Sick hearts

Extra info:
This is the story of a hypochondriac boy and a girl with self mutilation disorder that fall in love.

Hypochondria is: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hypochondriasis

Self mutilation disorder is: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Self_harm

This is a true story, with some alterations. Meaning it is true there were two lovers, and part of the story is true, while part is false. Because if i wrote the whole truth it wouldn't be as "juicy" and interesting.

-I’m in love with the heart that hurts me.-
I twist around in bed, looking at the white ceiling. Thinking about her, someone I shouldn’t love. Loving her was like loving a knife, but after everything that’s happened; she could probably say the same about me. I look at my phone, the contact name burning through my soul. I want to say hi to her once again, fall back into the awaiting trap. Fall back into a love of two sick hearts. And as the courage builds up, I type in the greeting words. I lie back again and think about when we first met, how we used to be before everything got so messed up.

I remember staring off into the vanishing sun, holding hands together as we sit on the roof. I look at her, brushing her hair back and kiss her. Happiness pouring through my veins, I contemplate her brown hair, deep eyes, and fair skin. I remember all those moments of happiness up to the point we had to leave each other. Being together suddenly ended and even texting vanished. And it took so long for either of us to build up courage, that months passed by.

I twist around in bed again, nervously as a text message arrives. She greets me, and I slowly try to restart a lost conversation. She says I left as I try to ask her if we can continue as we left off, she explains how different she became after I left. Her mother left, and her dad isn’t pleased with her. Gradually we start texting each other more, and re-hangout on a game as we are both now miles apart. I started to notice she really had changed, her view on life becoming more and more negative every day. Her comments on how horrible life was drowned me

And my heart fell in sorrow when she told me she was cutting herself. I asked why and tried to stop her multiple times. But she would do it, at first I didn’t believe she was actually doing it. That she wasn’t cutting, and it was hard to believe since the only way I could talk to her now was through a phone and a game. But I realized how true it was when she gave me proof, and I felt my heart get more beat up. Months went by and she kept on getting worse, I tried to stay but for some reason, it was too painful. Fights went on, and it all kept on getting more and more stressing. I stopped the ways for us to contact each other as her actions were emotionally getting to me.

Months later we reconnected my goal to stop her from doing what she did. My first tries were helpless, and my words couldn’t stop her. One day, in panic, I grabbed a knife. I held it to my own wrist and threatened that if she did it, I would as well. Of course I knew I wouldn’t do it, it was bluff, and she gave in. A few weeks passed and she got back on track, I tried to stop her again with words, it led to arguments and another separation. Our relationship continued that way, going on and off. Although she hurt herself, and hurt me mentally, I still loved her and she loved me.

I started to use the threat more often, as a bluff… and it worked for a while. Then she started to fall into a harder depression, and stopping her got harder. The bluff started to turn into realism, and one day with clouded thoughts, I did it to show her the bluff was over. She at first wouldn’t believe it, and then tried stopping me. But the knife ran against my own wrist letting blood flow. She stopped cutting as if to save me, and as time passed, her family found out. Time passed and she got better, she stopped cutting trying to keep the promise I made her do. I tried my best to help her. Her view on life got nicer, but meanwhile I got worse.

I didn’t cut like she did; instead I worried myself with research. Looking up problems I could have, illnesses, and diseases. I continued to search my flaws, testing myself for over 37 diseases. The worry caused me great anxiety, and it just seemed to increase and turn into stress and depression. Schizophrenia, bipolarity, psychosis, and more diseases passed through my head. The fears poured into my daily life, adding to other fears and creating new ones.

I kept quiet for years before, although this still happened but my actions weren’t as strong. I didn’t research as much, and I didn’t worry as much. But the anxiety was becoming too much, and the stress made me emotionally unbalanced. I became less and less social; I started checking my body for abnormalities. Then one day I started to break, my depression showing between cracks. And I told my mother a lot about my worries. I had before, I hadn’t told her I researched endlessly, or all that. But I had explained I thought I had some symptoms of some disease, and of course she wouldn’t listen.

I felt as if my beliefs were taken as jokes, ignored, and denied. So one day, as I told her about another thought disease, she jokingly accused me of acting like a hypochondriac. I got mad and stopped talking to her, and started researching on hypochondria. Just to realize her joke was realistic, and I had multiple symptoms. The next time I confronted her was when I told her I did have many symptoms of hypochondria, she claimed she was just joking when she said that. And of course denied and claimed I didn’t have it at first, until her reactions altered me. And I experienced a sort of break down, my heart beat hammering at my chest. My face turned red as I gasped for air that seemed to not be there. I started hyperventilating and coughing, and sweat ran down my face.

Then she started to say I did have it, the whole thing became more noticeable. And the girl I loved was affected by it, tortured by my own thoughts. Fights began, and she claimed how much I hurt her, and I claimed how much she hurt me. Her never ending depression against my never ending worries. Depression took over, and my corrupted thoughts on life became worse and worse. The girl I loved stopped cutting, at least at the most she could. But she was still as depressed as me. What fools would fall in love with disease? What fools would fall in love with pain? What fools fall in love with a heart that hurts them?