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Travis wasn’t… good at expressing his emotions, often either fully closing up, or lashing out on Devin. He felt horrible about it, Devin just wanted to help, and all he could do was push him away. It made him feel like he was a horrible person.
He… also hadn’t told Devin yet about his relapse. It wasn’t even hours ago and he’d tried so hard to find something else. Hell, he even tried smoking! Obviously, his relief didn’t even last more than an hour.
In no time, he was swiping that cold metal along his thighs like he did almost every bad day. Would he consider it a relapse, if even any self harm at all? He never got deep into the dermis, and it made him feel like he was invalid, especially after seeing how deep people can get… (this isn’t true at all; Travis here is a reflection about my thoughts for myself, you’re valid for your struggles and harm no matter how shallow or deep!)
Maybe he was just dramatic. Yeah.
Either way, there were now cuts on his thighs and he had to pray that Devin wouldn’t see. Or… at least notice. But, recently, it seemed Devin didn’t really care. He would only ever talk to Travis if Travis talked to him first, or if he was the only option.
Put him and Rusty together, and they’ll talk, leaving Travis out and not even TRYING to let him into the conversation. It made him angry. And sad. Devin always said he didn’t like Rusty, but Travis just couldn’t believe him. They would always talk, and he was just so…
Ugh, he didn’t want to think about it. Rusty is rude to him, and he is super weird, too. He just wanted… to feel nice about himself for a bit.
That explains how he got into this situation. He’s dating a 30 year old who is using him. He’s aware he’s being used for explicit photos, but ███████ would compliment his body, tell him he’s perfect, that he loves him.
It makes him feel better. Obviously, he posts about his new boyfriend.
One New Message - Devin <3
Huh? Why was he… whatever, he should be excited Devin is talking first!
Devin> [Responded to Your Story]
→travis your not seriously doing this AGAIN
I can do what I want, he loves me, Devin. <Travis
Devin> he doesnt you can't do this travis.
He DOES love me, unlike ANYONE ELSE IN MY LIFE. Let me have this.<Travis
Plus, it’s not like it matters anyway. You could be doing better things than talking to me.
You don't even really enjoy it.
I'm doing horrible mentally as you say.
Im ‘difficult.’
Devin> okay.
That's where the conversation ended. Travis obviously felt bad. Devin was trying to help. He hated himself for being so rude. Why couldn’t he just be normal? Stop being rude, stop being crazy, stop being unwell, stop being everything.
Whatever. It doesn’t matter. He should just… go to sleep. Yeah. There’s school in the morning.
___
He couldn’t sleep. No matter what. It was useless. Everything was too much. The TV was too loud. The bed was too warm, it was too bright, he felt too nauseous. He tried for hours, for the same result. Warm tears spilled over his face, rolling down the bridge of his nose to his pillow. It was uncomfortable. He hated crying while laying down. However, he let the tears roll, unable to make them stop.
He decided to roll onto his back, wiping the fallen tears from his face. He was pathetic, wasn’t he? Crying over a choice he consciously made. Would Devin forgive him this time? He didn’t think so.
Devin hates him, that's what he thinks. Devin is always hanging around with Rusty or someone else. He was already being replaced, and he didn’t know if he could take that. Not again.
Devin had promised forever.
Devin had promised no matter what. Devin stayed when no one else did. Maybe that’s why this hurt so much. God, is he stuck in his head? He feels even more nauseous, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t throw up.
Travis tries to stand, vision going black and statick-y at the edges. He always hated that. It made him feel lightheaded.
The room was still dim after he’d turned the TV off in frustration of the loudness, hoping the lack of stimulation would help him fall asleep. Obviously, it didn’t. He was just in the dark now.
The dark — and more specifically night time — was something Travis hated the most. He heard more things that weren’t there, hallucinations felt more real. It made him feel more alone—more crazy… He hated that horrible feeling.
The light witch flicked, the sudden brightness temporarily blinding him. Did he really have to get up? Between the stinging on his thigh and the way he was clinging to consciousness, not being able to get a wink of sleep, he didn’t want to have to talk to anyone.
Not Devin.
Not rusty.
None of his teachers.
No one.
He just wanted to go to sleep. For a long time. Maybe forever. That thought scared him. He didn’t want to live anymore, but what if he doesn’t go to heaven? What if he was too rude, no, too crazy to go to heaven?
That's why he isn’t gone. The amount of times he’s thought about it, however, was a different story. Whether he was in class, with friends, or sobbing into his pillow home alone, he’d thought about killing himself at least once in all of those situations.
Fuck, it’s so selfish, isn’t it? That’s what Devin told him, anyways. He was difficult, he was selfish. He was, he was, he was. The one thing he thought he was? Sick of it. Sick of all of it.
Sick of being the odd one. Sick of hallucinating, sick of being the one that was left out. Sick of living.
But what could he do about that fate if he was too afraid to die?
The answer? Nothing.
He could beg God to make him normal, but was there really a cure to this horrible fate? Was there a cure to the bad thoughts? Was there a cure to his stupid lack of talking? Was there a cure for his pain? Would it last?
Would he finally be free from all of the misery that has followed him for years?
Maybe it will get better. That’s what everyone says. But was it even true?
For years he has been struggling. It has only gotten worse. He didn’t want to get any worse. He couldn’t handle it. He was already lashing out on the only person that cares.
What does any of it matter? He has to get ready.
…
All his movements in the morning felt mechanical—like autopilot, or like watching himself through a dream. That was always something that freaked Travis out. It was like he couldn’t really control what he was doing.
In the blink of an eye, he was at school. Most times, he would stand near the tree close to the door with Devin, even if he hated it. Standing hurt his feet a lot. He’s on his feet around an hour before school even starts, so if he really had a choice, which he technically does, but doesn’t want to be rude, he’d be sitting.
However, he would always let Devin choose. He’d always let himself be left out. He figured it was a punishment for how rude he can be at times. A punishment for how he could act.
The days were the same. They felt like autopilot, and if they didn’t? He was nauseous before 5th hour. Between trying to keep his happy facade in front of his friends and focusing on the teachers, his day was exhausting.
Especially because he didn’t sleep at all last night, surviving off of a Monster he bought in the morning. He had another one for after school, staring it down in his bag during every class when he wasn’t trying not to fall asleep. Even with the drink, he was falling asleep on his toes.
Last hour. Language arts.
Being in advanced classes was something Travis hated. There was so much pressure to be perfect, it was suffocating. The fear of being pulled out of his classes and being made fun of even more than he already was is the only thing that keeps him from not doing his work, if he’s being completely honest.
Since it was still the beginning of the year, the work wasn’t hard, so he was grateful for that much.
Such a long time, that class is…
…
Home.
The place there was less demands. The place he could finally sleep. However, he’d downed that second monster before coming home, and his chest hurt. He felt like he was going to die, he was terrified that he would.
Distractions were his best friend until it wore off, he spent the time either playing a game, or watching a show. It helped… quite a bit. Once the ache stopped, he was off to bed, not even bothering to change into something more comfortable.
___
DO YOU THINK YOU CAN RUN, TRAVIS?
DO YOU THINK YOU ARE ABOVE ME?
YOU ARE NOTHING.
YOU ARE WORTHLESS.
YOU ARE SELFISH.
YOU ARE STUPID.
YOU ARE UNNATURAL.
YOU ARE IMPATIENT.
YOU ARE DIFFICULT.
YOU ARE RUDE.
YOU LEECH AND YOU TAKE AND YOU TAKE AND YOU NEVER GIVE.
HOW CAN YOU BE SO SELFISH?
NO MATTER HOW WELL YOU ARE TREATED, YOU TAKE FROM THEM.
YOU ARE DEFECTIVE. YOU CANNOT CHANGE THAT, TRAVIS.
YOU SHOULD GIVE UP.
YOU ARE A DISSAPOINTMENT.
TO YOUR CLASSMATES,
TO YOUR FAMILY,
TO YOUR BROTHER,
TO DEVIN,
TO EVERYONE.
YOU ARE INCESSANTLY ANNOYING.
YOU ARE DISGUSTING.
YOU ARE CRAZY.
YOU HAVE NO REASON TO STAY.
DO IT.
TAKE THE PILLS,
USE THE ROPE,
LOAD THE BULLETS,
TAKE WHAT IS CAUSING EVERYONE HARDSHIP.
YOU ARE WORTHLESS TO THEM.
KILLING YOURSELF WOULD BETTER THEIR LIVES.
KILLING YOURSELF WOULD FIX THE HARM.
KILLING YOURSELF IS THE BEST OPTION.
___
Travis woke up panting, clutching the covers to his chest. That dream… It was recurring. It listed every last flaw that Travis had. Every bad thing, every insult. Even his own brain knew of his worth.
Maybe it was right… maybe he should. For the better. But… What if he doesn’t go to heaven? If he’s swallowed into eternal darkness, or suffering, or worse? That terrified him the most.
What time was it?
The clock on the TV stand opposite him read 2:47 A.M. It was still early. He didn’t want to wake up yet. Didn’t want to face the day, didn’t want to face his friends, didn’t want to feel anything yet.
…
There’s something in the corner.
He isn’t sure of what it is exactly, but it’s scaring him.
It’s a tall figure, skin white as Ivory, rows and rows of black teeth behind ‘lips’ spread wide in an unnatural, uncanny grin. Its limbs don't behave like his or anyone’s in the world. They can turn all the way around, twisting and bending in ways not possible for any living creature with a pulse.
It makes Travis freeze up. That's not… not real. It can't be. It looks terrifying. Usually, his hallucinations aren't this bad… they shouldn’t be this real… this… creepy.
It’s looking at him.
Black, beady eyes staring into his own.
It just stood there, unmoving, unblinking.
However, it wasn’t there for long. Only a few minutes. Seeing it gone relieved him and scared him even more, like when a spider in your room goes missing.
Scanning his room was what he did next, the hallucination leaving him on edge. Every corner, looking to see if there was something else, if he should still be worried. Thankfully, there was nothing besides a flash of red eyes, something that resembled a Minecraft spider, that disappeared in the blink of an eye.
He’s a mess today, isn’t he?
“Keep yourself in check, Travis…” He mumbled to no one but himself, hitting his head and rubbing his eyes before walking to the bathroom.
Upon looking in the mirror, he realized how bad he looked. Eyebags, tangled hair, a stain on his jacket. Jesus, when was the last time he actually showered..?
Whatever, he could wash his clothes and take a shower today, it’s not a huge deal. He’d better do it before he gets yelled at…
___
Hours, days, minutes, they all feel the same to him. Almost a week has passed and he only remembers the bad parts. The nausea, the dull ache low in his stomach from not eating, the guilt after his gross thoughts.
The positive parts, the ones where he hung out with his friends, were all blurry. They either felt far away, or he didn’t remember or feel any emotions attached to the memories.
When he finally felt, well, present again, he was on a call with Rusty.
Why, you may ask? If you previously recall, Travis hates Rusty! Why call him? Well, Travis is lonely and will take anything. However, Rusty was annoying him. More than usual.
He honestly didn’t listen to most of what he said, catching a, “Well I didn’t do anything wrong!” and a “He’s fucking weird!” and more importantly a few, “I have a shirt that looks like their wrists.”
All of these comments annoyed Travis.
Rusty was weird. Rusty made fun of people. But when Travis gets irritated and raises his voice at Rusty? He’s the evil one. It made no sense to him.
“So are you going to apologize?” Rusty’s voice came through the speakers, the quality of his microphone making it sound as if he was far. Travis rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the growing urge to hang up and block Rusty.
“Not… anytime soon.” Travis’s response was hasty, sounding cautious as he typed away on his keyboard waiting for the other to respond. A minute went by, then two, then five. Travis didn’t realize Rusty had hung up.
He was blocked.