Clover hearted

Staring at dead willows

A depressing chapter written from the point of view of different characters.
TW: depression, isolation, sex, SA, hallucinations

Stories told to no one // Rowan
I lay in my dimly lit room watching the candle flicker.
I think I could read the dictionary cover to cover and still lack the words for it, that's all I want, the words that will make this leak out of me.
It's empty in this room, the school is full of noise but returning home is hollow.
I sit in the dorms and stare at the ceiling. "Charlie, can I talk to you?" He mumbles a sleepy "go ahead."
"I want to be well, I think I've always tried to be, but I can't seem to find it. It's scary when what you are is so unreliable and often aching."
"I don't know if I'll ever find what I'm looking for. I don't know if my mind is ever something to be trusted."
It's quiet again, painfully quiet.
Charlie lets out a loud snore. This room is so empty. I stare at the ceiling again.

Not a metaphor // Elliot
I'm scared and I don't know how not to be. I wish I could turn it all off, but I don't know how to.
It's abnormal, right? I see it more every day.
I sit in the car and see demons in between my legs, "I'm having sex with you right now. Do you like it? I'm fucking you right now. Can you feel it?"
Not a metaphor, not imagery, just a hallucination, like always.
I don't want to be this, but I am, this is a part of me, and sometimes I am at peace with it and sometimes I'm it.
The doctor describes your hallucinations as atypical because you still know what's real and the maximum dosages are not helping you.
"Are you using again? You seem off." They are allowed to ask that, and you want them to, but you're not high, you're just aching.
I get sober just to still feel like I'm high, just to act in the same ways I did before.
I sit in church, I rock myself staring at the back of a chair. I flinch at small things.
I'm sorry for hallucinating demons in church. I'm sorry I don't know if this is a normal way to behave.
I promise I try to be good, I promise I pray like you do, I promise I am trying.
I don't want to go out because I don't want anyone to see me like this. I want to hide and keep writing senseless poems. At home it's okay to be scared and I don't have to worry that my behavior is unsettling.

Arcane // Charlie
I stand in church or the grocery store or a room full of people who have known me since I was fourteen and I can feel their eyes cutting into me.
I'm scared and I know they can see it. It's right there, it's tangible, it's the wide eyed look on my face, it's the failure to make eye contact, it's the flinching when no one is there, it's the staring at nothing and rocking myself.
I flap my hands and laugh to myself, whispering to and shushing myself. I stare at something not worth staring at. I fell asleep in church.
I can't hide my fear and I can't hide that I am seeing things that you don't. My eyes, ears, and skin lie to me.
I'm scared of you and I don't know why. I don't know how to behave in the ways you do, how to talk and exist like a normal person, like you. I want to exist in the room as you do but I don't think I can.
I'm sorry I don't mean to scare you. I know it looks odd but I'm trying to be good. I promise I am not misbehaving, please, I promise I'm not bad. I'm being good, I promise.
I stand in a crowded place and feel like the strangest person in the room, bleeding through my clothes. I'm sorry, it's nothing, really.
I arrive home and finally I can take off my face, I enjoy my own company and when I am alone it is okay to be strange.
I can talk to people who aren't there, I can suck my thumb. I can rock myself and stare. I can write bad poetry. I can hold my favorite teddy bears. I can drink too much coffee and stay up late. I can watch the same videos and listen to the same songs over and over again.
I feel safe, I can peel away my fear just enough to feel like myself.