I love myself when I’m with you. Each day I wake up and think of you, and I know why I’m here. I know why I’m fighting each day when everything feels hopeless. I know what the point is, and that scares me. It scares me how much I love myself when I’m with you, because what will happen when you’re gone? Will I struggle to get out of bed? Will I struggle to exist in a way that looks normal to others? Will I be OK without you around?
It kills me, Shay. It kills me how I break down, how I crumble under the smallest ounce of pressure. It kills me that I snap so easily and have all this rage inside of me that I’m not sure how to control. It kills me that I hurt you.
I hate me for hurting you.
You are the realest thing in my life, and I had to push you away because I don’t think I’m what you need. What you deserve.
When I was younger, I thought about ending my life. I don’t know if you recall, but I went through a pretty ugly-duckling season. In sixth grade, I was bullied pretty badly, and I would come home crying every night. My mom was so worried about me, which was why she quit her traveling job in order to be home with me. The bullying was bad, though, and I didn’t know how to deal with my thoughts and emotions in an appropriate way. Everything felt so wild and intense in my head that I’d get panic attacks.
That was the first time I hurt myself.
That was the first time I told my mom I thought about ending my life.
It never really got easier; I just got stronger. Physically, at least. Emotionally and mentally, I was still a wreck. Working out became my outlet, and my parents got me on some antidepressant medications. They work a little. Not as much as I would like, but thankfully I don’t have those urges to hurt myself anymore.
I picked up drinking and drugs to quiet my mind a little more. I tried to push the bad thoughts so far down that I’d almost forget they were there. It worked until it didn’t. Then after losing Lance to an overdose, I knew I couldn’t keep down that line. Even though I loved my uncle, I didn’t want to end up like his story. I didn’t want to follow his path.
I went cold turkey, and then came you.
You threw me for a loop. You brought light into a world that I thought would always be encompassed by shadows. Youmade me wish and hope and dream of a future I never really thought about.
I don’t want to die, Shay.
For the first time in my life, I want to live. I want to find a way to feel alive on my own. The way I feel when I’m around you is how I want to feel when I am alone. I want to sit in the darkness and be OK with the sound of my own heartbeats. I want to not struggle to get out of bed. I want to be OK with being by myself.
And then, I want to have you.
I want all of you, Shay, but not like this.
I want to get my mind right first, fix myself, so I can be yours.
So this is my formal letter to let you know that I’m working to never be fake again.
I won’t fake being popular.
I won’t fake loving parties.
I won’t fake being content with life.
I won’t fake fitting in.
It will be real. I’ll be real first for me and then for you.
I’m going to get help. I want to get better. I want this life more than I ever thought I could, and that’s because of you. You awakened me from so many nightmares, and for that, I owe you the world. When I’m better, I’ll find you. I promise.
I love you.
—Landon.
P.S.
I love you.
I said it once so you’d hear me.
Twice to leave an imprint.
I sat back on the couch, feeling a rush of emotions racing through me. Yet the one that stood out the most was the fact that he said he was going to get help. That alone made me cry. It took a strong man to admit to needing a hand.