Sometimes I think that Dan thinks that, if he could keep me with him all the time, 24/7, I wouldn't do anything to hurt myself. That he wishes he could look after me and make sure that I'm ok, because he knows I do better around him. I sleep better. I eat properly. I don't cut myself (usually). I smile more. When I'm with him, even when I'm down, I'm almost ok.
I can feel myself slipping again, and it hurts. Dan's scared. Last night, he asked me if we were still going to Paris, and I said that of course we were. And then he broke down.
'Well, that's not enough, is it? I've got you until the seventeenth - and then what?' And all I could do was hear him cry down the phone.
He doesn't want to lose me.
I'm scared. I don't want him to be the one who finds me when I'm dead. I don't want to put him through that. But then, I don't want to put anyone else through that either.
Right now, I can't do it. I can't be the girl who's wasted her teens and has never accomplished anything and is just never going to be good enough. I don't want to be that girl. I can't let myself, and that's why going on is so fucking hard.
I'm going to call my GP tomorrow and arrange an appointment and, if he says it's nothing serious, that it's a non-issue, I don't know what I'll do. I need help. And I need someone to acknowledge that, not tell me that I'll 'grow out of it' or that it's 'not that serious' or that 'you'll be fine in a week'.