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For as long as probably his very existence Suguru Geto had been lacking. Lacking in almost every part that would make most people functional humans, well at least that's what he thought of himself. From a young age Geto had a knack for not displaying any signs of a disturbance or any turmoil of any kind, as a kid his emotions were a lot more volatile, which made it easier to dismiss. His mother's friends had insisted that their young children had been similar, and recommended martial arts. He excelled, able to finally channel a disgusting slush of emotions that weighed on him constantly. However since starting at Tokyo Jujutsu High School he'd found that those negative emotions became so much harder to take out on himself, one would expect that the constant need to exorcise curses would act as an irreplaceable outlet, but of course it didn't. It became boring, repetitive, a mundane task like brushing his teeth. He eventually resorted back to old "coping" methods. Geto had been having a rough few days, normally he could rely on his depression being brief but for whatever reason it had stuck with him like a static cling. He noted the inattentiveness in class, how his training had become sloppy. He stopped seeing his friends as much, which was hard to do when they were the only classmates he had. But since Utahimes recent graduation along with their other upperclassmen, Shoko had seemed a bit more upset than usual as well, having less to say and sighing more frequently. Gojo himself was very focused on arbitrary things these days, devoting himself to a new video game before inevitably turning back to his precious Digimon, the one constant in his rotation of interests. And for whatever reason this made a breeding ground for Geto's life to be derailed. With Satoru so invested in his own activities and since Shoko usually preferred to do her own thing Geto was left alone for the most part.
They don't want me. They're self sufficient, arrogant selfish assholes, how fucking dare they. They're tryna hurt me, I won't let em.
Geto's thoughts were an inconsistent flow of anger, i mean why else wouldn't attention be paid to him? Yaga hadn't complimented him all week, in fact he criticized him. He mocked him, comparing him to every other student he'd had before, announcing Geto's mediocrity to Satoru. The most important person of all. The harsh comment still lingered in his mind.
"Suguru, are you doing well? Your movements seem slower than usual, normally you can keep up with Satoru no problem." Vile. Absolutely Vile. He'd been such a valued student, what happened to change that? He wracked his brain in desperate attempts to determine it, he'd forgotten to write his name on a test, he dropped a cup and it broke, he wasn't as efficient as he could've been on a mission.
In his bed he tossed and turned, the usual comfort he felt from his weighted blanket turning into a fantasy of sorts. Being buried underground sounded nice, it would be cool and quiet, he thought. Very very cool, the only sounds would be muffled footsteps from above. The thought became so tempting, he wished he would bury himself. Drown in the Earth itself rather than his own feelings. Ones he concealed and refused to talk of beyond making statements on being tired recently. Maybe he could reopen the scars and lie down, let something grow out of them. Fill them with dirt and all the natural things he seemed to not possess, despite the impossible nature the thought was delightful.
He slowly tilted his head up, staring at the ceiling until he could make out shapes, albeit abstract ones. Maybe if he burned his eyes into the roof for long enough, the depression would turn into dissociation and he would no longer feel the need to act on silly urges such as harming himself or acting out like he used to. It would be embarrassing if he did, he spent so much of his effort into maintaining his composure for others after all. It'd be a shame to let that to waste, along with all the love he'd tricked others into giving him.
Shifting slightly and rummaging through his drawers he couldn't help but be fixated on how much he couldn't stand anything, his frequent change in ability to feel compassion. How he selfishly had been avoiding his only friends, the guilt was setting in, truly a good sign of the approaching end of his depression! He needed more however, it wasn't nearly enough. Soon he wouldn't feel this way, he could have a break. He curled up to his side, and waited, feeling the fleeting joy rush through him from his impulsive actions before dissipating quickly again. His eyes felt heavy and so did his bones, finally. He tipped himself over the edge of the scale, and he could finally enter a peaceful state of apathy.