Why do I feel so alone?

Bakugou's POV

The door to my dorm is closed and my bathroom door is locked. It's eight fourth six, but I can't sleep. There are too many thoughts spinningvaround in my head that won't shut up, won't let me sleep. Little whispers in my ear.

"You have so much. A place at the best school in Japan, great friends, two boyfriends who love you. But you don't deserve any of it. You're so greedy, you have so much and still you want more. You've done such horrible things, bullying so many people, including that Midioriya kid. You even told him to kill himself. You don't deserve to be happy."

"Shut up," I mutter, pressing my hands to the sides of my head. For weeks, no months now, I've been hearing this, over and over. Sometimes there were more point, or more insults, but this is what I heard the most.

"You are undeserving. You are surrounded by people all the time, yet you feel so alone. You feel so alone because you are worthless. Pathetic, useless, unlikable, unreasonable. Why would anyone want to be around you? You could make everyone's lives so much better if you just didn't exist. People would be so much happier if they didn't have to deal with you. Just end it all."

Now that I'm trying to ignore the whispers, they were getting louder. Not to mention everything being said was true. I always felt so alone and was often surprised to see how much people liked me. But did they actually like me? What might they be saying after I left? The was certainly plenty of time between when I went to bed and when everyone else did for them to be talking trash about me.

Worthelss, unreasonable, useless, pathetic, unlikable. All so true. I was undeserving of the love and friendship I'd been given. I was rude, I insulted people and dismissed their offers of help, trying to prove I was the best. But what was I really proving? That I was an A-grade jackass.

Why should someone like me live?

I'm selfish and greedy and undeserving. I just get in people's way and take up too much of their time. I push up the long sleeves of my shirt, revealing the scars, half-healed cutals and even a few burns. I said I started wearing ling sleeves because of the cold weather, but this was the real reason. I knew it was weak to be hurting myself, wrong, but I also couldn't stop myself.

Who would care if I did it? I'm sure everyone pittied me, which was the only reason they were nice to me. I was an unstable, roaring ball of rage. Who could ever love me?

Who would care if I died?

The answer to all those questions was no one. No one would care if I was hurting myself, no once could love me and no one would care if I died. And if all that was true, what was the point in living? There was no point in me living. None at all.

I open the medicine cabinet behind the mirror over the sink, pulling out my box of extra razors, setting one on the edge of the tub. I put the rest back, then pause. Don't people usually leave some kind of will or note? A letter or something?

I don't want to take the time to go get a pen and papers. Besides, I wouldn't know what to write. I'm better at being spontaneous; trying to plan what I'd be saying was harder.

I do have my phone with me, so I pull it out of my picket and sit with my back against the door. I use a shampoo bottle to prop up my phone and start recording.

"I guess this video is for all you extras in my class. You're all annoying, and most of you are really loud... but a select few of you were respectable opponents. I'm talking about you, Round Cheeks," I growl, basically trying to look anywhere but my phone screen. The ceiling, my hands, the sink.... just not right in front of me.