Markiplier Imagines (Mark X Reader)

•Depression•

12/4/18
'Depression (noun)
        a condition of general emotional dejection and withdrawal; sadness greater and more prolonged than that warranted by any objective reason.

Panic Attack (noun)
     a sudden feeling of acute and disabling anxiety.

Depression isn't cute. Depression isn't just the newest thing for you to be in order to be exactly like everyone else. Depression is evil. It will tear you apart until there's nothing left to define you as human. It will make you feel things and believe things that do not define you. Depression is a tornado of guilt, sadness, and anger that rips into your life and dismantles you bit by bit. And there's next to nothing that anyone can do about it.

The worst kind of feeling, is the onslaught of your impending panic attack. It consumes your thoughts so you cannot calm yourself down, or think anything logical. When you can't stop the thoughts from coming, and it takes advantage of it. Your breathing becomes sporadic, and you can't seem to get enough air in your lungs, no matter how deep of breaths you take.

"Take deep breaths." My therapist used to say to me when I would have these attacks. What she refused to understand is that I cannot get a deep breath. I physically cannot fill my lungs enough to take a deep breath.

These are some of the reasons I never go outside. The last time I let someone be with me when I was having a panic attack, they agreed with the voices in my head. They thought I was psychotic, and after that day, they never talked to me again. If I was in public and this happened, I can't imagine what I would do. That's my worst fear. Letting people see what I actually am.'

"Whatcha writing?" I slam my thought journal shut and snap my head up at the voice. I relax a little when I see the familiar face in front of me, his brown eyes full of wonder.

"Nothing. How did you get in here anyways?" I inquired.

"Window was open." I scoff.

"You say that like its normal." He offers a smile at that, and rolls onto his back on my bed.

"Well What was I supposed to do? Your door was locked."

"Hmm I dunno, maybe knock?"

"I did!" Mark laughs his answer. "Once."

"Probably not hard enough." I reply quietly. He rolls back over and looks at me with concern.

"Hey, what's wrong?" I almost laugh.

"I think the better question is: What isn't wrong?" He frowns.

"Okay. What's not wrong?" I blink. I didn't expect him to actually ask.

"Never mind that. It doesn't matter." I wave my hands to signal that I was done with the conversation. Mark seems to consider something, but then shrugs and rolls over for the second time.

"Alright. I won't push it. But it does matter. I know you'll tell me in your own time." I look down and feel a little smile play on my lips. "I have a question." I lift my head to him.

"Okay. Ask away." I reply cautiously. 

"Why do you always push me away?" He questions quietly. I swallow against my dry throat. I stay silent, and begin to feel the awkwardness consume me.