It's ten to six in the morning, and here I am on AIM trying to help a guy who was sexually abused nine years ago and is just beginning to deal with what happened to him.
This is not something I know how to do.
Cutting himself I can handle. I don't do it myself, but I understand why people do. That doesn't scare me, because I know he's using it to survive.
It's when he says "I can find my dad's gun but I don't know where the ammunition is" that I get cold inside.
I don't want him to die. I don't think that's just me being selfish. I want him to survive, because... because he's him. He doesn't want people to care about him, he says, but saying that to me's like saying to the sea I don't want you to have waves. Bleed on me and it'll seep through my skin until I can't help caring.
Please, may he not be dead tomorrow. I'm scared he will be.