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I can't recall when I started.
Now, dear readers, that sounds extremely cryptic and vague, but allow me the time to explain.
I would have to believe this...issue...began the day I fell to the mortal world as a mortal myself. Now, as hard as it is to believe, I was quite familiar to pain in my time as a good. Zeus is very unforgiving when he wants to be.
While I knew I could never truly be killed, it would always remain as a lingering thought, cast aside whenever it wanted to drag its demented feet back to the forefront of my mind.
Death was not possible for me. The golden ichor that flowed through my veins proved this.
...until it didn't.
Mortal blood was such a strange concept to me. How could mortals be fascinated yet terrified by such a plain thing? Red was probably one of my least favorite colors out of them all. It's so cliche when paired with gold that I tended to avoid it when I could.
The first time I saw myself bleed red instead of gold was a terrifying day for me. In my previous times of being mortal, I still retained some of my godly powers and partial immortality, like one of my sister's hunters.
I, like all demigods and mortals alike, became used to the sight of my own blood after some time. It is very challenging to avoid getting cut up viciously when attempting to battle an enemy and I was aware subconsciously that if I continued being squeamish about it, I would end up hurting someone like Meg over my foolishness.
I...unfortunately became too comfortable with the sight of the thick ruby red substance.
On Caligula's ship, holding the arrow of Dodona over my chest, defiance flaring over any common sense, was something new. Never had I thought I would resort to killing myself, much less for another person's sake.
The fact that I went through with it was also slightly disturbing. Though the stupid arrow had intentionally directed itself away from anything major in this flesh sack of mine, I was never really sure if I was thankful or angry at it for doing so.
Self harm, that was what it was classified as.
Jason's death was traumatizing and I knew I played a part in it, no matter what Meg said. I knew I was risking his life by asking him to come along, yet I did so anyway. Zeus will no doubt punish me for that, killing his favorite son was more than a valid reason to do so, no?
So why did I start punishing myself for it beforehand?
The cycle began the night before we were to travel to Camp Jupiter. I was awake much longer than anyone else, staring at the arrow in my hand. It wasn't the arrow of Dodona thankfully, but it felt like it held the power to do much more than I believed.
Slowly, I had directed it to my other arm that was held out in anticipation, its sharp point hovering over my skin and I brought it down.
The initial sting was there, but it soon faded into nothing but tingling and I had been left reeling at the sensation. It felt nothing like Zeus' strikes from his wretched bolt because I could control how much it hurt.
(That's what they all tell themselves Apollo, but can you blame them? No, not really.)
Almost giddily, I had made another mark just beside the first, the sting almost nonexistent and the tingling even better than before. Then I saw it. The red blood seeping itself out of my self inflicted wound.
I made another cut.
And with that, the horrible cycle began.
It became an almost daily thing, and with monster fights that came up, I had the perfect excuse to keep my arms covered in bandages.
Sometimes though, after a particular harsh round, I would find myself holding the tainted arrow over my chest, wondering what would've happened hadn't I been healed.
Sometimes, I wasn't sure if I would be scared or excited about the answer.
So I never did.
They often say if you think you're suicidal, then you most likely are.
And I wondered then just how true that statement in.
Frank was the first to notice.
He pulled me aside one day and without speaking a word, grabbed my arms, inspecting the bandaging on them.
I was ready to pull them away, annoyed he just invaded my personal bubble like that. If I were a god, he would've been struck down then and there.
Then I remembered that was what Zeus did, and I frowned at the thought.
He asked one simple question.
"Do you need someone to talk to?"
And I found myself with someone to vent my issues to.
Even with the impending fate of becoming a zombie slave to Tarquin, Frank was still as kind as ever, offering advice and reassurance when I couldn't do so myself.
I may not have known the son of Mars long, but he certainly joined the ranks of my favorite demigods.
Meg didn't figure out my self harm, but something else.
She had said that day, "Tell your fondest memory with your dad?"
It was an odd question, especially from blunt, plain spoken Meg, but unfortunately, she had phrased it as a command so the words came tumbling out.
"It was the day I had successfully rode my sun chariot for the first time. Father knew I was nervous and when I finished, he hugged and congratulated me, saying I would be the best sun god to date. The initial joy waned after time, as one would suspect, but I will never forget how proud he was of me that day," I smiled sadly, knowing that he was not so proud of me now.
Meg was silent, until she looked at me, confusion and slight concern in her eyes. "You treat him like I do with Nero."
I had been stumped then. Certainly I wasn't, right?
I must've showed my confusion because she spoke up again. "Tell me something Zeus does that makes you happy."
Under command, I responded easily. "When he praises me as his son. Father doesn't do it often, but when he does I always feel good for the rest of the day."
Meg furrowed her eyebrows. "You did it again. Tell me a time he scared you."
"When he called me to talk personally with him. Zeus' never does that unless it is to punish me with his lightning bolt."
I watched as Meg faltered for a moment, eyes widening slightly before she cooled back to her neutral expression. "You call him Zeus when you’re telling me something bad he's done and call him Father when he is nice to you, kinda like me."
I stared, then nodded slowly, searching through my limited memories and finding her theory correct. I had been encouraging her to stop thinking of Nero and The Beast as two different beings, yet I did so myself.
Meg gave me a punch on the shoulder, sticking her tongue out. "You look like you're about to throw up." And there she was, sassy remarks back.
I glared at her, but she only grinned and got up, skipping away.
That night, I stayed in the archery field much longer than before.
Ascension to godhood was...strange, to say the least.
When I first returned, the Fates had deemed it necessary to bestow upon me the domains of demigods and mortals. As shocked as I was, I was also glad that they had not fallen into any other Olympian (or hero's) hands. With that, I was allowed to visit my demigod children and the friends I had made at both camps, with the promise that I would not choose sides if there were to be another demigod war.
I eagerly agreed to those terms, glad to not have to partake in any other war with my children.
My first visit was met with lots of hugs and tears shed, though who shed more, me or them, we would not know.
Meg gave me the biggest hug and punched me the hardest and I was happy as could be.
Well...not exactly.
Habits die hard was another lesson I had to learn.
I ended up avoiding nectar and ambrosia and it wasn't until Artemis noticed that I realized I could eat the godly food once more. Apparently months on end purposely avoiding the food because it could cause you to combust was something you had to train yourself not to do. It's a work in progress.
I cringed at the sight of my blood now as well. It wasn't the same as the mortal blood I had before and I didn't like it. I missed the simple yet intriguing substance and sometimes, I'd force a part of myself to be "mortal" to catch a sight of it again.
That led to my last, and most troubling problem. Becoming a god did not erase the scars I gained during my time as a mortal. I still held purple tinged marks along my body as well as the cut on my belly, which would become more visible should I get angry, a now common occurrence.
Thin lines were scattered along my arms and no matter which form I took, they still stayed, so I stopped bothering with them.
I suspected Artemis was aware of my...acts, but wouldn't speak up about it, which made me both glad and mad.
Things were alright though, I supposed. I still talked with Frank when I could, I visited my sister more often, worked with as many demigods as I could to establish a better relationship as their patron god. I was recovering well.
Until I wasn't.
No person recovers without their falls, another lesson I learned the hard way. Zeus finally responded on his thoughts of Jason's death, and I was the main receiver.
Just when I thought I had enough of that stupid bolt, it came back to haunt me in full force. Fortunately or unfortunately, Artemis had appeared then which gave me a chance to escape.
Keyword, chance.
I did not. Simple as that. Not right away at least.
As I tried to vanish, Zeus threw his bolt and hit me once more, halting my escape and leaving me to roof into golden dust, not gone but also not there.
Before I poofed though, I witnessed Artemis turn angry eyes on our father. The look on his face will always be a funny one.
I reformed at Camp Half-Blood in its vast forest and the rest was a blur. I was mildly aware I had reformed too soon and all the pain came flowing back, but it had barely mattered then.
Soon enough, I found myself holding the very arrow I began with over my chest and, in my hysteria, made that part of my body mortal. I thought I deserved it after all. It was only a matter of time until Zeus laid his punishment upon me, I was just foolishly denying the inevitable. I would always be Zeus’ least favorite. He would always find some reason to exact punishment on me. As long as I was around, that dreaded bolt would always follow.
"If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself," I whispered to myself before plunging the arrow into my chest for the second time in my life. The last thing I remember seeing was the lovely ruby red that coated my hands the arrow I held before my sight gave way to the darkness.
The rest, I am not sure.
Meg found me though and she called for Artemis, bless her tiny yet brave soul. Artemis held me close and I had weakly held onto her, sobbing all the while. She and Meg looked more in pain than I did, and it had hurt me more than ever.
I wasn't sure when I had started, but I knew then that stopping would be much harder than I thought.