Your name is Dave Strider, and you have made a terrible mistake.
You should have seen the signs- you knew what this shit felt like.
You're and idiot for not seeing it.
After living with the self-same symptoms for years, how could you not notice that the love of your life, John Egbert was hurting so deeply.
Your hindsight is of course, 20/20. You can clearly see the signs in your memories and it cuts deep that you had been so stupid. You should have noticed when he stopped wearing short sleeves. When he wouldn't roll up his sleeves at all, really. When he flinched if someone touched his arms. When he looked so, so guilty and pained if his sleeves rode up his arm. The way he looked around when that happened.
You, David Strider, just walked in on your boyfriend with a kitchen knife at his wrist and tears in his eyes.
Your name is John Egbert, and you don't know what has happened to your life.
Just a month ago, you had the perfect life- stellar GPA, good friends, a good house, people who loved you for you, a boyfriend. And you still have those things. But you're slipping. Sometimes you wish they would notice, but you don't think you really want them to. It hurts, keeping this from them, but it's for the best. You don't want them to hurt along with you. So you stop going out as much, making excuses to stay home and hate yourself. Your grades slip- not much, but they do. You just can't concentrate as well in class and what's the use of doing homework if you're a total screwup anyways? You start hurting yourself- just little things, digging your nails into your thighs as you browse the web, tearing your hair out, biting your lip, but it escalates quickly. You begin scratching at your wrists. You begin chewing your bottom lip ragged. You begin drawing the blade across your skin, and it feels good. It feels right.
But it also feels so wrong.
Everything is going peachy fucking keen until Dave finds you on the bathroom floor with the knife in your hands and the blade drawn across your own skin.
You are now Dave again.
And you are more scared than you have ever been in your entire life. You're not sure how to handle this situation without hurting one of you.
You kneel down beside him, touch his face, his hair, his arm.
He sobs. The knife clatters to the floor and he sobs. You gather him into your arms, offering the measly comfort of another human being, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. His sobs slow, and you can make out gasps of "I'm so so sorry Dave" between them. You simply sit there and hold him until he's calm, or at least as calm as he can be.
You are now John, and you have never been more shocked in your life.
You thought he would react in disgust. He should; you're disgusting.
You thought he would shun you. He should; you're not worthy of him.
You never expected him to understand.
Dave, your rock through all this, understood. You were so relieved.
And for that, you were eternally grateful.