So much of my pushing myself beyond my limits came from the same reasons that my refusal to communicate did: self-destructive tendencies, self-loathing, spite, denial of reality, refusal to admit that my suffering affected anyone but myself. Reread my last letter; it’s all the same.

But there’s another reason. I cannot ignore the influence my environment had on me. You will think I am blaming others. I am not. I’m not trying to blame anyone but myself for my downfall. However, if I ignore how the people around me and the places I was in shaped me, I will lose a crucial piece of the puzzle.

Every conference we went on, they all said pretty much the same thing: Push yourself, try harder, you can do it, push, keep going. They never seemed to acknowledge that some of us (like myself) had limits for which testing them would only break us. Another: those who did the most got the most applause, the most awards, the most friends, the most love – like Ethan, who I love and admire and always wanted to be like but knew I would never; like Linder, who we all gaze in awe at, the sheer force of her; like you, who I worshipped — I worshipped you — who worked so hard and never broke. People can’t help but try to be like those they admire, and I tried — but I couldn’t do it. Despite all my reflecting, my processing, my attempts at healing, I still grieve that fact: I tried, and I couldn’t do it.

Perhaps in a way, I thought that loving you and being loved by you romantically would make me more like you though — that our relationship said to me that I was good enough to be in the same room as these people. Maybe that’s another reason our relationship ended. Perhaps I never wanted to admit I was struggling to you because that would mean I was actually not like you, that I was less than you, as if struggle and mental illness makes people worth less than their healthy peers.

I thought, subconsciously, that within the cocoon of our relationship, I could stop pushing myself. I could relax because your love proved me worthy. But then I realized I still needed to earn your love, constantly, consistently. And I couldn’t earn it by taking care of myself or making sure I was happy enough to make you happy or by communicating or by simply loving you. No, I could only earn your love and everyone else’s respect by working as hard as you and not breaking, never breaking, because breaking meant that I couldn’t handle it, that I wasn’t like you or Ethan or Linder, and that meant I was less than, and how could you love someone who is less than you? How could anyone respect someone who is less than them?

Well, I did break. I broke down. What I see now is that it doesn’t make me less than, just different, and it’s okay to be different. We can’t all be like Linder or Ethan, and I don’t want to be them anymore. I don’t want to be you anymore, and I don’t worship you anymore. Another realization: I never had to earn your love because if I couldn’t keep your love by just being happy and healthy and communicating, then it wasn’t worth having. I failed to keep your love because I couldn’t communicate and I never tried to be happy or healthy. That’s it.

And that's all I want to say for now. Hope you're still doing well. Bye.