Dear Lukas,

I didn't even know about it when we first met. I was as clueless as you. And yes, as time went on, I did start to use it to get sex out of you. But I don't deserve a medal for that. I deserve eternal damnation for everything I've done to you, and the ledge to which I led you.

Do you remember when we broke up?

I was in the middle of a manic episode. Everything around me was so angering, so against me. I wanted to lash out at anything and everything that moved. But you were there, and so I had to keep it cool. I just needed to have sex with you again, and it would all be fine.

But you were done.

Everything fell away when you told me you couldn't keep having sex with me. You couldn't keep breaking your walls to save me. You needed things too. My needs weren't the only ones that needed to be met.

I can't even begin to explain the rage that bubbled inside of me. It was primordial. An animalistic, inhumane anger that threatened to explode with the power of a nuclear bomb. I tried to keep it back. Tried to spare you from the extent of my emotions. But I failed.

I screamed it all out. Every single tiny thing that had been affecting me within the episode just exploded outwards in an uncontrollable display of emotions. I screamed things at you that weren't even about you. Blamed you for things that had nothing to do with you.

The tears that spilled down your face haunt me even now. The love and hope that drained from your eyes. All I saw left as I shouted my final word was acceptance. Destroyed, hopeless acceptance. I expected you to fight back a little. Argue with me like all couples do. But you just folded.

"You're right," you said, mustering a smile so fake that its plastic appearance gleamed in the light. "I'm so inconsiderate and selfish. I'm really, really sorry, but for your sake, I'm going to break up with you. You deserve someone better than me."

I watched you leave without another word. The anger that I had released began to build again, bubbling and sloshing inside of me. Just as I felt it ready to explode, my fists clenched to start punching things, it dissipated. Gone within seconds.

I was only left with emptiness.

The worst part was that my manic episode didn't end that day. It continued for a few days after. Instead of just depressing, hopeless sadness, it was accompanied by a restless, irritable feeling. I shouted at anyone who talked to me. Punched a wall every time I thought of you. Got suspended for hitting a teacher.

Once it finally ended, everything crashed down on me. There was no more energy to keep the depression from setting in. I lost myself not to another episode, but to your loss. The absence of you was more detrimental than anything my disorder could have ever caused.

My parents seemed to notice almost immediately. They became increasingly worried as I sulked around the house, barely talking or eating. To them, I was a shell of my former self. Something was missing, and they knew it.

I was taken to a psychiatrist. My parents feared depression, and what it could do to me if left untreated. I'd lost a cousin to suicide, and they wouldn't lose me to it as well. It was there that we became aware of Bipolar Disorder.

As it turned out, my grandmother had Bipolar Disorder. My mother had never known because she managed to hide it well, and I never knew it because she died before I could become old enough to remember anything.

My mother was confused at first, because she displayed no symptoms of Bipolar Disorder. It's almost always hereditary, and as we explained, she couldn't possibly have it. But the psychiatrist informed us that it can skip generations. My mother could have completely skipped it, while I got the brunt.

My parents were relieved once it was all explained. They knew the cause. They could treat it. Treat me. They expected me to be happy at the discovery as well. Happy that I could treat it. Treat myself.

But I wasn't.

All I felt was an overpowering, soul-crushing wave of hopelessness. Larger than anything I'd ever experienced before. No episode, no heartbreak, not even with you, had felt so dark as finally understanding what was wrong with me. Because it wasn't something I could fix.

Sure, I could take medication. I could tame it, maybe even subdue it to a barely noticeable effect. Hide it deep within myself. But it would always be there. It wasn't something I could "willpower" myself out of. I was stuck with it and the demons it carried.

Medication started quickly. At first, I felt nothing. I fell into another episode a couple weeks into the medication, and barely moved from my bed. But it only lasted five days, instead of a week. I chalked it up to a freak accident. A fluke in the normal ebb and flow of my fucked-up brain.

But the next episode I had after was only three days. And the anger I'd usually get had no edge. No bite. It was almost as though I was simply annoyed, or at the worst, mildly angry. I didn't feel like punching through crowds.

For the first time ever, I felt...Stable.

I noticed you in the hallways when our Junior year started. You looked so hopeless, so lost in life. I saw bruises on your face as you pulled up your hood to hide. Saw the way you shrunk yourself to hide in the crowds of our peers.

Everything from our relationship came flooding back to me. The way you would smile when I held your hand. Your giggling as I kissed your neck. The way you trusted me completely and entirely, and how I ruined that.

I wanted nothing more than to rush to you. To shove past every person in the crowds between us, and to hold you as tightly as I could. Hold you as you cried your pain into my chest. As I whispered to you softly,

"It's okay. I love you, Lukas, and I've changed. I'm going to be better for you. I promise."

What hurt me the most was to realize that I could never do that for you. To realize that despite my feelings, despite wanting to hold you, you would never want to hold me back. It hurt to know that I wanted everything to do with you, but you wanted nothing to do with me.

And it was all my fault.

I know that there's nothing I can say to make you love me again. There's nothing I can say that will ever make you have feelings for me again, at least that are good. You'll always hate me, and I have to accept that.

But I don't want to accept that.

I love you Lucas. If anything in this past year has taught me anything, it's that I love you, despite the pain I've dealt and despite how much I've hurt you. I want to be with you again, because I know I can be better. For you I can change.

I'm sure you found someone who you're happier with now, who will love you . Who hasn't hurt you like I have. But if there's even the smallest chance that you'll forgive me, I want to say that I want you back. I promise you I will be better if you choose to take me.

The boy who stole your virginity,

Connor Donn.