Work Text:
It feels like my brain itches. It's a physical thing, almost; like a weird sort of pressure sensation somewhere deep inside my head.
I'm tired. Like, I am so fucking tired in a way that sleep just doesn't touch. I want to sleep, but the second I lay down it's all- all noise in my head. It stays there, itching away at me no matter what I do. I try music, sometimes, but all that does is make my skin crawl. I can feel the music in my head and it's horrible, but when I turn it off the emptiness is worse.
I push through the tiredness, a lot of the time, because what's the point when sleep won't actually make me feel better? I stay awake, but then I get shit all done. Literally nothing, and it makes me crazy, because there's a whole list of shit I need to be doing. There's another list of fun shit, stuff that I actually enjoy, that I could also be doing, but I don't seem to manage that either.
I usually get all caught up with something repetitive, some stupid fucking thing that's just mindless enough to keep me distracted. Anything that feels good just… I can't settle on it. I can't reach that fucking itch, so instead I just sort of vegetate doing shit all.
But that's not even the bad bit. Nope, the bad bit is that I've got shit I need to do, and the entire time I'm laying there I'm thinking about it. About how all this time I'm spending could be used for something productive, not just lazy doomscrolling and watching stupid videos that don't mean jack. Fuck, I could spend that time doing something I legit like, but instead I'm just… stuck.
I feel so, so fucking bad about myself, when it happens. It's like the worst kind of guilt, the sort that squashes everything else down into a corner and just looks at you.
It's why the only thing I can focus on seems to be something half mindless; so the other half of my attention can be laser focused on beating myself up.
I know, like logically, that this isn't a choice that I'm making, that it's just- it's brain shit, my brain doing shit to me, but I can't seem to let it go. I know I'm capable of, I dunno, opening a notebook and drawing a picture, or logging in to my emails and sorting them out, I know I can, but at the exact same time my brain won't let me.
It's so fucking hard, when it's all… in my head. It's not as simple as- as this bone's broken, so there's pain and I can't make it carry shit today. It's hard because I can do whatever the fuck it is that's got me all in a knot, but at the same time I just- I can't.
Sometimes I can do other shit, semi useful shit? But it's not what I'm supposed to be doing and it always makes me feel bad. Like, I could do something that totally does need doing and do it well, but it's not The Thing so it's all… useless. Doesn't matter if I answered the super important email, because the phone call I was avoiding never happened and that means I'm lazy, y'know?
I hate feeling it. I hate feeling like I'm wasting time doing shit all, because normal people aren't like this. Normal people can answer the fucking email, make the call, then watch a movie and enjoy themselves. It shouldn't be so fucking hard for me to do the same.
But it is hard. It's hard and I spend so much time with that stupid fucking itch in my brain, and hours or days pass and I genuinely can't tell you what I've done, other than a whole lot of fuck all.
People see it, too. Even if I'm just… just quietly going about my business or whatever, they can tell. It's the little digs, the oh, you had a day off and that's still not done? And oh, what did you do yesterday, hmm?
Or if I try and actually sleep when I'm tired! That's a whole fucking thing as well! I get so fucking tired. Not, like, for any real reason, but because I'm just so fucking shattered that I need to sleep and not fucking worry about the mountain of shit in my brain for a bit.
So yeah, sometimes I sleep! And you know what, it's fucking hard for me to sleep, but when I do manage it? You can fucking guarantee that someone will look at their watch or whatever and go oh, you weren't still asleep were you? Or they outright laugh and say Newt, you're so lazy! Like it's a joke to them that I'm fucking exhausted from spending literally every second of every day trying not to be me.
And these are probably the same fucking people that are all oh, we're so inclusive and oh, we are absolutely supportive of the condition you have! Like. Yeah. On paper you are. You are totally and completely on my side when it's all- all virtuous to be, but the second you get faced with literally me having the issue it's all- all disgusting. All Newt, stop being lazy and Newt, use your inside fucking voice.
Fucking two-faced shit, I hate it. You either support me, actually, literally me and not just the fairytale version, or you don't. If my having an ugly screaming meltdown is a problem, and you look and go ‘ew, crazy, stop that’ you can get the fuck out. Because guess what? Your expectations and your shitty attitude, trying to squish me into a mold that doesn't fit me, that's what fucking caused it in the first place!
It's… I guess it's like they don't see how fucking shitty it is being me. Do they honestly think I want to spend my entire day off just… looking at bullshit videos that don't even stay in my brain? Especially because the entire time I'm feeling like complete and utter shit, like I'm a failure and I'm lazy, wasting all this free time…
I wish, just once, that someone could just- just come into my brain and see how ugly it is in there. Feel the way it itches, the horrible thoughts that make me feel like a fucking monster, the whole lot. Because I can fucking guarantee that they wouldn't like it in my head. I don't like it in there, but it's not like I have much of a choice; I'm stuck in this shit, and there's fuck all way of getting out that doesn't involve being six feet under.
Which… it's tempting, sometimes. I know it's selfish, and all it does is make other people's lives hard, but when every single thing I try to do isn't good enough… it's hard to keep going. Hard to get up in the morning when you know most of the people you give a shit about would either hate you for it or replace you.
It's why I want to be the best so bad. Some of its, like, please god acknowledge me because I'm trying so hard, and some of it… I dunno, like… maybe if you tell me I'm good, I'll eventually believe it? The rest, though? It's being replaceable.
I don't even know what I'm talking about anymore. I don't even know why I'm talking about this, because the second I stop to think I'll realise that it's all… self service. It's all shit, me feeling sorry for myself when I don't have anything real to feel sorry about. It feels… it doesn't feel good, lumping this all on you, and you're not even awake to fucking hear it.
You're probably one of the only people who… I dunno, you get it. You don't ever seem to look at me like I'm failing when I can't get out of bed in the morning. You see all the- the laundry and the unwashed cups and whatever else and yeah, you bitch a bit, but it isn't… you don't… I don't feel blamed.
You don't blame me. I blame me, and I guess it's just… it's nice, to not be the bad guy for a second. To not be the one who's lazy, or wasting my life or whatever. Underachieving because we all know I can do better.
That's the worst bit, yeah? That I know. I am fucking well aware of my flaws. The real flaws, not the shitty little things that I go on about.
I know that I- I talk too much. I'm loud, and I overshare. I make everything about me, literally all the time. I'm making this about me right fucking now, so… yeah. Not only lazy and crazy but a dick on top. It's no wonder people can't fucking stand me.
I legit don't know why you do. I'm still pretty much convinced that I'm going to die alone one day, with shit all to show for my life. Like… academics don't mean shit, because there's nobody at my funeral. Nobody remembers me other than oh, that guy? The weird one? They don't miss me, because most of them only ever wanted to know the socially acceptable version of me.
I sometimes wish I hadn't been given so much freedom. I know my dad thought he was doing the right thing, trying to let me be me as much as I wanted and not, I dunno, beating the ick out of me, but I never learned. I never got the memo that it was me that was the problem, y'know?
The other kids weren't picking on me because they were mean, it was because- because- it was what I was like. If someone had sat me down and said Newt, look, you are being beaten up because of X, Y and Z, and you can not do that and maybe they'll leave you alone… fuck. I dunno. I can't actually figure out if I would have changed, if I'd known. Maybe.
I feel like the worst sort of person, that I want that. You didn't get that luxury; you didn't get a chance to be unashamedly you without some fucker slapping your hands and telling you no, not like that. It probably proves exactly what sort of person I am, that I'm maybe a little bit jealous of it. I'm jealous that you know how to pretend. People don't hate you, not the same way they do me.
It's fucking ridiculous. I've legit forgotten what I was even going on about, other than the whole- my brain itches right now and it's making me crazy. This is the most I've talked in weeks, and that's weird, right? It's weird that I feel like I'm broken when I'm not all- all over sharing and dominating every single conversation and making it all about me and what I want to talk about.
It's even more ridiculous when you realise… I kind of want to know if you noticed. Did you? And if you did, did you care? Did you think something was wrong, or just breathe a fucking sigh of relief because oh thank god he finally shut up.
I should probably shut up. You're not even awake right now, and you're poorly; you don't need me being all- all me all over the place when I'm supposed to be looking after you. I promise I won't be all fucked up when you wake up. I'll have my shit together and my smile glued on, and about half way through it'll probably be real. I like spending time with you, I like helping you. I like it enough that I can forget how shitty it is being me for a while, because you seem to think I'm worth something.
I'm not sure I think I'm worth something, at least… not today. Maybe it's not like that every day, but it is right now. Things look tempting right now, which is why I'm here and not, I dunno, hanging around on the helipad. It's a long drop, y'know? I know exactly how long, and what would happen when I hit the water, all- it's variables, but I've figured them all out. I won't do it, at least not right now, but if I'm up there it's the only thing I can think about.
I don't want to be that guy. I don't want to- to think shitty thoughts and make everything all about me. I want to sort my shit out, but I guess it feels like too much effort. Especially because, y'know, I've got prior, and there's a whole lot of shit on my file that has assumptions attached. Even if I ask for help, there's that horrible little undercurrent of oh, it's just for attention. Like I want to feel this way, and have people fucking look at me like shit.
Being fucked in the head… it's not sexy. It's not for fucking attention or for some weird kudos. Why would I fake that? Why not, I dunno, fake a headache? I could get painkillers and people telling me how terrible it must be to be me, how brave I am or whatever. Crazy doesn't get you that. All crazy gets you is fucking judgement and doctors that never take anything seriously because it must be all in my head.
Even when I tell someone I'm feeling like this, it's the same. It's all hmm, I hear that, but I also see what you're diagnosed with so I'm not going to give you any reinforcement because it'll make you even more demanding of my attention when you don't need it. Like I want to feel like this. Like me asking for help isn't fucking impossibly hard for me to do…
Ugh. I don't know why I bother. Even the ones that do take me seriously always start off with the whole- the and what do you take for that? With a big, fat and are you managing to actually take them? on top. No, I clearly just look at the entire fucking pharmacy worth of pills, because I don't actually want to get better! Ha! Why the fuck would I be asking for help if I wasn't going to take the fucking pills.
I take them. They make me fucking gag half the time, and there's at least one that makes me dizzy and another one that makes me want to puke, but I take them because it's shit being crazy and I don't want to be.
I don't. I promise you I don't want to be like this, but… that's the issue, right? Because when I'm laying there and my brain itches, and all I can think is bad shit about myself… I maybe think I do want to be this way. I feel like… like it's a choice. That I choose to do this to myself, and I could just… choose not to.
That I could choose to be normal, and that I'm only not normal because I don't fucking try hard enough.