I’m 17 and I had my first, and so far only, boyfriend when I was 13. He broke up with me when I was 15 and then a few days before my 16th birthday he died. When he broke up with me it was because he started having feelings for a friend of mine. They never snuck around behind my back, they just understood things about each other that I couldn't. They both came from very physically abusive families.
He was the first guy I ever had any real feelings for. I always had crushes on the guys in my school, but after a while they just died out. All him and I ever did was hug and hold hands and even that small amount of physical contact made me feel like my heart was going to burst. Even though we were young (he was a couple years older than me, nothing drastic or inappropriate) I knew I loved him, even if we weren’t in love.
But when he and my friend started dating he shared things with her that he never shared with me and I kept questioning myself. Because they both had abusive families and they never really felt like they could rely on their other friends they came to me with a lot of emotional things. And I was too selfless to turn them away. Essentially I tore myself to pieces because I always compared myself to her and I hate myself. She's tall, has long blonde hair, blue eyes, chestier, and more athletic. I'm just average. Nothing about me is enticing. She's that beautiful diamond encrusted watch that everyone wants and I'm just that brown wooden chair in the corner. Boring and easily forgotten. Neither of them knew that this was how I was feeling.
Well a few months after they started dating, her mom found out and she didn't approve so she made my friend break up with him. Because of the violent environment he grew up in he developed severe depression and schizophrenia. But I didn't judge because I also have mental problems and he made me happy. Things just got harder for him because she just completely cut off all contact with him and it destroyed him. A few days before my sixteenth birthday I got a text from a friend of his saying that he was dead. I knew he killed himself and I keep blaming myself for it.
It's been a year since his death and I still can't completely get it off my mind. And I can’t stop thinking if I had done more he’d still be here today. Some days I will tell myself that I have learned and grown and matured from this, but other days I feel like I'm lying to myself. I haven't self harmed in awhile, but this still gets to me so much so that thoughts of suicide flood my head because I just want to stop hurting and blaming myself.
Every time I feel like I’ve made progress, something happens and it just knocks me back down. I haven't killed myself because I don’t want to hurt and disappoint my family, especially my younger cousin who sees me as a role model. But sometimes I want to cut again, just so I can distract myself from the emotional pain. I just want to get better.
P.S. I know I probably need professional help, but I still live with my parents and cannot yet support myself financially.
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