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Chapter 2 Please Don't Say You Love Me

May 1

I cut myself again today to see if it would hurt. It hurt a little, but I'm not sure if it was enough pain. It felt like a prick when it should have hurt more. It bled like crazy, I watched as the blood poured out of me. The cut didn't seem that deep to for the amount of blood that came out. It took forever to stop bleeding, but it finally stopped. Why can't I stop cutting my arm? I lie awake at night just starting at the wounds wondering when it will begin to hurt. I just can't stop staring at the wounds. Why can't I peel my eyes away from it?

As you can see my life hasn't gotten any better since the last time you heard from me. Shawn's words are still echoing through my mind, "I love you." His eyes full of love when he said those three awful words haunt me more than the knife that lies on my desk taunting me. I do not blame Shawn for loving me; I blame me for him loving me. I failed him. He couldn't possibly love me. He doesn't even know me, he loves that person in his mind but she's not me. I'm too terrible for words, I am unworthy of love. I am unlovable, now he needs to realize that so life can continue as normal. Well normal as it can be when you are abnormal. Hey I take psychology classes, I know that what I am doing, what I am not normal. Normal people do not fear love and all things sharp and pointy.

The bleeding finally stopped and my arm is securely wrapped up. It will probably scar, like I care. Now I will just carry my scars on the outside as well as the inside. I change into my pajamas and throw away the bloody gauze. Tomorrow will be a better day, it has to be. I will find a way to push away Shawn Brady. It is what I do best, making people go away; I've perfected it into an art form. I stare at my bandages as I wait to fall asleep, "Please God," I beg, "please bring me pain." Sometimes you don't really know what you're asking for until it's too late.

The next day…

The stupid alarm clock woke me up again, why did I have to wake up? I hate every morning I wake up more and more. The day I don't wake up will be a better place for everyone. I was not meant for this world. I am the nightmare that we need to wake up from. Yes, I said we, because I need to wake up as well. Part of me still thinks I'm real that I do exist, but it should be crushed soon don't worry about that.

Today is Monday; I usually love Mondays because I get to see Shawn. I've never met anyone like Shawn before; he's so pure and innocent. There are times when he looks at me I feel like he's looking right through me. But I don't belong in his world, nor do I deserve to be loved by him. I am unworthy of all love starting with God and ending with His people. Shawn's too good of a person. I'm poison, I'll poison his goodness. I'll drive him to hate me and he'll runaway. That's how it should be, that's how it is meant to be, "Please God," I beg, "make him hate me."

I'm sitting in the office again, like my Monday morning routine, sleeve rolled up and my finger is grazing across my skin. My once smooth skin is now rough with scabs. Shawn walks in and I quickly cover my arm and go on pretending to read my textbook I had pulled out earlier. Neither one of us talk as he pulls out his textbook and begins to read it. I look over at him a few times and see him reading something. I can't take it anymore, I'm about to explode with the anger of his betrayal boiling in my blood. How dare he love me! Does he not know the rules! "Take it back," I tell him in my best angry voice.

"Take what back?" he said innocently. Innocent my ass, he knows what I am talking about.

"Take it back!" I insist.

"I can't," he said, "I cannot tell a lie. Well I can, but I'm not going to."

Now he's really making me angry, "Take it back now," I demand, "it's not true, it cannot be true. You cannot love me so take it back."

"I love you," Shawn said with determination.

"You can't," I tell him, "I am completely and utterly unlovable. That is the truth, so take it back!"

"I won't even begin to tell you how messed up that statement is," Shawn said, "and how wrong it is!"

"It isn't wrong!" I practically scream at him, "It's the truth!"

"For the simple fact that I love you says that is wrong," Shawn said, "and I'm not the only one who loves you."

"Take it back," I said with more persistence, "You do not know me; if you knew me you wouldn't be saying that."

"I know you well enough to love," Shawn said, "I know myself and I know how I feel. I love you Mimi, why can't you accept that?"

"I have some form of depression and suicide tendencies," I tell him, "still love me?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation.

"I am mentally ill," I continue without even thinking. The only thing that is processing is to do anything to get him to stop loving me. Even if that means telling him the ugly truth that is Miriam Lockhart, "That means I am a coo-coo. I am crazy, psychotic. Still think you can love me?"

"I still love you," he said.

"I've tried to kill myself three times already," I tell him smugly, "I've been in the mental hospital because my parents walked in on my suicide attempt. Still think you can love me."

"I love you," he said, "Nothing you can say will make me love you less, only more."

"How about this," I showed him my arm that was covered in cuts from my wrist to my elbow, "I'm defacing the temple of God, you must despise me now!" I didn't even think about what I did until I saw the way his eyes got bigger then smaller. His face looked like he was in pain, like he was hurt.

"Oh no," he said inhaling deeply.

At first I was going to yell at myself for breaking my promise to myself to not tell anyone; but when I saw his face it made me think that this was the best move I could have made. I broke him, he doesn't love me anymore. Then he continued.

"Now I'm hurting because you're hurting," he said, he saw me about to open his mouth so he raised his voice a little louder, "I'm hurting because you're hurting yourself."

"That makes no sense!" I said dumbfounded, "This didn't hurt," I pointed to the cuts, "so you cannot be hurting."

"Yes, I'm hurting because I love you Mimi," he said with sincere concern and love in his voice as he reached over and grabbed my hands, "and you're hurting because you're hurting yourself."

"This DID NOT hurt," I told him again, pulling away my hands like he was on fire, "I'm completely numb, so you can't be hurting."

"When you love someone and they are hurting you are hurting too because you love them," he told me, "I love you Mimi and you're hurting whether you feel it or not. You're wounds mean you're hurting."

The tears are escaping my eyes faster than I can hide them or wipe them away. I bury my head in my hands. This is quickly becoming a disaster. What a mess I have made of things. Why did I do that? Why did I show him my cuts? He was supposed to hate me for it, not love me! I felt two arms wrap around me and a hand gently guide my head to his shoulder. I can feel his hand rub my back as he comforts me. "Please don't say that you love me," I said between my tears, "you can't love me."

I feel Shawn hold me closer as he said, "I love you."

"Why?"

"Because I do," he replied.

"I have to go," I said running out of the office as fast as my legs can carry me, leaving my belongings behind to make my great escape faster. I can come back for them later. Right now I have to runaway from him and I know he's letting me go. If he wanted to catch me he could, he's faster than me. But he's letting me go, giving me my space.

Later that night when I get home the first thing I do is go to the kitchen and grab a knife. I bring it back to my bedroom and close the door. This time it's not to try and feel the pain, this time I am punishing myself for being so stupid. For letting him love me, for showing him my cuts, and lastly for not getting him to stop loving me. I need to punish myself for these failures, I tell myself as I continue to add more cuts to my collection. But the worst part is these cuts didn't hurt me either.