Work Text:
His gut churned, he felt sick. He couldn’t think about anything else, how could he, he always came back to this when he was left alone with his thoughts. The single phrase that lead his disgust for himself run even deeper “why can’t I be” he hated it, himself, the people he was comparing himself to. But at the end of the day one thought would never go away ‘if he was just like them he wouldn’t even be blaming them like he is now’ he curled in on himself even further, pathetic. He silently sobbed, his body wracked with shaking from trying to hold in his emotion. But he let it all out, every last thing. Until he couldn’t feel anymore. He knew that in the morning he would be the same as always. Getting along with those he can’t help but think of as better than him, he loved them, he hated it. He couldn’t understand his own emotions, but he kept it all under a measured and composed smile, seemingly just a more quiet person unless he was with his friends. That was another thing he would never be able to grasp, he had friends, that he could rely on that could unconditionally care, why? Why him? He felt sick again, his smile faltered. Even his eyes that saw everything about everyone could never get past his own insecurities. He felt like he was sinking, but even worse, he felt like he was dragging everyone he cared about with him, he knew it to be a lie his own well of emotions fed him. A depraved loop of constant force feeding of guilt and disgust. His countenance would whittle away slowly, over time. But it would chip, eventually giving way to cracks. Not large enough to notice, but enough to accidentally reveal his own discontentment. It was rather lamentable he had let himself get to this state, but he supposed a bottle could only take so much pressure before it would crack. He fell away to his own sickening pool of guilt, consumed by it, dominated by it. He was able to see objectively, there was never any need to feel like he had done any wrong. Though years of self loathing do not so quickly ebb away. So he lay, curling in on himself, trying to steady his ragged breath and hammering heartbeat. A silent oath to keep quiet about his own grievances, there was no need to bother anyone else about such small matters, no matter how desperately his mind screamed for a reprieve. He would not grant it. He would never grant it. It hurt even more to think that he could be forgiven, that was a fate he could not hope to face. He shed tears softly, a jumble of mismatched and misinterpreted emotions. Sleep took him when he could no longer avoid his dreams, he fell deeper and deeper sinking slowly to his own gnawing despair. His heart in a desperate claw for relief and his mind waging a war unto itself. He felt overwhelmed by guilt, he had never been good for anything. His chest hurt, it felt like cold ice running through his veins, he wanted to scream but could not let out a single utterance. And so he let himself drown in the murky depths of his own tangled feelings.