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His ceiling is white. He doesn't really know what material it's made of, but it's definitely not wood. It's pretty ugly, if he has to be honest. In the left corner is a spider’s web and about 10 centimeters to his right is a darker spot from when Baekhyun and he forgot that lit candles shouldn't be placed on the top shelf of his bookcase. Despite the hideous white ceiling, Chanyeol makes no effort to remove his gaze. Everything is just so useless today. More so than usual. He doesn't feel like getting up at all. His body doesn't seem to cooperate anyway and his energy is so low that it would actually surprise him if he ever got up. Chanyeol doesn't want to eat, to shower, to talk. He just wants to lie here and rot away like he should have done long ago. He doesn't turn his gaze from the ceiling when someone knocks on the door. He doesn't tell them to stay out or to come in. He's quiet, almost like a statue, staring at the ceiling.
"We have to leave soon," Joonmyun says and places something on his nightstand. Chanyeol closes his eyes.
"Not today," he whispers but the door is closed seconds later and Chanyeol is pretty sure the leader didn't hear him. When he finally finds the energy to move his head to the right, he sees the two blue pills on his nightstand. He's lying there, staring at the only things that bring him some sort of energy and he hates them. He hates himself for needing them. He doesn't want to swallow the bittersweet happiness that is nothing but fake. He doesn't want to do anything because it's all in vain. It's all hopeless and useless anyway. Chanyeol is still staring at the two blue pills when someone knocks on his door again.
“5 minutes," he hears. So he tries. After 30 seconds of trying to will his muscles to move, he decides that it's useless and turns his head to stare at the ceiling again. Not today. He can't do it today. When the door opens again and the sigh is heard, Chanyeol knows they know as well.
It had started out as a fleeting thought of not being good enough, of seeing the little things he did wrong, of noticing how everything seemed futile because anyone did better than he did. Then it had molded itself into not really enjoying seeing fans, having comebacks, making music. Chanyeol had tried everything, he really did. Plastered on a smile in order not to worry anyone, locking himself away with his guitar under the pretence of 'composing and creating lyrics' when all he had been doing was staring at the wooden instrument, waiting for it to create inspiration and beautiful melodies on its own. Chanyeol's falling enjoyment and darkened thoughts only got worse from then on.
His energy span was significantly lower and he had had no idea what had caused it. The other members had noticed it too but he waved away any concerns, not even feeling good enough to ask for help. Then he'd started crying himself to sleep, for the inadequacy he was and for all the fights he suddenly had throughout a day - and just as it had become bad enough, the manager had dragged him to the doctor and he'd gotten the diagnosis Major Depressive Disorder.
Now he is barely living his day on the two blue pills provided each morning but they're not making his life any better. On good days he can fool himself into believing he's truly happy but Chanyeol knows that it's all a lie. The second he goes to sleep he's small and vulnerable to all the thoughts that will no doubt haunt him again and again, over and over.
Nobody else knows about his depression outside of his members. If word got out that he, happy virus Park Chanyeol, took anti-depressants, he wouldn't be the happy virus. He probably wouldn't even be EXO’s Chanyeol. And the pressure is hard. The constant shadow lurking behind him, urging him to keep faking, to keep smiling because that's the only person they know. The one who is enthusiastic about everything, the one who has a lot of energy and bounces around on stage. Not the real Park Chanyeol that can't even leave his bed on some days, not the real Park Chanyeol that doesn't eat or sleep on days when it's really bad. Not the real Park Chanyeol that needs artificial happiness and energy to even go by.
The members had tried helping as best as they could. Joonmyun had been making sure he took his medication daily, forcing it on days where Chanyeol was helpless and lifeless. At first, the pills had been green. Baekhyun used to joke about it, it's only a small amount of energy. But then he'd gotten worse and they had upped the dose. Now he's on his way to yellow and max dose each day - and Chanyeol still isn't sure they're working. He still feels lifeless and worthless and in all honesty, life isn't worth living anymore. Yet he keeps living because killing himself requires too much energy, energy Chanyeol doesn't have.
Chanyeol doesn't get out of bed when the members leave the dorm. He knows a manager stays behind to keep an eye on him, but it's not necessary in Chanyeol's opinion. He won't do anything today. He might not even get up to pee, even though his bladder is starting to protest. In the end, though, he does get up, drags his feet to the bathroom and pees. He doesn't take one more step than necessary as he places himself under his blanket again. Sometimes, like today, he's getting frustrated with himself. It's not that Chanyeol ever wished for a depression, in fact there's no reason whatsoever that he should be depressed at all - and there's no reason he should be causing his band members so many troubles. It's unfair to everyone, really.
When they come home in the evening Chanyeol hasn't left his bed. His stomach grumbles but he barely hears it over the noise of his thoughts, constantly telling him he's not good enough. It's usually worst in the morning, the self-hatred and the frustration that seems to cling to him like a second layer of skin but today it's been constant all throughout the day. His inactivity most likely made everything worse, throwing words of 'can't even function like the normal adult you're supposed to be, can't even work like the rest of them' onto the ever-growing pile of self-hatred that lingers in his mind.
The pills are left on his nightstand where Joonmyun had left them. He hears the laughter and the joy from the living room, the playful banter and the teasing. He hears the noise in the kitchen as someone starts cooking and he wishes he could disappear. He doesn't belong here, he shouldn't be here. And the first tear rolls down his cheek and he can't stop it. For all the emotions that seem to have occupied his mind today, only crying now is actually some sort of miracle. If he'd taken the pills he would probably have been able to fake his happiness, his joy and he would have been able to work. It all just constantly boils down to how he's nothing.
The door opens and Minseok enters with a plate of food. He doesn't say anything about the two blue pills as he puts the plate down and sends Chanyeol a small smile.
"Feeling better?" he asks and Chanyeol closes his eyes and his vision of white ceiling turns to the black behind his eyelids. He doesn't say anything else and Minseok doesn't ask more. The hope that's etched into the small 'please eat a little' is enough for Chanyeol's thoughts to start up again. As the door closes and Chanyeol opens his eyes he has a feeling he'll only be a horrible disappointment.
The next day is better. Getting out of bed is possible and Chanyeol swallows the blue happiness before he eats a little breakfast as well. He's not feeling ready to talk about yesterday but nobody prods and asks because they know how stupid it would be. Nobody really wants to listen to his depressive thoughts anyway. He's dressed and the manager is eyeing him skeptically. Yet nothing is being said as Chanyeol follows the rest of his band members out of the dorm and to the van.
There are fans on the street when they hit the venue, just like always. There's always fans outside, there's not really anywhere they can be safe. So Chanyeol does what he does best - he puts on his wide smile that never truly reaches his eyes these days but it's impossible to see on the cameras and he's perfected the art of being enthusiastic and smiling to a T. There's no way the fans will ever know that he relies on happiness in 100 mg of Zoloft.
They're screaming their names, some waves, others acknowledge them with a smile. Chanyeol doesn't think as he bows and says hello on his way inside. It doesn't leave him with a buzz of emotion like it does the rest of them. Sehun is complaining about fans being loud in the morning, Jongdae is silent as usual, drawn away from the rest of them and Kyungsoo is oddly warm. Chanyeol just feels numb. He's there, sure, and he's acting but he's not really enjoying meeting the fans. Not anymore.
They have dance practice for a new upcoming promotional single and although promotions will be short, they need to have some sort of performance for the song. Chanyeol would have liked it better if it had been a ballad, a song that didn't require him to do much, that didn't require him to sing or rap. But he's Chanyeol of EXO-K, there's no way anyone in the company would let him get out of any promotional cycle without a legitimate reason - and he doesn't have that. He doesn't have anything because the Zoloft makes him smile.
Chanyeol doesn't enjoy dancing. His body just does what the choreographer wants him to do and when they're done he's so drained of energy that he declines the dinner offer. His mind has started again, the same circle, the same words, the same constant beating. He rides the van home alone and when he's finally in the dorm he stares into the darkness of the living room. The lights from outside Seoul shines in through the windows, shows a beautiful and alive night scene. People are enjoying themselves, they're relieving stress and finally finding peace in the things they enjoy. Chanyeol, though, feels more like the darkness of the living room. Impossible to get out of, closed off from the outside world, drowning in self-hatred and without a sign to guide him through. He's stuck in the darkness and when the effect of the anti-depressants wears off, he's fighting to stay alive. He knew it was a bad idea to forget the pills yesterday, but he can't change the past. Instead, he finds his way through the darkness, guided by the moonlight.
He closes the door to the bathroom and sinks to the tile floor. He's supposed to be feeling numb but the pain is too much when he finally succumbs to his thoughts and lets them tell him how worthless he is, how useless everything he does is, how he's not even supposed to bere. EXO would be better without him. The tears stream down his cheeks without Chanyeol realizing it and he can't help the sobs that escape his wrecked body. Living is hard. Living is futile and hopeless.
He cries for longer than he is willing to admit before he doesn't have any more tears. Yet the pain isn't gone, it's still there, pressing in on him, making it impossible to breathe. He crawls along the warm tiles until he finds himself in the shower. Chanyeol doesn't want a shower, but he wants to hurt. He wants to get rid of the thoughts, of the shower of self-hatred and he knows what exactly to do. He's done it before. Once or twice - or maybe more than that. Maybe longer than that. He doesn't remember when he started, when he noticed the relief it became and afterwards how disgusting he became too. The razor is easy to find and it's even easier to press it against skin, letting the blade sink into already scarred skin.
The blood that trickles from the wounds only becomes a steady flow when he twists the blade and forces it deeper, deeper, deeper. The pain dulls his mind and he focuses on the blood that paints his skin red. He's staring mesmerized at the mess he's made, the beautiful chaos that shows only a fraction of what happens inside his mind. It isn't until someone turns on the light and stares at him, blade in hand and blood dripping onto his jeans that Chanyeol realizes he's no longer alone.
He's staring into Baekhyun's brown eyes, the other's wide with something akin to fear. But Baekhyun stays where he is. He doesn't make a move towards Chanyeol at all and there's silent until someone asks him why he's standing in the doorway instead of going inside. When Yixing peeks around the doorframe, he gasps at the sight of Chanyeol. Chanyeol hates himself with every passion he's ever had. It may be the only thing he's been passionate about in the past months.
Yixing hurries into the bathroom. He gently pries the razor away from Chanyeol, the blade scarily close to where his radial artery is located. Yixing's soft thumb traces circles on his palm as he reaches towards a towel to slowly stop the bleeding. Neither of them says anything but Chanyeol knows what he's thinking. He knows because he's thinking the exact same thing. Chanyeol is disgusting, horrible. He shouldn't even be here. Yixing doesn't say anything, not when he places the bandaids over the red scars along Chanyeol's skin, not when he gently helps the taller man stand and not when he guides Chanyeol back to bed. Chanyeol is haunted by exhaustion and he doesn't want to be anymore, but the only thing he's able to do is curl up under his blanket and try to survive, try to forget.
When he wakes up the next morning there are two yellow pills on his bedside table. 100 mg. each. 200 mg. in total. 200 mg. fake happiness and artificial energy. Joonmyun probably spoke with the doctor yesterday. Asked him to up the dose because of the mess Chanyeol has become. Chanyeol doesn't deny it.
Instead, he swallows the pills, tries to drown them with water and somewhat hopes they'll flush out again with all the water. Chanyeol doesn't like the numb feeling the pills provide but it's the only way to survive, the only way to act in front of the fans. His body feels like lead, his arm is throbbing a little and it isn't until he's standing in the shower naked and stares at his bandaged arm that he remembers what had happened. So close. He'd unconsciously been close to death. It doesn't strike a feeling in him though. If anything, it makes him feel slight regret for not realizing it yesterday when he had had the chance. The pills are powerful though and soon enough he's numb again. Not a trace of emotion, not a single joy left in his cells. A smile plastered on his lips as he finishes shower and enters the kitchen dressed in skinny jeans and a t-shirt.
"Ready?" Sehun asks and Chanyeol nods. They're going to China. And he's ready. He has to be. He accepts the apple Joonmyun hands him silently as he sits down in the chair beside Jongdae. The smaller man sends him a shy smile. There's silent in the kitchen for the time being until someone screams and they're delayed hours.
It's a few hours later when Chanyeol finally steps out of the van, smiles wide to the fans and waves. He's done it before. More than once. He does it all the time, the faking of a smile here and there. Baekhyun leans closer to him as they're standing in the line and Chanyeol barks out a laugh. It's as fake as it can be but the cameras all catches a laughing Chanyeol and nobody is going to question the 200 mg. of numbness he swallowed this morning. Just like they're not supposed to know about the wounds that color his arms.
He tries to sleep in the plane but it's impossible now that his body is being kept artificially energized by anti-depressants and his thoughts keep circling. Except he's not really thinking about anything. Even the self-hatred is being suppressed as he stares out of the small window and wishes he could walk on what seems like solid clouds beneath him. A strange urge to open the emergency exit while in the air flashes through him but Chanyeol stays where he's seated. It's strange how someone can be kept alive with medical help. He knows that someone is going to suggest therapy again. "Don't you want to be happy again?" But Chanyeol doesn't know what happiness is anymore. "Don't you want to enjoy writing music again?" But Chanyeol can't remember what it feels like to actually enjoy the things he once enjoyed so it doesn't matter to him anymore. The only thing that actually matters is surviving, even when everything goes against it and all he wants to do is die and give up.
EXO isn't the reason he's here but they may be the reason he hasn't given up yet. Because every time he's attempted to give up, every time he's come close enough to leave everything behind and just fall into nothingness and hopelessness, they've been there to pump him with pills, with energy enough to keep going, keep living. And life isn't worth living but by now he's too numb to even care about that as well.
When they land in China it's all the same. It's the same smiles, the same enthusiastic waves and the same act in front of the fans as they scream their names and tries to get their attention. It's the same band members around him, it's the same numbness and the same low energy that gets him through the airport and into the van. It's the same thoughts that haunt him in the evening and it's the same yellow Zoloft he wakes up to the next morning, forced to continue on and be Park Chanyeol, the happy virus of EXO. Chanyeol doesn't know what's better. The familiarity of his routine or the knowledge that he's absolutely worthless without his artificial respiration and energy in the form of 200 mg. anti-depressants. But if he stops it, he'll fall down and he'll never be able to even get to numbness. He's got too much to lose and too much to hide. At least there's someone to catch him time and time over again when the emotions are too powerful and the energy too low and Chanyeol can't do more than give up and give in. Maybe that's all he truly deserved in the end.
Park Chanyeol is staring into the ceiling. It's light brown, definitely made of wood. He's been counting knots in the ceiling, there's 25 but that's all he's able to. On his nightstand are two yellow pills, waiting for him to become their slave yet again. His thoughts are screaming at him, his body completely unwilling to move and he can't do anything but close his eyes again. Not today.