To my emotional side:
It's alright. You're free to feel everything you want to feel. You're allowed to be hurt. But, let's try to analyze this for a moment.
You know this helps, because you know yourself. How long have you been battling this depression? One third of your life. You had one successful therapist, whom you no longer can afford to see, but who gave you the courage to believe in yourself. Your mind. The very fact that you do know yourself. You had countless others that tried to tell you what was wrong with you, and you knew they were wrong. You were brave enough to say so, to put an end to the nonsense, to say what you needed, and you have gotten better. No, you're not where you wanted to be, but you have gotten better, and you need to have faith in that fact.
You've been having... slips. That's what you call it, right? You've been slipping. You've been hurting yourself. Not badly, but you have. More than they know. More than you've told them. Because you confess to someone else every time you do. As far as everyone knows, and as far as anyone can discuss, you've had a single slip. But that's not the truth. You just rely on the assumption that with this overlying issue, they won't question details like when they were told.
But it's alright. You're not losing progress just because you've been slipping. I know the way they talk to you. The way they look at you. Especially him. Like you can't be trusted. Like you're either an idiot, or too blinded by your own issues, to know anything. But they're wrong, and you're right. You always are.
You don't remember which scars happened when anymore. You can't remember how they all happened. They're out there for everyone to see, literally, and yet they don't. They don't question. They don't have to. You're not seeking attention. You're not seeking 'help' in the way you'd probably be told. You're seeking relief. Relief from all the pressure clouding that brilliant mind. This is it. This right here, sorting through this, writing it down, making it real, and confronting it. This is what you need to keep your hands off of those scissors. Away from that lovely metal pole between your feet. Away from the lighter. Off of yourself.
Despite what people have tried to tell you, you do not delve deeper into Tris or your work to escape it all. No, you pull away from it, from everyone, from everything, until you get yourself sorted again. Except for those obsessions. This time, what has it been? Harry Potter, wands, creatures, House, ponies, Kier and Preston. Most of those are just distractions, maybe indirect relief if you get a good debate like you did... was it last night? The night before? It's alright not to remember. It's scary, but it's alright.
Kier. You know what he is to you. He's this, the expression of your frustration, turmoil, your depression made 'real'. It's yourself, as you want to be. With an excuse for how you're treated, what you feel. A bad one, but an excuse. You treat him badly, and you treat yourself badly, but you always give him happiness along the way and in the end. It's exactly what you deserve, too.
You don't have to feel silly for something so insignificant triggering this, all of these feelings, this need to fix things. You know that's how it works. You deal, things build up, and eventually, one thing is too much. It's alright.
You're going to cry tonight. And you won't want to talk. But they're going to talk to you. She's going to talk to you. You'll still be alone, in your room, in the dark, but it'll be alright. You'll be alright. And you'll honestly feel better. No faking. No masks.
You were always terrible at those, anyway.
When you're done with your obsessive rereading and editing, press submit. Share this. Don't keep it hidden. It'll be alright. And, try to actually eat your dinner.