Elizabeth Elijah

I’m 15, and I have an imaginary friend, but only kind of. She’s the by product of my need to feel comforted by someone when I’m feeling low and my reluctance to do so out of fear of worrying my friends and family. Her name’s Elizabeth. That’s my birth name too, and sometimes she comes along with Elijah, who IS me in my head all my thoughts and logic and reason when I need it, and I am Betsy (my widely known nickname) and only the worst kind of raw emotions. It’s the strangest thing. I split apart into all my aspects so I can feel like I’m being hugged, so the tears will finally come. I even do voices for them sometimes out loud, and they sound different. It’s like they’re the only ones I trust not to hurt because I know they are fake. I know that I could catch a bullet just to prevent my sister’s tears. I care for people so much I can’t tell them things, but carry what they give me and try not to let it spill over. And now seems like a good time to even say what I tell the imaginary mes. I tell them that I hurt and I don’t why. It’s mental, completely so, but it’s there, and I want it to disappear, I want to disappear to go where I don’t hurt anymore. I tell them I’ve thought of all the ways it could happen too. Detailed plans that I’ll never follow through on because I hate pain. And I know I’m not being eloquent today but I thought that this would be a good thing to say anywhere. I’ve only ever told my family and a few select friends and I couldn’t even say the words aloud I had to write them down because my lips sealed themselves, and they don’t know about Elizabeth and Elijah. Also, this is the only form of social media I have if it even counts at all. Thanks for your time.