Selfish

Tell me you want to die.

Tell me you want to die and I'm torn.

Because you know and I know you've said this a thousand times before.

And I know you are serious. Because I know, we all know, I think, at some point. What it's like to want to just to end. To stop.

But how can I know how serious you are.

When you've said it a thousand times before.

How can I know that tomorrow when I wake up, you wont. When last week, when you said the exact same, you did.

How do I know? How can I predict the future? How can I save you?

Tell me, please.

Tell me how to make you promise at the very least that you wont leave me.

Because in the selfish, darkest, deepest regresses of my mind. I know that no matter how lost I am, I am somehow surviving, and I could do that without you.

 

It can be like a flash. The urge to kill myself. An intrusive thought. I think that's what they call it. 

Or it can be a long standing thought, burning within me, a small idea, and the more I feel nothing, the stronger it grows.

But I don't know what it is like for you. 

I can never know what it is like for you.

Unless you tell me.

 

And the truth is, I don't know if I want you to tell me.

I don't know if I am strong enough to cope with the reality of you facing such an all consuming problem that I can't fix. That I am not enough to fix.

I am not enough.

 

But that is selfish. Again. I am nothing but selfish.

Because whether I can cope with your reality, should not control whether you let me in. It does not control the fact you are there. And I do not want you to be there alone. 

So tell me.

Tell me the problems I can not fix.

 

Tell me how last week you took so many tablets that medically you should not be here. And how that was your plan.

Or how yesterday, you took the razor I lost a month ago, and pushed it deep into your skin more times than you can count. And how it didn't hurt, how it never hurts anymore. How it felt good?

Or how every time you shower, you put the heat high enough to turn that shade of pink, that is almost that shade of red you love so much, that you miss? But the effects will disappear quicker and so there is no risk of you being caught. So this is safer, though aggravatingly less permanent.

 

Tell it me.

Tell it me all. 

I can not take the pain from you.

I would if I could, but I can't.

 

But maybe, just maybe.

If you tell me how you wish you weren't here anymore, explain it to me.

I can show you how I've felt the same, for longer than I can care to remember.

 

And maybe together, together. We can find a way to cope.

Maybe you cannot live for yourself anymore. But maybe we can live for each other. 

Maybe.... 

Maybe....

Maybe....

 

There is no maybe.

Not with how selfish what I'm asking of you is.

But if my selfish need to have you here, can keep you here, I'll do it.

And if my selfishness can be wrapped up in some misconception that I'm doing it for you, well that's even better, isn't it?

 

I can save you,

Maybe.

And you being alive,

Will save me.

 

I am beyond selfish.

And you can't even see it. 

But as long as you're here.

I do not care.

I will be selfish.