Please try not to love me

Summary:

Sometimes people wear a mask; they always do. Sometimes a few of them are pretending; and they need someone who is willed to look behind. Callie & Arizona.

Authors Note:

I know some of you would like to read something happier, but it's a topic that's capturing my mind and so I start to think about writing this.

I also thought about people who are pretending all the time, just because they don't want someone else to know what's going on. I often saw and did that. Not everything that seems golden is golden and we should be more interested in other people who might need our help…

And of course there's the feeling of loosing something and feeling guilty, being captured of painful memories and feelings.

I don't want you to be sad after reading this… but it's somehow necessary to write it and of course you should never forget that there's hope. For everyone.

This is Arizona's POV.

All my best wishes to you…

-Sun

Chapter 1

"Self-harm (SH), also referred to as self-injury (SI), self-inflicted violence (SIV) or self-injurious behaviour (SIB), refers to a spectrum of behaviours where demonstrable injury is self-inflicted. The term self-mutilation is also sometimes used, although this phrase evokes connotations that some find worrisome, inaccurate, or offensive. Many self-harmers are very self-conscious of their wounds and scars and feel guilty about their behaviour leading them to go to great lengths to conceal their behaviour from others. They may offer alternative explanations for their injuries, or conceal their scars with clothing. Self-harm in such individuals is not associated with suicidal or para-suicidal behaviour. A person who self-harms is not usually seeking to end their own life; it has been suggested instead that they are using self-harm as a coping mechanism to relieve emotional pain or discomfort. Studies of individuals with developmental disabilities (such as mental retardation) have shown self-harm being dependent on environmental factors such as obtaining attention or escape from demands. Though this is not always the case, some individuals suffer from dissociation and they harbour a desire to feel real and/or to fit in to society's rules."

Very often people talk or write about things they don't really know something about. Very often they never experienced the things they are talking about, but they talk like they really know.

I don't lie. With this I can't lie.

I know what I'm talking about, because I did it.

And…I still do it.

It's like an addiction.

People who are addicted to drugs need a shot regularly.

They need their drugs; they need the pusher who gives the drugs to them.

They need a dose; they need the feeling of unconsciousness, happiness.

I guess… I need the pain.

It started a long time ago. I guess I first did it when I was able to feel, and I realized that everything wasn't really worth fighting for, because each time I was fighting for something it wasn't worth it in the end. There were loneliness, anger, guilt feelings and a lot of pain and sorrow instead.

T

here were wounds on my body and my soul.

And today there are burning wounds again, because I couldn't help myself. I couldn't think about anything else and so I spent the night in another life. In the past.

I almost scream out loud when the hot head of the matchstick is pressed down on my soft skin right beneath other wounds.

Fresh and old wounds, telling you the story of my life. It's a book written on my creamy skin.

People often say you hurt yourself, because you want to die or you scream out loud for help.

But like I said… They don't know.

In my case I do it, because I try to find a balance between the sorrow of my soul and the pain of my body. I'm not screaming for help, because I don't want help.

I know I'm better off alone. I do this, over and over again, because I feel like I deserve it. I feel like I'm no good.

Friends told me I should stop it, after they saw my wounds, but they don't know how it feels…They don't know what it means to hear those voices, what it means to feel like that.

Oh god… I wish this would be over. I wish I wouldn't have to pretend. I wish there would be something else to make me feel better. But here I am, feeling my skin burnt.

And Oh yeah, first it feels good, like a release, like I deserved it, like I'm really on drugs.

But when I did it I feel guilty, I cry more than before, because I realize I wasn't strong enough.

I never am.

If people knew, they would ask me why I do it. But they wouldn't understand.

Once a nurse asked me how I was able to be happy and perky like that when I was working with small children, when I had to see children die. I told her I have my way to cope with it and I really do have. Well, I'm good in pretending. I always have been.

In high school they told me it was magical how happy I am and every time I was entering a room I had the talent to make people smile and laugh. I can't deny it, because it was the truth. But no one of them was really able to see behind my mask. No one of them was able to see the wounds I was carrying with me. They never realized that I was walking bent, because of the weight I had to carry. No one of them saw the smiles and the laughter I faked.

But I never pretended and faked love and passion and I guess that was my biggest problem. My problem was that I always trusted human beings over and over again. I was mistaken by hoping there would be never ending love. I was mistaken by believing in all of those things, by falling deeper than every one else. I guess I was too naïve. And I ask myself if it has been my entire fault. It has, hasn't it?

When I'm waking up in the middle of the night I start to cry again.

The day has been hard, at work and at home.

A children died I cared for very much, she just died without any warning and I can't bare the thought that I could have saved her. I should have been able to do anything. Something.

But there was nothing I could do. Nothing.

After she died I left the hospital, because I couldn't stand there anymore, feeling like that and I already had a 48 hours shift.

When I came home, throwing my jacket onto the ground, already crying, I noticed which date it was.

I noticed that it has been 1 year since I lost everything that was important to me. I lost the friends I had my whole life and I lost my love. That's when the feeling started again.

That's when I wasn't strong enough.

When I drift off to sleep again, trying to forget what's capturing my mind for so long, the nightmares are starting.

It'scary.

It really scares the shit out of me when I'm feeling this crazy feeling again. I knew I should call someone, I knew I shouldn't have to fight this on my own, but somehow I want to be strong enough on my own and there's only way to fight this upcoming feeling: I leave the walls that capturing me; I leave all of this behind and I go out.

Since she betrayed me I live phone number to phone number and I'm trying not to get addicted to someone again. I ask them not to love me and that's how I survive.

Yeah, at least I try to keep the far away. I'm too scared to let them near me and when it happens that I trust again I can't shake the thought of the things that happened.

And I hate it. I hate myself for doing and feeling like this.

And so I'm sitting there for an hour, pouring a drink while I talk to a nurse that works with me in the peds. I'm laughing with her, 'cause she's really funny and I think of spending the night with her. I need someone to forget.

But when I'm looking up I see a girl, which captured my mind. But not in a good way.

It's never good when I feel attracted to someone.

Nevertheless I watch her. I watch her talking to one of the young doctors.

I watch her standing up, my eyes are following hers and I see something no one sees except of me. I know those silent messengers oh so well.

I know… Maybe I shouldn't, because I know to what this is leading, but I follow her into the bathroom. I can't see her cry. I don't want her to cry, and feel like I do each night I'm going to sleep.

It's the reason why I enter the dirty bathroom, my mind filled with her face.

She's a crying beauty.

2 Author's Note:

It's not much, but it's a beginning. Just tell me what you think and if I should continue with this. If it's too much, tell me. Reviews (good or bad ones) are appreciated!