Work Text:
It takes quite a bit to make Spencer Reid feel down but once the sinking feelings started they were nearly impossible to stop.
The first sign should've been when it was hard for him to get up in the morning, constantly snoozing his alarms, begging for just five more minutes, and still feeling overwhelmingly tired, but he chose to ignore it, instead claiming he just went to bed late because he was 'too busy reading'.
Then all his clothing felt wrong. Too big. Too small. Wrong texture. Can feel the tag. Can feel the seam. Nothing was fitting right, Spencer couldn't ignore this sign or blame it on anything else, knowing what this meant caused a feeling of dread to consume him completely. He couldn't skip work just cause he was feeling a little down. Throwing on his safety outfit which consisted of a dark purple button-down, a dark pair of work pants, the only tie that didn't feel completely terrible to his skin, and whatever jacket he grabbed, before rushing on his Converse, grabbing his bag, and leaving, triple checking he locked his door on the way out.
Walking through the streets Spencer stared at his shoes, feeling like a fictional video game character with made up emotions and unrealistic standards of happiness, even just the thought of work made him feel sick with anxiety for no real reason. The work that he goes to every day, the work he usually enjoys doing, the work that left him with permanent scars, literally and metaphorically, the work that ruined public transport for him because now if he coughs twice he immediately needs to go to the doctor for validation that there isn't a sickness ready to claim the remaining years of his life. The work with his team he calls his family. His family who he would always forgive no matter what they did, or sometimes didn't do.
Nobody questioned it. Nobody questioned anything about Spencer anymore, nobody seemed to notice the kid working through his lunch breaks and if they did he'd just claim he had a large breakfast, nobody questioned him quieting down and spending more time alone, nobody questioned him leaving for 30+ minutes everytime he got overstimulated. They all ignored every sign that Spencer was silently begging for help, help he couldn't ask for.
Spencer knew the voice in the back of his mind the one quietly wishing to be hit by a car and telling him to jump from every tall building he put his eyes on, he knew it was the fourth or fifth sign he should've stayed in bed today but it's too late as he walks through the doors and into the elevator to his desk.
It appeared only Hotch was there, Spencer was thankful for that, of course he loves the team but he needed to mentally prepare himself for everyone. Figuring coffee would make him feel better Spencer went and got a cup but his shaking hands mixed with a zoned out mind caused him to spill hot coffee on his left hand, not enough to actually burn but plenty hot to hurt. Silently muttering many cuss words Spencer rinsed the coffee off his hand and filled the mug on the counter successfully this time.
The day went by quickly for him, nobody really talked to him, all too busy with paperwork, he got to be in his bubble for the day, usually that'd be good but his brain wouldn't stop telling him about how much everyone around him hated him, how bad he was at his job, he needed to be better, he wasn't good enough for the people around him.
Not being able to drown out these thoughts Spencer went to the restroom, checking it was empty before realizing this was sign six? seven? that he really shouldn't be alone for the next 24 hours but it's not like Spencer could just tell anyone that so instead he avoided the mirrors on the walls and grabbed some things out of his bag, rubbing his eyes far too violently to be okay.
Spencer wasn't stupid enough to get high at work, not anymore at least, instead he replaced the needle with some torn apart razors that filled the space in his fingers perfectly.