I want to get your name tattooed on my wrist so you'll be with me everywhere I go.

I think the black cursive letters that spell your name – James – could look well on my arm. I want to go and get it done now so when you'll see me tomorrow at school, it'll be too late for you to tell me not to. But I know that would be selfish. To have your name on my body without your approval; especially since we're over.

I know I hurt you when we were together and you'll probably never forgive me. How I shut you out from the dark part of my life, afraid you wouldn't love me anymore if you'd know what I held inside. I never should have done that, but I was ashamed. Ashamed of my problems, ashamed of the way I handled them, but most of all, ashamed of what they made me.

So I kept secrets from you. During our dates, I'd go to the bathroom, stare myself in the mirror, cry, and come back as if nothing happened. I kept the bad things locked in my heart, and only mentioned the good things. I never told you what was really going through my mind, so after the several attempts you've made to try and find out, you gave up. I thought that meant things were going well, that you'll never find out; but then you did.

You came to see me after school one day and saw me with my mother. You asked me why she was kneeling on the living room floor with the blender in her hands, singing 'Star Spangled Banner'. I screamed at the top of my lungs for you to leave, that we'll talk tomorrow. And we did, but we didn't. We did talk; we talked about school, about our college planes, about movies and about sports. We talked about anything but what you saw the day before. What you thought you saw. I was sure I could avoid it, I was positive you'd forget. So I never mentioned it, and neither did you. We tried to go back to the way things were, when you'd tell me your concerns and I'd lie about mine. Then happened the thing I feared of most; we had nothing left to talk about. You'd tell me about your day, I'd barely tell you about mine, and then – silence.

That silence would hurt my ears more than the yelling of our last fight. Looking back, I'm almost happy with the way we ended things; with the truth. You told me off and I listened. I kept looking down and trying to fix the uneven length of my shoelaces, and that drove you crazy. You blurted out that I was acting like my mother, so I threw a lamp at your head. You ducked down, rose back up and said that you felt like you didn't know me anymore. And you were right. And I am sorry.

You're with someone else now. Katie. I know she deserves you and I hope you two are happy. She can give you all the things I kept to myself. She can cry into your arms as you stroke her hair and tell her everything will be alright, whereas all I ever did was say that I was fine. I never told you how I felt, and all she ever does is tell you how much she loves you. I won't lie; it hurts to see you two together. When I do, all I can think of that I use to be where she was; but I wouldn't go back. I wouldn't go back to being the one by your side, because I never really was. I wouldn't try to win you back just to lie to you again. And most of all; I wouldn't ruin how happy you are just so we could return to our painful past.

I'm at that tattoo parlor now. You must remember it; the one we use to go to and plan out the tattoo we always said we'd get. That cheesy, corny and completely predictable couple tattoo; my name on you and your name on me. But with each week that we were together, the desire to get each other's name on ourselves for forever slowly died away. Yet, I'm here, and I decided that I can't live without you in my life. I realized that I miss you and want you with me all the time, even though all I did when we were together was push you away.

I know it's selfish, maybe desperate too, but I can't help it. The needle's coming close now. No going back; I've picked my ink and my mind is set. I don't know what you'll say tomorrow at school, but I hope you won't be mad. I hope you'll find a way to forgive me, to let the anger go. I want you to understand that everything I did, every lie I told and every secret I've kept; I did it because I loved you. But that's over.

So, when you see me tomorrow at school, please don't get upset. Please don't stare at my wrist with widened eyes and a gaping mouth. Please don't start to yell and wave your arms around, and please remember – I did this for you. This may be a strange way to say I'm sorry, but I couldn't find a better way to show you that I've changed. That the old me is gone; that I'm not afraid of my own secrets anymore. And just remember that I'll walk proudly with the ink on my wrist and the new smile on my face, as people stare at my arm and find out my biggest secret, written in black cursive letters - 'I have schizophrenia'.