I hate that I know how much I weighed in almost every single picture I've taken of myself or that someone else has taken.
I hate that I let myself get upset about things that shouldn't matter, like not fitting into those shorts that fit me last September.
I hate that I feel so disconnected from everyone at camp. I used to consider myself a pretty social person here, but now I feel like an outsider. Like no matter how hard I try I just don't fit it anymore. I hate that I still have all these voices in my head. I wish I could explain these feelings. I feel so guilty every time I think about Eleanor, which is most of the time. I'm not trying to ignore her, I swear. I just don't know what to do. I mean yeah I want more than anything to go back to how we were but what if that's just not possible? For a while it felt like she was always upset and I couldn't figure out why and she didn't want to tell me. Was I supposed to know? No. I wasn't. It's not my fault. I know it's not, not completely anyway. It was too fast, all of it. I wish I'd realized I wasn't ready for it. I wish I'd known a lot of things. And I wish I knew what to do now. We can't be friends but we can't date and that's all she wants, is to be together, and I can't. I just can't. I love you but it's too much, feeling like I'm solely responsible for another person's wellbeing. And don't say that's not what was going on because you know it was. I could tell the second I saw you. No offense, but you were a mess, looking like you hadn't slept in weeks. Still beautiful. But clearly not okay. And I know loss does that to a person—I've experienced it many times. But I can't be the one to fix it. Do you understand what I'm saying? I have my own shit to deal with. A lot of it. I'm sorry if it sounds selfish but I've spent so much of my life trying to solve other people's problems and I can't do that anymore. Eighty percent. That's how many people with BPD try to take their lives. Do you understand how many that is? They're not just numbers; they're real people. People who are hurting so much that they just want it all to stop. Do you know how hard I'm fighting every single day not to contribute to that statistic? Do you have any idea how many times I've wanted to give up? I'm not giving up on myself. I'm not going to put my family through that. If I have to give up on you so that I don't give up on myself, well, then I will.
