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Matt can barely get out of the house quick enough, what with the other goons creating a ruckus and Doug trying to follow the lingering smell of ‘something is wrong’ emanating from Matt. A simple “I’m taking a walk guys” and Matt is stumbling over himself to get into the crisp and biting cold weather that's rolled in the past couple of weeks. He shoves his hands into a jacket that isn't doing shit for him warmth wise but it makes him look prepared and he really doesn't want anyone following him right now.
It's nothing particularly awful. No bad news, Doug is doing well, and no new hospital issues. Hell- even the Goons meetup had been going pretty well so far.
And Matt thinks that's what subconsciously irks him. Nothing is wrong, and yet he's having a low period again. He keeps trying to find something wrong when he's far too aware of the fact he has it great. Of course, he's aware he's got some issues and that even on a global level low spells are normal for the psyche to experience, mentally ill or not, but it's Matt’s logic-driven brain that really has a hard time applying and accepting that fact in regards to himself.
He takes a familiar path this time, with the state of his head currently he would certainly get lost if he walked aimlessly. The crunch of leaves slowly buzzed to the back burner of his focus as his brain began to churn through thoughts with no clear purpose. Hopping from his childhood to the strained relationships with family members, even dipping into recent trauma- stuff that he still had trouble filtering as real events and not a funny punchline in the joke of life. It wasn't even until recently that he had been able to process some of the stuff from his teenage years, let alone try to understand the confusing and bitter animosity he harboured towards events as recent as less than a year ago. it's not as if he really gave himself the room to process much these days anyways, constantly busying himself with work and friends and hoping that eventually, his head will sort itself out.
It'd been like this for a while now. His head, that is. Very bleak yet constantly switched between channels and none of them were good ones, but at the same time, he didn't quite understand what they were trying to say when he focused on one anyway. It's why he tends to give up doing it, too boring and too time-consuming. Also, it felt weird crying over things you thought had never affected you. ‘Icky,’ is how Matt would describe that process. He couldn't control it though, it'd happen out of nowhere and it hindered his daily life on such an annoying level that he had been informed more than once by friends that he seemed “more irritable than usual.”
He wasn't even aware he had been irritable beforehand, which was the upsetting part.
It comes with being mentally ill, he recognises and understands that. It's so normal to you but you're hyper-aware that what you experience is not considered typical. It was weird for him growing up but it's not like he had a choice in whether to feel it or not.
Suddenly the leaves stopped crunching as he stilled, the wind and cold air practically scraping the skin off of him as he became aware of his least favourite fact again.
There was no cure.
The ups and downs are permanent. The imbalances and fucked up brain patterns are not curable, only manageable .
He heard his music stop abruptly just a few seconds later. Fishing his phone out of his jacket he found it was because it died. Fuck all, he decided and slipped it mindlessly into his back pocket. Autopilot led him to a tree trunk lying on the ground. He sat down as the flood of thoughts and dissociation took the wheel.
He's genuinely stuck like this for the rest of his life. He's bound to medication and doctor visits forever because his natural state is unsafe for him. He can’t produce a good enough quality of life on his own. He'll never be like his friends who get to wake up and eat and do things, while he has to take an extra hour to decide if getting out of bed is worth it, and then realising that he still has to take extra time afterwards to hype himself up to take the medication that keeps him out of hospitals. He'll never be normal like other people. He'll never be cured .
He can't be. There isn't one. You don't cure this kind of thing. There isn't anything to look forward to, just more medication every day.
Matt sat there losing the feeling in his face and limbs for a couple of hours. Thoughts meandered their way through his conscious but nothing he would be able to recall once he snapped out of it. Time left his side and without a phone with a charged battery, he truly was alone in the woods. It brought some serenity, but the tears still teetered on the edge of his lower lids.
He wasn't frustrated with the acknowledgement, it makes complete sense. Frustration nor sadness fit the bill here.
Exhaustion did, however.
A soft clicking of realisation in Matt’s head triggered a small sigh. He was so tired lately, tired of being a person and living. That's what it was. The type of tiredness where you feel as if sleeping would help, but it never does. In fact, it makes you feel worse and you wish that for just a little bit you could get it to stop, like an injury that keeps throbbing with pain and you want just some relief for a little bit, just to make you feel sane again. It was far worse than the manic or depressive episodes, he decided that a long time ago.
One tear sprang free when he glanced up towards the deeper forest, leaving him to float in his head.
How long had it been since he went on his walk anyway? Not like he quite cared. The longer he got to stay out here the better, he cherished this time, no matter how self-destructive he was informed it was for him. He craved this sweet time.
By the time he manages to pop himself back into reality and truly process that he indeed needs to make his way back, the sun has already begun to set. Matt frowns, it wasn't meant to set till 8 PM, he left close to 5:30 PM.
He was out too long again. The numbness from the weather was evidence enough.
He reluctantly walked back to his house, leaving his mental state of solitude, bringing back the salty and bitter baggage of knowing he's sick and he can't fix it, just make it less shitty. Was it even worth it at that point? Never being content enough but justifying it to yourself by saying “it could be worse”? Matt grimaced.
When he reached his front yard, Dooo was bounding out of the door, damn near tripping over himself when he saw Matt approaching.
“Blarg! We were wondering if Bin Laden had called or something.” He was smiling effortlessly, nothing to weigh his mind. This was his natural state.
Unlike Matt.
“Oh yeah, definitely, whipped out the ol’ Ouiji board and had a nice cup of tea with my dad.” Brisk smile and satisfactory responses. He wants to avoid the one-on-one shit, especially with someone as comforting as Dooo.
Dooo walked up to Matt and pat him on the shoulder with a goofy grin, like Matt was just the best . It fell short though when Matt made the mistake of grabbing Dooo’s hand and removing it from his jacket light-heartedly. The look of concern and confusion that struck the smaller man’s face when he felt Matt’s fingers made Matt a little anxious.
“You okay? You're freezing, Matt..”
“No shit, Eric, it's nearly winter in Canada and I just got back from a walk.”
The unspoken question on Dooo’s face when he glanced up at his friend was not to be mentioned, and in Matt’s opinion, he was all for pretending he didn't see it at all.
The few seconds that they stood there stretched on more than possible, and then Dooo narrowed his eyes. “Don't ever annunciate my name again like that, babe.” And suddenly, he had the biggest smile again, and Matt couldn't fucking take it.
“As long as you don't call me babe.”
A few tears slip and he smiles back. Certainly, this could make it worth it, right?