You see the color gold, indicating the sun has come up and it is time to get up for work. You sit up in the bed and let out a groan, one hand reaching up to touch your short, soft hair. Small, boney hands pull away the sticky bed ware, the clothing having been saturated with your sweat during the night. The same boney hands pull on the regular Shinigami uniform before stopping. In front of you is a white haori and your stomach lurches with discomfort.
"I never wanted this." You hear a lecture from your zampaktuo spirit about being down on yourself and slip on your uniform and proceed to the bathroom you share with that fukutaicho. Upon arriving at the bathroom two small, boney hands grip the sink. You watch as your mouth clenches upon seeing your refection and you feel bile come up your throat. Not all days are like this, but your self loathing is for some reason high today.
You see cold teal eyes starting back at yourself, almost as if the other self wishes to kill you. The soft hair you brushed aside earlier cascades in an unruly manner. For a brief moment a memory flash crosses your mind, that of another person with cold teal eyes and unruly silver locks but you brush it aside. You can't let this get in the way of your job today. You quickly manage the unruly hair into something presentable before brushing your teeth.
The only reason you look in the mirror is in fact to make sure you look presentable.
The bile tries rising to your throat again, your nostrils flaring and burning. Turning off the faucet you head to the office. Everything is quiet and cool, just the way you like it. You feel like biting your tongue as the depressing feeling just won't go away. Sitting down at the desk your mind is soon drawn away from reality by the tedious work of paperwork. This lasts until you feel something squish at the back of your neck.
You feel your cheeks heat up, the bile coming to your throat. This time it is for a different reason. You can also feel your ears heating up, your throat going dry. You take a breath deep into your lungs before bellowing. "Matsumoto!"
A woman slips out from behind you, a grin plastered on her face. "Good morning taicho. You seem to be doing well today."
"Paper work Matsumoto." You look down at the paper, the sickening feeling creeping back. You hate yourself. You hate life. You can't tell anyone about this feeling. They think you may want to kill yourself. You doubt you really do, but you've felt sometimes the urge to hurt yourself. The feeling of bile holds back this feeling. You know you should ask for help, but you freeze and don't know what anyone will say. Will they think yourself mad?