You didn’t mess up. My illness is not your fault — you raised me well.

I know that my illness causes you to suffer, too. I know that you hurt just as much as I do, and I know that you worry deeply. I know that my illness affects you just as much as it affects me, and I’m very sorry for that. If I could make the suffering stop, for both you and I, I would. But I can’t.

There is something you need to know: saying “I love you” cannot fix me. You wish it could, I know. But it just can’t.

Sure, it is wonderful to be loved. It feels great. But it doesn’t lessen my suffering. It doesn’t magically make things better. It doesn’t make everything okay.

I can be loved and still want to die. I can be loved and still hate every part of myself. I can be loved more than anything in whole entire world and still hurt deeply. Love does not take my pain away; no matter how bad we both wish it could.

Hearing the words “I love you” does not change my mindset when I am plagued with immense sadness. It does not create happiness or hope while I am in that state of mind. It doesn’t matter much, not because I don’t care, but because I don’t want it to matter. Love can be a burden during my deepest despair. I wish that I wasn’t loved because my illness tells me that it’d be easier to leave life that way — I wouldn’t hurt anybody if I left.

I still need support and I still need to be told that I am loved. Your love for me, believe it or not, keeps me alive. But what you need to understand is that your love for me will not make me better any faster or more efficiently, and you need to stop expecting it to. I’m sorry to say it, but your love is not enough.

Support and “I love yous” can only carry me so far. They can only do so much. Love and support from you accounts for only a mere 25 percent of my recovery. The other 75 percent has to come from me. I cannot rely simply on love and support to get better. I have to want it. I have to go get it.

“I survived because the fire inside of me burned brighter than the fire around me.” ―Joshua Graham

My supporters, including you, make up the fire around me. I make up the fire inside me. My fire (the 75 percent) must burn brighter than the fire around me (the 25 percent) in order for recovery to occur. My recovery is mine, not yours. You cannot recover for me.

The people around me light their fire to show me the things I cannot see. They follow me every step of the way. But there are things that even they cannot see, and that is why I have to light my own fire, too. I, and only I, know exactly how to get better. I might not think I do, but I know which path will work best for me; I know what steps to take. You cannot walk that path for me, you don’t know the way; you can only follow in my footsteps – so let me lead the way.

Recovery is a choice that only I can make. Recovery is not linear — there will be ups, downs, and countless relapses. You will want to step in every time a down or a relapse occurs and make decisions for me — you will want to take control and lead they way because you think that you can help me, and that’s what a parent does. Please don’t unless I ask. I need to do this on my own.

I appreciate your love and support. Really, I do. I’m not saying to stop loving me, to stop saying it, or to stop expressing it — I still need that full 25 percent of love and support from you and the rest of my friends and family. I always will. But you need to understand that the only love that can save me is self-love and the only person who can save me is I.