“I love you, but I want to die.”
It’s something I have said inside my head, but never to you. Because how could I love you, if I want to die?
You have heard me say I want to die, but never the “I love you, but.” Because it would hurt you too much; because it doesn’t mean what it sounds like…
Can you imagine a pain so great that even love could not conquer it? This pain is not just torment, but torture. How to escape it?
I look into your eyes and wish that I did not exist.
Despite my love for you, despite your love for me, life has become too much to bear. The world has become too much.
You have told me that I should not feel guilty—that I am not in control of these thoughts, that I do not mean them, that they are not really mine. But how can I not feel guilty about wanting to leave you? Rather, wanting to leave this world that you are in. Making you live without me.
How unfair of me it would be to leave you alone, in the worst way possible. You love me; you need me—you have said so yourself.
I don’t understand it. But I can’t stop my thoughts before they happen; how I wish that I could. Would that be real love, never to think those things? Or is real love just staying alive? Just living one more day with you—for you. Because I can no longer live for myself.
What if I told you that I am already showing you my love? That my still being here proves it. Without you, I probably wouldn’t be.
With you, I can speak new words:
“I want to die, but I love you.”
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