But I don't want to do that. That's not his responsibility and he's not the person I once knew before.

My mom was okay. She was also traumatized. Based on what I hear from her childhood, she's been through some things, which means she passed it on to me. Some of it. I don't know, everyone keeps telling me to give her a break. It feels like a punch in the gut since, they're not me. They did not experience the same things as me. They did not have to deal with my mom. I was the one she was with the most. Clearly not the same, and I will not tolerate anyone telling I should feel this and that.

I wasn't safe, and I thought I was. I had to tip-toe around mom a lot because I knew one wrong move and she'll snap.

School was better, I get a lot of attention in school, negative or positive. I inflicted pain on others, which I know isn't justified. My classmates did nothing wrong, but I thought everything they say is directed to me, I was in defensive mode all the time, and of course, not their responsibility to adjust to me.

I'm not trying to make myself redeemable, I am only writing what I felt during those times. Do not feel sorry for me if you read this, I was a horrible person and I made horrible decisions. I will remind you though that I was a kid, and this is not me telling you to feel empathy for me. What I'm telling you is that kids know what the fuck they're doing. I sure did. I do not want to make excuses for myself at this age because I still think I'm horrible after all these years, no apologies can match what I did 4 years ago.

What does my 'boyfriend' have to do with all of this?

Back then he was the only one who I could confide to, and maybe all of my classmates in the group-chats that we were in. Like I said, I wanted attention whether good or not.

I'd tell him things, I wanted to die, my dreams, and my hopes, how we were going to get married somehow. I know, talking big for someone who's still in 5th grade.

This is not however, a love story. We were 5th graders, a time where we thought we knew everything.

Years go by, a lot of things have happened, I'm turning 16. By the time I am writing this I'm 15 years old. Why am I writing about my middle-school relationship?

It's because my brain created this romanticization of him, he is now part of my subconscious. I am over him, he is over me. We're not together because that's dumb. Middle-school relationships are merely just us thinking we would go far.

But. He's still here. On my mind, on my dreams, on my thoughts. I can't stop it, it's almost like an obsession. I don't like him anymore, I really don't. I don't even know how he looks like anymore. We are strangers and yet I have a replica of his old image on my mind.

I had a dream today, July 28, 2021. It's an average dream. Weird things, there's this sub-plot of a father wanting to find his daughter that was trapped on this, internet-video game thing, yeah the usual weird thing.

But towards the end of the dream, he was there. I don't want to name him, maybe I will at some point, he's merely my imagination, a replica, a concept that I believed, a mere romanticization of a stupid past lover, all because he prevented my suicide attempt at 5th grade.

We were talking like friends, I was fidgety, I obviously didn't want him there and was flustered. He reminded me that he doesn't like his old interest anymore, an anime we once shared a love for, and some other things that I've forgotten.

He joked and I laughed. It was comforting.

That was scary.

He's not like this, we're not friends, and I have no feelings for him. I was scared because I was falling for my version of him.

I woke up, thought it was a nice dream, then here comes the dread. An overwhelming feeling of dread as I realize that he's in my dreams again.

You might be saying that I must think about him a lot if he's always in my dreams. Fucking no. I hate that he's still here, I hate that I think he's the one who saved me, when he's merely a shell and an imagination of my fucking head.

I hope to fucking satan he never reads this, but if you do, please don't think that I'm in love with you. I can't fall in love with you anymore because I don't fucking know you like that. You're in a different path in life and I commend you for that.

This is just me being obsessed with the idea of being saved, and unfortunately, my brain manifested you. A version of you that does not exist. A version that will never exist because you are not perfect. That's not supposed to be an insult, but Carl I really appreciated that you took the time to listen to me all those years ago. I'm still ridden of guilt and shame because of what I did and I'm still afraid. I hope you never ever discover this but if you do, I'm sorry that my brain has chosen you to be my pseudo guardian.

That felt good. Writing this has let me feel what I've been hiding and what has been tormenting me. It's not the biggest problem I have, but it really felt like I've lost myself thinking about this and what it means. It means nothing. The Carl in my head is nobody. He's not here, and he's not my friend. He's a replica, a perfect version in my head. He is not Carl.