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Jeremy doesn’t remember the last time he felt like himself.
It could’ve been the last time he played video games in Michael’s basement. Sitting with him in the living room with his moms, simply listening and bantering with them occasionally.
(God, he can finally think of Michael without being reprimanded—if only he hadn’t turned him away so easily. Maybe things would be okay now if he hadn’t screwed up.)
Maybe he was himself the last time he moped around in the hallway on his way back to class, because the nurse said a meltdown wasn’t a valid excuse to go home. That was definitely him, the image implanted in everyone’s mind pre-September, before that day in the mall where it all changed. Wimpy, idiotic, stupid.
Or maybe before Mom left. Why does he still call her that?
Maybe he lost himself a long time ago. It only became discernible when he gave all of himself to a higher power, slaving away to the AI hivemind, where he was promised a new, improved him.
Yeah, some things were definitely new.
Scars still fresh against his spine, rejection still plaguing his mind. (Of course he expected her to say yes, because he felt it was owed to him. Why couldn’t she be a dick about it? He deserved the worst they could give. Why were they so nice?) The rift between him and the one person who was somehow always there that seemed unfixable even after—what was it? Twelve years of friendship.
Tell me, when you look in the mirror, what do you see?
An amalgamation of stammered words, tics and fidgets, ready to turn his back on who he loves at any given moment if it benefits him, ungratefulness and filth in its rawest form. Something he wishes he could destroy, aching to the point of wishing himself to death.
This isn’t you.
The reflection that stares back at him doesn’t even look remotely close to how he remembers himself. He’s not even sure if he remembers himself—he knows it’s what he deserves, though.
This isn’t…