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I groaned, my ears flattening against my head as pain hit my head like a brick as I opened my eyes to the golden sunlight.
I sat on my bed, blinking away the tiredness from my eyes.
It didn’t help.
I blame myself for only getting three hours of sleep.
I let myself rest for a moment before sighing and rolling over in my bed, planting my feet onto the wooden floor beneath me.
I was exhausted, filled with a tiredness I wouldn’t wish on anyone.
But I’ve been dealing with this feeling for years now.
It’s just been getting more difficult to uphold my ‘healthly’ self.
I glanced at the papers and clothing littered all over my floor.
A feeling of pure disgust filled me.
Why haven’t I cleaned this?
It’s been weeks now.
My bedroom is a mess.
My trash cans are filled, my clean clothes are scattered all over the place, and cups of water litter my nightstand.
A dead bug sits in one.
I’m disgusting.
I look over to my list.
It’s full to the brim.
I have several things I need to do today but I just can’t get myself to start any of them.
I just want to relax.
I’m exhausted.
I peeled my eyes away from the list, a problem for later me.
I ignored the anxiety that filled me.
I instead groaned and fell back into my bed, turning to my side, tucking my tail between my legs in a self-soothing way.
I fight the urge to sleep as I cuddle close to my pillow.
I ignored the poorly made nest.
If you could even call the five pillows and two blankets on my bed a nest.
I need to get up.
I need to start my day.
I need to eat something, drink something.
I’m exhausted.
Tears of frustration run down my face as I bite my pillow.
So childish.
I need to pick myself up.
And just like that, my mood changes.
I sit back up and smile, putting my face into my hands, painfully clawing into my face to distract myself.
I falsely reassure myself that everything is okay, and I pull my head away from my hands.
I look over to my checklist before grabbing it and flipping it over to the next page.
The page is full of tally marks, some of them days old.
I count the ones I made the night before.
Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, thirty.
Thirty it is.
I stood up and made my way to my desk, putting my arm on the desk as I dug through my desk drawer, taking out a sharp blade.
I looked over to my arm, it’s already littered with hundreds of cat cuts.
What’s a couple more?
I hum happily, counting with a smile on my face as I dig the blade into my skin and slice.
I can’t even remember why I deserved half of the cuts.
Why does the reason matter? I still deserve them.
Once I was done I sat with the blade in my hand, happily waiting to see which ones would bleed.
I was still disappointed that I needed to nail down a good pressure to make them bleed more.
The sting of pain is what I liked the most.
It reminded me of the many mistakes that I made, self-punishment to teach myself not to make such mistakes again.
I didn’t care that this was unhealthy.
I wondered who would notice the cuts first, Collie? Cyno? Kaveh? Hell, maybe Alhaitham would notice first.
I wondered what they would do.
Collie would probably freeze up and get a hold of the nearest mental health specialist.
I wouldn’t blame her.
Hell, I would probably do the same.
Kaveh would most likely be concerned and try to ask why I did it, just trying to understand.
I wouldn’t hold his reaction against him.
Alhaitham would most likely keep silent about it, choosing to instead confront me in private. Over tea, most likely.
He would probably give me a list of places I could go to get help, and if I didn’t go to those places, he would probably tell Cyno.
Oh..
Cyno…
He would be devastated if he found out, he would probably try to get to the bottom of why I did it.
‘Why?’ He would probably ask me, with tears in his eyes as he kissed my own tear-filled face.
Why am I doing this to myself?
Why do I hurt myself?
Why do I beat myself up over the smallest of things?
Why do I need to hide my feelings like this?
Why don’t I get help?
And I would tell him.
It made me learn not to make mistakes.
After all, I needed to be perfect.
Perfect talker, perfect partner, perfect dad, perfect friend, perfect teacher, I needed to be perfect.
If I wasn’t perfect, then why was I alive?
I blinked out of those thoughts.
I set the blade down; the scent of iron was strong on my fingers.
I needed to get ready for the day.
I shoved the blade into my desk and walked to my bathroom.
It was also disgusting.
Mold was growing on the walls, my drain was full of hair, my mirror had dried up blood on it.
However, the worst thing about the bathroom was the mirror.
It exposed me to the real, unhealthy me.
My eye bags were noticeable.
My hair looked tangled.
Makeup ran down my face from the day before.
When I smiled, it looked fake to me.
I wanted to break this fucking mirror.
Red hot anger pulsed under my skin before disappearing a second later.
I feel like I’m going insane.
So I avoided the mirror, instead looking down at my toothbrush, picking it up and brushing my teeth.
I freshened up, adding my makeup, picking up my uniform from the floor and changing into it to start my day.
I notably ignored the mess on the floor.
I focused on the pain from my wrists.
I then walked out of the house in a good mood, greeting the people around, making my way to Collei’s house.
I stopped in front of her house, kneeling down and touching the Sumeru rose she planted recently. I nodded happily, it was as healthy as could be.
I stood back up, knocking on the wood of the house with a proud smile on my face.
“Come in!” She called from inside.
“Collei, are you ready for today’s patrol?” I asked.
And for a moment, I could ignore the fact that my room was a mess.
I could ignore the mold in my bathroom.
I could ignore the full to-do list.
I could ignore the three hours of sleep that I was running on.
I could ignore the eye bags I had.
I could ignore the tally marks.
I could ignore the blade sitting in my desk.
I could ignore the cuts that littered my wrist.
I could ignore the urge to be perfect.
And I could focus on being me.