Chapter Text
I sit in my apartment bed. I'm bored, I'm tired, I'm feeling so much. I wish they would have upped my dosage sooner; because now I'm sitting here anxious out of my gosh darn mind! It's so aggravating, makes me feel too much I don't want too.
I plop back down onto my bed, I should sleep, I'm tried and not thinking straight… I might pull something stupid. So…
I shut my eyes. I lay there for a while.
How long? I don't know.
It just doesn't work, I can't fall asleep, as I open my eyes they feel heavy.
Oh, fudge, pull it together Ryland!
I'll be fine, this will go away in due time. I just have to wait till Tuesday, they'll be probably giving me the medicine and I'll be feeling better, like my usual self, in due time!
Vaguely, I wonder if I should message Colt… No, he's asleep. No way he's awake… Would it hurt to try?
___________________________
My hand fumbles to reach for my nightstand. Ah-hah! I got it! I retract my hand that now holds my phone, turning it on—I grimace as the bright screen blairs onto my face, scrambling to turn the brightness down.
I unlock my phone, checking the time (2am, great.), tapping a few times until I open the messaging app, pressing Colt's contact.
___________________________
I lay there for a while (again.) Staring blankly as I debate what to say or ask. How do I even approach this? “Oh, hey Colt! You awake? Your brother wants to slash his skin again!”… Yeah, not a lovely way to put it, Ryland.
I take a deep breath before my fingers type along the keyboard; I hope Colt doesn't worry much… Would be hard not to though, no?
“Hey, Colt?”
“Are you awake?”
“Sorry if I'm bothering you, I don't feel great.”
“I can't sleep either.”
I stare at the messages, I want to delete them, I DEEPLY regret sending them. My finger hovers over the delete button.. Shoot! Colt would still have the notifications, even if I deleted it. Fudge.
Why. Did. I. Do. That?!
I'm getting left on delivered, obviously he's asleep and might feel guilty when he wakes up for not being there… Ughhhhh… No, I got this.
“I'm okay now, don't stress it later.”
I hit send, only after about 10 minutes of the previous ones, that way Colt had a higher probability of believing me. I've done this before, but Colt knows I've done this before too.. I hate this so much… My stomach twists horribly with anxiety.
___________________________
My phone lays beside me; turned off and put on DND. I feel worse. I feel heavier. Why can't I sleep this off, I'm not okay, I know that.
Just close your eyes Ryland, drift off into dreamland! Oh, if it was only that easy.
I try, and my mind is littered with anxious and disturbing intrusive thoughts—Oh no.
My eyes shot open.
Fudge… Not good, NOT good… I thought I was getting better with those? I should've booked my appointment sooner.
___________________________
I didn't notice I was standing, I'm out of bed? My breathing uneven, uncoordinated, my nose tingles–I'm not breathing right, I collapse to my knees.
Right. I'm in the bathroom, there's bile in my throat. I'm in front of my toilet and now hunched over it.
Retching… after retching… I threw up, tears roll down my face, I can hardly breathe right; I gag horribly into the toilet. I don't think any stomach acid comes out, though. I'm not really there mentally so I don't know.
I sob in the bathroom for a while, I'm having an anxiety attack. I'm aware of that now, but I can't calm down. I curl into the fetal position as I press against the wall. Burying my head in my hands as I sob, hyperventilate, and probably drool.
I can't stop, I'm so devastated, over what? I. Don't. Know. I never know. I just spiral, it just... gets like this.
___________________________
I cling onto the bathroom counter, pushing myself up, my legs wobble. I've calmed down a bit, the feeling lingers, but I'm not having an attack anymore!
I stare into the mirror, I don't know why, I just do. I should stop; the uneasy feeling behind my back grows.
And grows.
And grows...
I need to stop doing this to myself.
But I just can't move, can't look away.
I feel like something is behind me more now, oh god this feeling is horrible, I've felt it before. I try to tell myself that I know no one is there, I'm okay. I've been like this for years, yet I never truly get used to it.
I'm probably always this freaked out because of my dad. But, I should stop thinking about him right there. I don't need to spiral about something else now.
I stumble out of the bathroom and glance at my nightstand, should I? Who am I kidding. I'm already making my way to it.
___________________________
Rummaging through my nightstand, lifting up my lamp on the side of it, I find it. Thank god, I thought I lost it, I always have a habit of doing that… How do I lose even them?
I pluck up the razor, staring at the metal in my palm. This isn't a solution, I know, I don't care. It's spring break, I'll have plenty of time to plan outfits that can hide them... If I have the motivation to do it, could always throw on late minute clothes
I roll up my sleeves… No, that won't work. I take off my shirt. I take a moment to soak in my old scars on my arms, even if some aren't entirely visible, I still see them. I get a sinking feeling, I could've gone deeper, sure I've hit white before. I can still. Go. Deeper.
I sit down on the side of my bed, feet touching the ground as I raise my left arm; my right hand holding the razor.
Swipe
I did it, I tried so hard not to, I really did.
Swipe
I keep going.
Swipe
___________________________
I don't know how many times I've slid the blade across my skin, I just keep going. The more I do it the more mad I get at myself, which only fuels how hard I push.
I stop and stare at my arm, blood pooling from my cuts. White fading into red. I raise my right hand again. this time placing the metal against my shoulder. I swipe the blade a few times.
There's blood dripping down my arm. Shoot. I scramble into the bathroom as I toss the razor back onto my nightstand, opening cabinets to try and find something to help the bleeding.
___________________________
My arm is bandaged up, took a second try to get it just right. The first time was too tight. Not the most comfortable feeling, so I redid it. This time, it's more comfortable.
I debated going for my right arm, maybe thighs, or ankles, but I'm just too tired. I fall into bed, accidentally falling onto my phone, I pull it out from under me.
I check the time.
Oh. Man. I've been spiraling for a while.
It's 7am. Cool (not really.)
I turn off DND and my notifications get flooded. Shoot, I have a lot of missed calls and unread messages—from Colt, ohh fuuudge..