WhoLock Imagines

Depression-11th Doctor

This is a requested story. Warning: contains suicidal content

Depression, such a thing can do more damage to one person than a bomb can do for many, or so it seems like. It felt selfish to think such a thing.

You felt like you were holding onto a cliff, the cliff being life and happiness. The edge being depression, sickness, all things miserable. The bottom and the fall, was death. Each person who let you down, every time you let yourself down, and every lie that spilled out your mouth was a weight tied to your leg.

Yes, you were on the edge of the cliff, your fingers scraping for anything to hold onto, a hand to pull you up.

 For awhile, the Doctor was your reassurance. You had been traveling with the Time Lord in a bowtie for quite some time. He saved you from daleks when you first met and without knowing it, depression. He never seemed to wonder why you wore long sleeves, but if he asked you would tell the usual,

"I have my fashion sense, you have yours." Rude, but not exactly a lie.

You never wanted to let the Doctor down, but you did. Your task was to protect a women and get her to the safe place from the Cybermen, but you failed. She was shot right in front of your eyes, you couldn't do anything, but you had to leave her or get upgraded. The Doctor was furious, she was a key person to help defeat the metal men. Of course, in the end, The Doctor fixed everything and defeated most of the Cybermen. The rest retreated.

The Doctor said it was okay, but you could still see the fury in his eyes. You let him down. You let that woman die... how could you forgive yourself?

The dark feelings wrapped you up like rope. Sadness, anger, and loneliness... But in the end, you just felt empty.

You looked into the mirror and scowled at your reflection, roughly pulling up your sleeves and revealing rows of scars up your arms. You were on a clean streak, but tonight you broke it.

The weight was too much to bear, you had to let something go.

You opened your secret drawer and dug out your razor, then double checked to see that your door was shut, and locked. Turning on the shower you let the burning-hot water beat against your skin. Then started dragging the blade across your skin. The all-to-familiar sting came with each stroke and as water mixed with the blood, carrying it to the drain.

You cried almost freely, staying quiet in case the Doctor walked by. Crying was forbidden to you, you made it a rule to bottle up all emotions under a 'happy' shell. Each time you cried it was another mark on your arm.

"Y/n, open up, we need to talk." The Doctor knocked quickly against the door.

"I'm not dressed!" you yelled back, masking the tears and shutting the water off.

"Then get dressed and meet me at the console." You heard his footsteps retreat and you quickly put on your clothes. You blinked back any remaining tears, checked to make sure your face wasn't puffy and headed out the door.

You didn't check if your cuts had stopped bleeding.

The Doctor was flipping a few switches when you entered and the TARDIS wheezed to life.

"Y/n, how are you?" He didn't look up.

"I'm fine," you tried to sound casual when really you wanted to say, 'Why do you care?' or 'I'm broken.'

"Are you really?" He looked up and you saw worry, not anger.

"Yes, Doctor," you scoffed, all being part of the act. "How are you?"

"Y/n," the Time Lord spoke sternly. "I've met too many people to know that 'fine' really means 'miserable.' Roll up your sleeve."

Shock radiated through your body and you felt heat rise to your cheeks. You looked to your sleeve and saw that red was staining through the cloth. Hastily, you rolled up the other. But, The Doctor was still looking at you expectantly with those old, sad eyes.

"I know you have been hiding something from me." He crossed the room in just a couple steps and gripped your arm, not letting go even when you jerked back and gasped from the pain. Tenderly, he slid up your sleeve and just stared at the fresh wounds and the old scars. You bit your lip and blinked back forming tears. You tried to hold back the instinct of fighting or fleeing.

You watched as the Doctor's hands started to glow as golden sparks wove their way up your arm. The cuts started to heal and the the blood washed away. Only the deep scars remained as faint lines, the Doctor wrapped you into his embrace. You started crying, snuggling closer into his chest.

"I-it's all my fault!" you choked, "I let you down, I let that woman die, and some of the cybermen escaped. I've messed up so many times! Why do you even keep me around? I'm useless!"

"No, shush," The Doctor soothed. "You couldn't have saved her, not even I could've. I'm sorry if it seemed like you were a disappointment. You are one of the most amazing, talented, and beautiful people I have had the pleasure to meet. The fact that you try every day only proves that you have a persistent heart and one of the kindest hearts." The Doctor kissed the top of your head. "Y/n, don't ever hurt yourself again. You have been so helpful, generous, and smart... what it would do to me if-"

He choked up and the arms around you tightened. "I love you, Y/n. Let me help you by saving you from this cliff of yours."

-.-Always Keep Fighting-.-
For any of my readers that need me, I'm here.

Speaking from personal experience, this doesn't last. Your sadness, emptiness... It goes away with time. There are healthier ways of coping with it while you have it. 

There is still hope in the world. There are people who love you. You are needed. You are beautiful just the way you are. You need only ask, and people will be there. 

I know this doesn't go away in a day. But you are strong and not alone. I'll be a helping hand to get you off of this cliff if you need me to be.