Who isn't terrified of death? We all seem terrified of it, at least a little bit. The magnitude of it all. The consuming nature of it. We can try not to die, we will fail in the process. Most of us don't ever want to die or just distract ourselves from it until the inevitable comes. The great fear. The fear of all. Assuming you fear death it is probably your greatest fear. If it isn't good for you, I envy you. It probably relates to death or near death. Death is the great consuming darkness that comes for us all. Death is inevitable, death will one day come. The only real question is: when will it come?
Tails was tired. She was always tired. At least that's how she felt the past few days. But today felt somehow even worse than normal. She was tired. She didn't want to do anything. She just wanted to sleep and relax all day. She felt like dirt. She was terrified. She was always terrified. A professional would tell her many things, but Tails thinks that wouldn't help. She doesn't have a professional anyways. She should probably get a therapist. To work through all of this. Who knows honestly? Too many thoughts in her head to tell. Nothing consistent. Nothing good for her.
She somehow managed to get out of bed. She did normal stuff like brushing her teeth and taking a very emotionally damaging shower. That's probably not normal but still, she continued. Putting on some comfort clothes and eating breakfast. She was too distracted by actually doing things, she didn't even notice that Sonic came in, she only noticed him once he sat at the table. She also noticed when he looked back at her when he exited the kitchen.
Why did he look at her like that?
Was he embarrassed by her? Did he hate her? Is she that bad? Is it her clothes? Does he hate that she looks like a she? Why? Why? Why? Why? WHY?
Before she knows it, she's crying.
Leaking out of her eyes. Forcing itself out of her. Quietly she gets a tissue. It keeps coming out like blood. Blood of emotions. She wants that blood out of another place. Not here. Not now. Not this way. She keeps crying. She can't stop. She grabs more tissues. She tries to stop it. She wants it to stop. She can't make it stop. She grabs another tissue.
She's crying. She wants help. She doesn't want help. She wants to cry. She doesn't want to cry. She tries to stop crying. She can't stop crying. She wants. She needs. She hopes. She dreams. She tries. She can't. She can't. She can't. She can't. She can't. She can't. She can't. She can't. She can't. She can't. She can't. She can't. She can't. She can't. She can't. She can't. She can't.
She's crying. She's so distraught. She has too many emotionally damaging thoughts in that brain of hers. She's always thought it was too big for a brain to be. She grabs another tissue. She's crying. She grabs another tissue. She can't stop crying. She keeps grabbing tissues. A repeating cycle. Time is a flat circle.
Nothing can stop the tears, unless her eyes are sewn shut and even then, leaks happen. She doesn't even want to sew her eyes shut. She wants to cry. She runs to her room as quietly as possible and just cries. She keeps crying. She starts sobbing. She struggles to breathe. She wants to live. She breathes. She keeps breathing in short spurts. Then longer breaths. In and Out, slowly. She starts to feel better. Still terrible, but now she can breathe. She still wants to cry. She wants to let it all out.
She beats herself up for her mistake. What she sees as a mistake. She doesn't want to cry. She doesn't want to sob. She doesn't want to die. She wants to breathe. She wants to live. She wants to cry. But all of those are not possible. They physically can't work together. You cannot cry and not cry. That is impossible. Tails wished she could separate into two people. One crying, the other not. She wants to live. Not just not dying, but doing actual living. She can't do that now. She wants to go outside. But that isn't safe for her. She doesn't feel like that is safe for her. So she'll stay inside for now. She wants to go outside someday, just not today. That's better for her.
Wanting to go back to normal is natural. Hoping this stops is normal. She can't get rid of these stupid feelings. Normal is good, and change is bad. Seems stupidly simple, but it's her unofficial mantra. She wants to see her friends. She wants to go outside. She wants to leave this house. She doesn't want to die or exist in this house but nowhere else. She wants to live and go outside and live in the moment. Live for a living. Live for the rest of her life, but she can't.
She is trapped in this house. With her feelings and her brother. He's not even home half of the time. Who can blame him? She's probably horrible to live and deal with. She blames herself, she hates herself. She hates him. She hates her male self. She wants him gone. She can't live with him. She hates him. She wants him gone permanently. Forever. Never returning. Gone. Finished. Done. Dead.
But she doesn't want to die. Not because of him, she wants to live in spite of him. He technically never did anything wrong, except exist. Pretend she was him for her entire life. She wants him to go. She wishes he never existed. But that's not her fault, she knows that. So why is that so hard to accept? Why can't she accept that? Why is this so hard?
She wants to live. She doesn't want to die. She wants to cry. She can't cry. She wants to go outside. She wants to leave this house. She wants her brother to love her. Not him, she hates him. She wants to be free. She wants to live as herself and not pretend. She hates pretending to be him. She hates being isolated from everyone because of the damage he did. She wants to be with her friends.
