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Matt’s morning routine didn’t vary much, life was easier when he followed routines. Partly because it meant he didn’t have to hunt around for things and ensured he didn’t forget or misplace anything but also because when things got difficult they had the power to drag him along. Wake up, get out of bed, shower, dress, eat something, usually just toast, brush teeth, comb hair, grab things and go to work. It sounded so simple when listed like that, like the easiest thing in the world, like something people did every day. Normally he did it every day, simple enough, maybe a bit of groaning at various injuries, maybe a little reluctance because bed was warm or there was a decidedly not-fun event in his day. Still, he generally got out of bed pretty easily, he liked his work after all.
But he’d been having a bad week. Wakefulness usually came to him suddenly, he was asleep and then he wasn’t, his mind and senses kicked in instantly, not today. Today part of him registered his alarm going off and slowly dragged the rest of him to a fuzzily awakened state and he lay there for at least a minute before finally mustering the energy to turn the alarm off. Getting out of bed seemed like a ridiculous demand, and he kept trying to psych himself up for it ‘I’ll push the covers to the side in five, four, three, two, one, damnit, just do it Matt’ ran through his head until finally he pushed the covers back and swung his legs out. He knew he was running late and he should hurry but he couldn’t do anything more than shuffle to the shower.
Mornings like this he turned the water on just a little too hot, or a little too cold, as though trying to do some kind of penance for a sin he couldn’t even identify, just existing maybe. Instead of washing his hair and shaving he pressed his forearms against the wall and bowed his head under the spray, hissing as it ran over cuts, burning in a way that almost made him feel alive.
Fully awake and deeply regretting it Matt turned the taps off sooner than he wanted, quickly towelled himself, pulling underwear and pants on with one hand while brushing his teeth with the other. Skipping breakfast just seemed logical, he was late and it wasn’t like he was hungry anyway. When he did his tie he pulled it just a little too tight, just a little uncomfortable, the slight pressure enough to focus on as he grabbed everything else he needed for work, rushing out of the door. The slight pressure kept him from thinking, and when it didn’t work Matt focused on what was happening around him, until he was at the office just a few minutes late. Not that it mattered, Foggy still wasn’t here, and Karen was only just making coffee.
As was routine he accepted a cup, exchanged pleasantries with Karen, part of him yearning to let her worry about him, to let himself act just a little off. But those were just thoughts, he maintained the serious but dorky facade that usually didn’t feel so fake, that usually only had the small lies everyone tells to get through the day. Finally able to retreat to his office he set his desk up to look busy and then just sat there.
Matt thought about the teenage girl a few doors down who cried herself to sleep more nights than not and her parents never heard but he did. He thought about the old man on the first floor who sometimes couldn’t seem to force himself out of bed all day and had a daughter who came every few days to help him clean up and take him to a psychologist. He thought of Foggy in college, those admittedly brief months where Matt had to gently force him to shower, to eat something healthy, to get up in time for class, to put down the knife on a few occasions. Matt grimaced at those memories, it had killed him to see Foggy depressed but he admired Foggy’s honesty.
The thing was that Matt was somewhat confident he was at least a little depressed, as an adjective not a diagnosis. He wasn’t suicidal or anything, though surely some would claim his Daredevil activities required a certain disregard for life, which admittedly, the idea of dying wasn’t terrible the way others seemed to see it. He wasn’t afraid of dying for his sake, no, he couldn’t let it happen because Foggy would cry, and Karen, and no one would be there to protect Hell’s Kitchen, but most of all, Foggy would hurt and Matt couldn’t do that to him. So no, he didn’t want to die, even if some days he toyed with the idea of just not existing, he’d fight for his life, to prevent Foggy feeling that pain.
Not suicidal exactly, and not self-harming, for ages he’d thought that meant he wasn’t depressed, because that’s what depressed people did. But from campus doctors and his priest back then he’d learnt it was so much more, though being college he’d seen enough people attempting to self-diagnose to know it wasn’t totally accurate.
Still, he was about 90% sure he was depressed even if by this stage those online tests and such didn’t place him in the highest ranges. The problem with them was that they asked how he’d been feeling the past few weeks to months in relation to normal, this was normal. Some weeks were harder than others but he didn’t feel less ‘worthwhile’ or have a significant change in appetite or sleeping, nothing had changed in quite a while. Of course, just as there were bad days, there were good days, days where smiles came easily and didn’t even feel a little forced, where he could go home without self-recriminations buzzing through his head. Most days were just kind of gray, bleeding into each other indistinguishably, only routine marking the passage of time.
With Karen and Foggy he could get out of his head for a little bit and he’d laugh and almost felt like maybe he’d been happy at those times, even if he couldn’t really remember by the time he got home even. Honestly it was partly an act, sheer stubborn refusal to admit he probably needed help, though he wasn’t breaking or anything dramatic. The rest was habit by this point, that’s just who he was with company, and it was just who he was to go home and do nothing, the most literal form of nothing he could manage without stopping his breathing sometimes. Other times he filled those alone hours with music, audiobooks, things that people did and he did too because these days avoiding thought was a common past time.
Foggy coming in always disturbed Matt from whatever he was doing, he rarely minded this and let it happen, but today he’d tracked Foggy’s heartbeat from the moment he’d heard it. Part of Matt wanted to drop the act, just like he’d wanted to with Karen, but he didn’t know how, he’d tried to before and no one had ever really understood. At the orphanage he’d asked as directly as he could with teenage anxiety twisting his guts and tongue, the Sister he’d asked had given him numbers and told him he had to take the first step. She hadn’t understood that asking her for help was the first step, and nearly more than Matt was capable of on his own. He never spoke to any of the doctors she’d pointed him to, afraid of anything and everything, but he’d continued to force himself to be normal around others. Sometimes, in his meaner moments, he resented that she hadn’t made him an appointment, she was supposed to be one of his carers, but ultimately he understood she’d done what she thought was best, it wasn’t her fault he was too pathetic to even make an appointment.
Sometimes in college he’d tried to articulate how he felt but everyone he talked to had only heard what they wanted to hear, that he was blind and fragile. He’d tried to show Foggy, having given up on words since they didn’t seem to work, but no matter what he thought he couldn’t do it, he covered up everything. When Foggy asked he even lied, a cheeky smile on his face while he screamed at himself in his head because he couldn’t expect Foggy to see through a lie that practiced, hell, with time even he’d had trouble telling when it was a lie.
Some had said that everyone felt the way Matt had haltingly described, the overwhelming sounds and smells, the choking anxiety, the lethargic misery. Matt remembered asking if everyone felt like that, how did they cope with it, why did no one talk about it? It rang false, but Matt hadn’t been able to shake the idea that maybe he was being over dramatic, exaggerating perfectly normal sadness into some terrible monster. What if he was just as pathetic as Stick had believed him to be?
“Hey Matty, what’s up?” Foggy asked closing the door behind him and Matt jumped a little, he hadn’t even noticed Foggy opening the door, a true statement of how distracted he was today, at some point he’d gotten too lost in thought to track Foggy’s movements.
“Nothing, I’m fine.” Matt replied, realising that his eyes were watering and blinking rapidly to try and prevent a tear getting out. He schooled his features into a normal arrangement and hoped his glasses hid his eyes enough. “Okay, I may have knocked a bruise on my shin.” He admitted to cover for whatever had Foggy approaching him like the wounded duck they had joked about people seeing him as.
“Yeah buddy, that wasn’t pain on your face, or at least not from something physical. Did something happen last night?” Foggy asked, perching on Matt’s desk and taking one of his hands, he knew it was one way to ensure he had Matt’s full attention, and that he couldn’t lie with the contact, it was too personal.
“Nothing Foggy, I’m just not having a great morning.” Matt figured that was close enough to the truth to put Foggy at ease, he felt guilty anyway. How he wanted Foggy to ask the right questions and force the answers from him, or to just ask Foggy to hold him and cry, but Matt couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried, a tear here or there but really crying? Last time he really remembered crying was before Stick taught him to process all the input from his heightened senses.
“I don’t care if it’s a Daredevil thing, something is obviously not fine and if you need to talk I’m always there for you. Why don’t we work in the conference room today? I’m feeling restless and poking you occasionally should help. Plus, you’re some kind of machine at work, it’s very inspiring to watch.” Foggy didn’t really ask and Matt could hear the smile in it, and he knew what Foggy was offering.
“Sure, anything to keep my partner focused on the case.” Matt agreed, he didn’t really want to but he knew that after about an hour of pretending he would actually forget it was an act and just kind of go along with it all. It probably wouldn’t do much more than that but he needed to set Foggy at ease and there was a tiny chance the positive feeling might not fade straight away.
As predicted the act settled in and it was easier to joke with Foggy, that didn’t make him any better, but it set Foggy at ease which made Matt feel both better and worse. At least tomorrow was Saturday, he could go out in the suit tonight until he was either injured or exhausted enough to fall straight asleep. Then he could try and sleep all day, or at the very least it didn’t matter what he did, he didn’t have to be anywhere and by night time he should have the energy to go out in the suit again.
Honestly Matt couldn’t say how the rest of the day went until he left work at a reasonable time. Sure he knew that they’d gotten a client and finished the paperwork from another case, double checked everything was in order for court on Tuesday. Matt knew he’d acted normal around Foggy all day, gone down to the probably not safe basement for lunch because it was somewhat soundproofed and thus about as quiet as his world ever got, and no one ever went down there. But it all blurred together and even though he’d barely done anything more straining than walk today he went home exhausted.
Like this being out in public was more painful than normal. Emotional exhaustion lead to an inability to tune out all the stimulus that normally overwhelmed him and it was only the ipod with the same song playing on repeat that kept him from covering his ears with his hands. It was Foggy’s old one and that probably helped even more, because it meant Foggy had noticed sometimes Matt couldn’t stand the noise of the world and had cared. Matt could feel the scrapes on it, the screen felt broken so Matt was fairly sure it didn’t display anything anymore, half the casing as falling apart, held together by tape and glue but it worked fine. With that one song playing Matt could focus on it and make it home without embarrassing himself.
Once home he quickly changed into the suit, he didn’t want to go out, not in the overwhelming mess of stimuli, but he needed to be Daredevil. Sometimes it felt like the only way he did any good even if he hated how much he enjoyed it. Matt’s smile as he pulled the suit on was more of a grimace, tonight was the kind of night where he wouldn’t dodge fast enough, though he’d still try to avoid anything needing stitches since Claire got mad at him for doing his own and he didn’t want to bother her. Climbing out his window Matt set off to find criminals, never a difficult task in Hell’s Kitchen.
Through the night Matt foiled two burglaries, one armed and one unarmed, he also discouraged several other crimes, but sometimes it wasn’t obvious what exactly he was stopping. Rape, murder, severe assault, kidnapping, honestly Matt didn’t particularly care for the details, all he cared was that the victims made it home, to a hospital, or to the police station safely and their attackers made it to the hospital. The fact that people sometimes whispered their thanks to the shadows of the night didn’t make him feel much better, but he appreciated it nonetheless. He stored those memories away for later, once this foul mood left him he’d be able to enjoy it, use those thanks to keep himself out of this mood again.
When he started yawning Matt realised he was done for the night, his ribs ached though nothing was broken, probably not even fractured, just bruised. He ached all over and was exhausted in every way he could be. Climbing up into his apartment took more effort than it should have and he quickly stripped, washing sweat and grime off himself before tiredly taking the time to wash his suit down, it was mostly the fists, elbows, knees, and shoes that needed to have blood sponged off. Usually he gave it a quick clean all over but tonight he just couldn’t care that much so he made sure the worst bits were taken care of, put the suit away and crawled into bed with ice packs for the worst bruises. Just because he was relishing the pain didn’t mean he wanted it to last. Old bruises just slowed him down and made him feel terrible, new ones gave him a rush.
True to form sleep refused to take him away and Matt lay still in his silk sheets. Nights like these he agreed with what Stick had said, the softness was more than he deserved, and part of him wanted the rough scratchy pain of regular sheets. He tore his hand away from where it was dancing across one thigh, pressing the bruises that were forming and idly wondered if jerking off would actually help or if it would just be a disappointment to add to his list of things to take to confession if he ever actually went properly.
Groaning at himself he rolled around, searching for another comfortable position for a few minutes, and finding nothing, returned to how he’d been sprawled out before. This time he pressed fingers into the edges of bruises intentionally, the flare of pain almost comforting for reasons he couldn’t articulate. He’d heard a lot of theories for behaviour harmful to oneself, to feel, to express emotion, to have control over something in their lives, to try and lessen anxiety, to distract from other things, to punish themselves, to communicate, hell some people found sexual release in it. It was a lot easier to ask why than it was to answer, it just felt right to him.
It was hard not to laugh at that thought, and this was why he didn’t try to seek help, other than sheer apathy. He couldn’t even articulate how he felt to himself, and it’s not like he could exactly afford a psychologist at the moment. There were a lot of reasons but honestly the main thing was that he was afraid. After years of his emotionally bland life, of keeping up with his responsibilities despite having to force himself out of bed each morning, after all this time it just didn’t seem important. This was who he was, and if he actually was depressed could he stand to lose everything he knew about himself?
Drifting from thought to thought Matt slowly fell into sleep that would be restless and barely refreshing. At some point he reached over and made sure his alarm was off, he didn’t need to do anything all day Saturday so he was going to sleep as much of it away. With nothing to distract him it seemed the best option and would hopefully keep his late night activities and subsequent lack of sleep from showing on his face.
This time Matt woke up to someone banging on a door, or at least that was his first conscious realisation. Second was that it was his door and he needed to find a long sleeved shirt before getting up to let them in. He threw his hand out, groping for a set of old clothes he kept near his bed for this kind of circumstance and once he found them Matt just held them, wishing Foggy would just go away. Of course Foggy never went away, something that, despite times like this, Matt appreciated. ‘Stop being lazy Murdock’ He growled softly to himself and thought of how worried Foggy must be getting which forced him to put the clothes on and start shuffling to his door.
“I brought lunch and if you don’t open the door soon I’ll eat it all myself!” Foggy threatened making Matt snort, he never had much patitence but if Foggy had food it meant he wouldn’t have to cook later. He was careful to eat enough, wouldn’t do for his body to suffer like that. Matt opened the door and didn’t bother greeting his friend, just turned back and made his way to the couch. “You’re moving stiff, get banged up pretty bad last night?” Foggy asked cautiously, they were still unsure how much they could talk about this, Foggy wanted to look after Matt, and Matt wanted to protect Foggy and neither wanted to offend the other so they danced.
“I seem to have forgotten how to dodge properly.” Matt joked softly, groaning as he eased himself into the couch, trying not to sound too pained.
“I thought you got body armour, shouldn’t that stop this?” Foggy asked in concern as he took a seat, setting the container of Thai in one of Matt’s hand, and a fork in the other.
“It lessens it and stops sharp things.” Matt defended, only slightly irritated that Foggy had to drop in today, he was going to do some good old wallowing in self pity, or maybe pull out the old dagger that had belonged to his father, though that would be difficult to disguise if he needed Claire’s help in the next week or two.
“Well dig in, can’t let you waste away.” Foggy teased and Matt smiled, it wasn’t honest but it made him feel a little better anyway, a little more numb which was honestly an improvement.
The only way Matt could explain Foggy’s effect was using the Spoon Theory; each person gets so many spoons per day and everything they do requires spoons, for him things took more spoons than they would for most others. Despite his senses he was still blind, and that took a little more effort at times. Foggy though, just hanging out with Foggy in either of their apartments, especially now that he didn’t have to play down his senses, it felt like it gave him spoons.
Maybe by tomorrow Matt would be back to what passed as normal for him, the days oozing past with semi-fake smiles and resisting the downward drag on his life. Hopefully he wouldn’t wonder how much longer he could keep this up, and how it would end, he wouldn’t let himself get hurt. With a little luck he might even get a string of good days soon, but most likely he’d return to the overwhelming ‘meh’ that he normally felt. It was okay, Matt knew that feeling well, not quite apathy, but just meh in which tomorrow will be like today which is like yesterday which was like the day before. Tomorrow will be like today which is like yesterday which was like the day before which was like what tomorrow will be. Comfortably numb.