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Matt had experienced love. Love was extended from his dad and many others. His dad wasn’t perfect, but his love encompassed Matt. Maybe if his dad had just stayed a little longer, Matt would be a different man, better than the man he is now.
The nuns were not as encouraging with their love as his dad was, but they loved him nonetheless, with their strict rules. Father Lantom has been with Matt since he was a child and he wouldn’t know what to do without Father Lantom.
Stick’s complicated love, shown in the form of training. Sometimes Matt believes that Stick never cared, but, if the bracelet said anything, Stick cared in his own sick ways.
Elektra’s deliberate displays of love were nice in the beginning, though Matt doesn’t enjoy her methods. Maybe in another life, him and Elektra would finally work out.
There was Karen, and while he had not known her for long, she was a very caring person. She had found her way into his heart as he found his way into hers.
Then Foggy. Oh, Foggy’s delicacy, subtle yet much too kind, his tender touches, his sweet smile. He reminisced on how Foggy got him through college, through his self destruction. He doesn’t really know what he would’ve done if he didn’t have Foggy then.
Throughout college and, well, most of his life, Matt struggled with food. In his childhood, his dad barely made enough money to provide for himself, let alone Matt.
Matt noticed how his dad would go hungry quite often, to sacrifice for Matt. After that, he felt guilty for taking so much, so he cut back. He stopped asking for new things, and he would make sure to save enough food for his dad. If Jack noticed, Matt couldn’t tell. He could tell that this method helped their finances a little bit.
That was the start of his relationship with food. Then came his enhanced senses. After the incident, there were just some things he couldn’t enjoy anymore.
The taste of grease, the amalgamation of processed foods, and so much more. The “ew—no, gross”-ness of everything was amplified tenfold. It was all too much, and honestly, he’d just rather starve than have to shovel more food into his face that makes him want to spew his guts out.
There were times where he would dry heave after eating—when he knew he was alone, but he was much too afraid of the feeling and taste of vomit to be able to actually throw up. Even thinking about the feeling of throwing up makes him want to throw up. He didn’t want to question the logic of that.
In college, his food aversion didn’t go unnoticed. Foggy constantly reminded Matt to eat when he was overworking and skipped meals. Sometimes Foggy would offer him cut-up fruits, since he knew that was a safe food for Matt. These small acts touched Matt dearly, showing how much Foggy cared.
While Matt was usually fine, this food-aversion of his worsened during stressful times. One time, finals week landed at the same time as his Father’s death anniversary. It got so bad that Foggy couldn’t help Matt at all, no matter what he tried. His health got to the point where foggy had to explicitly confront him, unlike how they usually skirt around the topic.
“Matty, we gotta talk.”
“Yeah?” he sighed, shifting his attention away from his work.
“Are you doing okay—scratch that, how can I help you try to feel okay?”
“Fogs, don’t worry about me—I’m fine.”
“Yeah right.” He scoffed, “Matt, it doesn’t take rocket science to figure out that you’re not fine, and that’s okay! I just want to help take care of you okay? You need to take better care of your health.”
“Foggy, it’s alright. Ive just had a rough week. Don’t worry about me it’ll be fine once i get my finals over with.”
“I’m sorry but I don’t believe that for a second. You’re so self destructive it breaks my heart.”
“…”
“Matt, look at me.”
“I need you to know that you are loved, Matt. I need you to know that I care about you and that you deserve this. You deserve to be cared for, you deserve to be loved. Please don’t suffer in silence while I am here, waiting for you to come to me.”
“I- um.. Foggy..”
Foggy takes a deep breath,
“Repeat after me, ‘I am Matthew Murdock.’”
“Foggy, what?” He asks with disbelief.
“Just trust me, ‘I am Matthew Murdock.’”
“I am Matthew Murdock...”
“‘I am loved.’”
“I am.. loved”
“‘I deserve to be cared for.’”
He huffed, “I deserve to be cared for.”
“‘I deserve to eat.’”
“I.. I deserve to eat.”
Foggy smiled softly, “‘and I will let other people help me when I’m suffering.’”
“and I will let other people help me when I’m suffering.” Matt exhaled.
Foggy pulled him into a tight hug, while he just stood there not quite knowing what he should do. Eventually he wrapped his arms around Foggy, reciprocating his affection. He thinks that Foggy is much too good for him, he doesn’t deserve him. Foggy will eventually leave and Matt will be on his own again, just as always.
Well, he was right. Foggy left him lying here half-dead, but sadly alive, and he’s probably not coming back. He could not remember a time after college without knowing that Foggy was just a call away—well until now.
He sprawls himself out on the couch, still crippled. He wants so desperately to chase after Foggy. He craves Foggy’s gentle touch, any sort of affection from Foggy. It feels like he’s starving himself all over again, though food will never satiate this.
Unsurprisingly, Matt fucked it up with someone, yet again. What will he do without Foggy? He’s not sure, but maybe he’ll just lay here and starve. Rotting like a corpse on his couch, nothing to think about but Foggy.
He prays—no, begs to God that Foggy will come back, he has to come back..right? He dissolved into tears. He can’t stop the cascade, how could he be so pitiful? It’s not like he didn’t know this would happen eventually. Stick would get a kick out of seeing him like this. The old man would lecture him on how Matt lets his weakness rule his life.
Matt would much rather die than live without Foggy, and God did Matt wish that he had just died fighting Nobu.
Matt knows suicide is a sin, but can anyone blame him for thinking about it? He would never truly “take his life” in the conventional way, but if he died being ‘The Man in The Mask’, he would welcome death.
He understands intimately that his ways of coping are unhealthy, it’s not like he’s unaware. He recognizes that the way he runs his nails up and down his arms is a form of self-harm, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. Then he starves himself, and he cuts himself, and he digs deep into his bruises, as if to never allow for them to heal. He does all these things and more, if only for him to have a means of punishing himself.
He despises living as Matthew Murdock, he is the living embodiment of sin. He needs this escape, he needs to punish himself for continuing to be a waste of space on Earth.
He deserves the punishment, for every time he listens to crimes that are out of his hands. He deserves it for each time he doesn’t make it in time. He deserves it for deliberately hurting people he cares about. He deserves all of it.
He hates himself so viscerally, possessing the gnawing urge to claw himself out of his skin. He has this ingrained conviction that he’s in the wrong skin, and he wants out. His self-mutilation is the only way out.
Now, unmoving drenched in even more blood, he’s too dehydrated to cry. Quietly he whimpers, sulking in his self-hatred. God, he’s so pathetic.