Depression's cure {Boy x Boy}

Kisses from the blade

(WARNING: SELF HARM)
[PETER'S POV]

That was a close one. Saving banks from being robbed can be really rough. I actually could have died this time...not that it would have mattered.

I save civilians in this city almost everyday and all I get is:
"That Spiderman is Destroying our city"

"We'd be better off without him"

"I hope that spiderman crashes into a brick wall and dies next time he slings his stupid webs"

Why is there so much hatred in this city....in this world?

Why does it feel as if no matter what happens to me, what I do for anybody, or what I go through in life or to serve justice, everything and everyone around me still screams at me and tells me to drop dead when THEY themselves would be dead without me?

Sometimes I wonder why I even do the city any favors...

Is it because I'm a good person?

Is it because I'm i just a natural hero?

No, it's not. But I remember why every day. Because Aunt May would have wanted me to do this. I do this for her everyday. I still wish I had told her about my powers and that I am spiderman but I was never ready to handle her fear and worry for me.

And then.....she.....passed away.... All because of cancer....If i had just stayed that night with her instead of stopping a bank from being robbed....maybe, just maybe...it would have made a difference. I would at least have been able to see her one last time before...she left.

And I hate this city for it, and I blame it for her death every day even though I know deep down inside it was my own fault. But I continue because that's what she would have wanted if she knew my secret.

Mary jane was the only person I could turn to, but when she found my journal and saw....my confession of interest in boys and girls, she turned away from me. Leaving me no one to go to, no one to share the pain, no one to help the pain wither away.

I had no one, but I found someTHING.

My razor blade.....

It frees me...the physical pain itself doesn't feel good. What is so...sensational about the cuts is the mental distraction of physical pain that drifts me away from the pain from inside. The pain of loss and emptiness. And with every drop of blood.....comes the feeling of relief. I know it's bad and I know it's dangerous but I don't care. And I don't plan on stopping anytime soon either.

I walk into my apartment, the one i bought after I sold my aunt's house because of the dreadful memories it inhabited, and go into the bath room. There, I peel off my suit and gasp when I'm finally actually able to breathe once I'm free from the cage of my tight suit.

I  take a shower and let the warm water hit my chest as I sigh out of mental and physical exhaustion.

After I finish cleansing, I go to the mirror and stare at my reflection. I see....a face with no blemishes. No cuts no bruises. Just a face with brown eyes, brown hair, and soft pink lips. 'What have I done to deserve such a beautiful face' I think to myself in disgust trying to be the opposite of arrogant. With that thought in my head, I yearn for pain and destruction to my physical appearance. I reach for my blade, and drive it into my arm.

Looking down, I see four other scars left just from last week because of this. But I continue to slide the blade to the right side of my arm, dragging a trail of my blood with it. I bend my head back and sigh in pleasure. I then slide the blade to the left in the same trail I left when I slid it to the right. I bring it back to the right and continue this motion three times and then stop.

I set the blade down, clean the sink, and then grab a band-aid. The wide and long band-aid I place on my arm fits perfectly onto the scratch and stifles any blood that tries to escape. I put this on because I don't want to make a mess, not because it hurts. I then go to my bed and turn off the lights surrounding me. Naked, I pull my sheets on top of me and sleep knowing no dreams will occur, only nightmares, and the same reoccurring one.

It's the one where I am behind a glass wall, watching my Aunt May cough blood and suffer as i try to break the glass but am never able to. I watch her slowly die and I cry and then the glass (without me even toughing it) shatters and i walk in and before I am able to hold her carcass in my hands, the nightmare ends.

I've been contemplating and have come to the conclusion that it symbolizes how I was not able to reach her in time and by the time i did, she was already gone.

I shut my eyes and wait for the horrifying nightmare to begin, as I always do, every night.

IF YOU'RE READING THIS, JUST KNOW THAT THIS IS MY FIRST STORY. IM WILLING TO TAKE ADVICE TO IMPROVE AND DON'T WORRY, PETER WILL GET BETTER BUT IT WILL TAKE TIME.