Help

Our bathroom is a cold dark place, only suitable for the minutes it takes to get you ready. It is like an asylum even adapted with bloody curtains. And I remember the day we moved in you had told me how you hated this room. You said that it would become your hell, and it was your hell. You would come in here to cry, scream, and bleed. And as your days became harder it became your second home, the home that I wasn't allowed in. But you still loved it; you made it full of your art, like most things in your life.

Standing here today I see why you didn't let me in. There was dent's in the wall from your anger. Pieces of the ceiling were missing; you would jump off the sink in attempt to stop them, always them. The voices and you never could. All you got was a trip to the hospital, an arm cast, and a new pill. The doctors would tell me to check you in, but I couldn't. You were already broken all they would succeed at doing is gluing the piece on wrong.

Sadly we were both waiting for this day. Because it would prove the doctors right, and show us that we messed up. We always mess up. But as you said "You need to destroy what you love," You would have finished with what you meant but there wasn't time, your pills had completely worn off at this point. Making you get lost in your head. You were gone for days after that, only finding peace in the comfort of sleep, peaceful sleep.

And I find it funny; you choose our bed to die. You had always told me that if you were to kill yourself, you would go to the sea and let the waves take you. Let your body mix with the blue waters, splitting at the seams and making life. There was just a beauty in it, although I could never see it. I have always hated the sea. And you had said the only thing that could ever change your plans is if you found something you loved more. Was I it? Your arm are spread out to my side of the bed.

And as I turned to your make-up table I noticed you last message. It was written into powder, with your lipstick right above it. Your handwriting so perfect, and knowing you this probably took your forever because everything had to be perfect for me. And it was so common for me to find these messages because this was how we spoke. It was the only way we could when you were in psychosis. The powder meant your pills weren't working and the lipstick meant that they were here and you weren't. So in other words it meant that you were too far gone. You finally gave up, didn’t you?

God we shouldn't have ended like this, but it was the only way. I just want to hold your hand again, to make you smile. I can’t. Why can’t I? What did they do? Why are they still here? Just get them to stop. Just leave me alone. What? No I am not living anymore. Just get away from me. No I don’t care, why are you not here with me?

“But I am here, come on I like this place,” Dove said as she grabbed my hand pulling me up. “I don’t need help anymore.”