So, to preface this: I know I’ve done a lot of things wrong, but I just don’t know where to go from here. I’m banned from the "Get It Off My Chest" subreddit, and this is a burner account for personal reasons. Also, content warning: this post includes references to suicide.

I’m a 17-year-old girl, and I have a Swiss Army knife—specifically the Huntsman model or something similar. I have a boyfriend, and his dad is like a second father to me. My own dad is… complicated. He’s not necessarily a bad man, but he’s not a good one either, if that makes sense. He just holds a lot of outdated beliefs.

My boyfriend’s dad, though—he’s someone I could talk to about anything. He’s always made me feel heard and respected. My mom is a the worst type of person imaginable, and I live with my grandparents.

About two weeks ago, I attempted suicide. Before that happened, I had a conversation with my boyfriend’s dad about how crappy I felt because of gender roles—how they made me feel worthless. To cheer me up and remind me that girls can do anything boys can, he gave me that knife along with a note. It meant a lot to me.

At first, my grandparents didn’t know I had it. I kept it hidden in my vanity drawer. They eventually found it about a month later. They didn’t get mad, but they told me to be careful and said a bunch of things I honestly don’t remember now. That was about six months ago.

Since then, I’ve kept the knife in my vanity. I don’t carry it around or use it much. I mostly just keep it in good condition because it’s really special to me—it symbolizes strength, encouragement, and someone who believed in me.

After my recent attempt, I spent two weeks in a psych ward. While I was gone, my grandparents removed anything from my room that could be dangerous. When I got back, I realized the knife was missing. I searched for it and asked my grandparents about it. My grandma told me, “We don’t feel comfortable with you having that knife because you could hurt yourself with it.”

I started crying and told her, “That knife was from Mr. [Boyfriend’s Last Name]. It’s really special to me. I’m not going to use it to hurt myself. Can I please have it back?”

She wouldn’t budge. That night, I stayed up crying until around 3 a.m. because of how much that knife meant to me.

The next morning, I went into her room to “get toilet paper” since mine was out, but I saw the knife sitting on her dresser. I grabbed it and hid it in my bra. She didn’t notice until the next day, and then we had a really heated conversation. She told me, “Give me the knife. You can’t have it.”

I said, “It’s mine, and it’s special to me. I would never use it to hurt myself—you know that. Please let me keep it.”

She replied, “I said no. I don’t want to get in trouble because of you.”

I was holding the knife in my hands. She tried to take it from me, but I didn’t resist—I just didn’t let go. I work out a lot, so I’m pretty strong, and she couldn’t get it away from me. I just refused to give it up.

Right now, the knife is hidden in the inside pocket of a coat that’s way in the back of my closet. I know this whole situation probably doesn’t make me look great, but I just can’t give it up. It means too much to me.