[Self-acceptance is the key to happiness; Building by Javon Johnson (and the wild music video from Alessia and Troye was so gay, I loved it)
TRIGGER WARNING. HERE'S THE SAD ASS LONG AWAITED REPETITIVE CHAPTER HERE.
THIRTY-EIGHT: when you admit there's a problem.
I'd woken up by myself, laid back on my bed and a blanket thrown over my body. My throat was scratchy, my eyes dry and my cheeks stiff, I must've cried myself to sleep. What a great way to wake up, my shirt sticking to me and my forehead dry from sweat yet my hair damp, a towel sat folded perfectly on my bedside table.
Paul must've done that.
But I didn't care about that, I cared about the fact that my boyfriend wasn't laying beside me and his pants weren't on my gaming chair where he'd left them because of the fact that he always slept in his boxers. The side he was laying was cold to the touch and made -as if he'd never been there- and panic ran through me when I thought of the possibility that he left, he got sick of me and he left. He meant it when he broke up with me.
No, no, no, no, no.
He didn't leave, he wouldn't, I didn't fuck everything up. I kept telling myself that Paul kinda sorta almost loved me and we could talk things through but that was hard when his sneakers weren't in the place he'd kicked them off the night before.
Pulling myself out of bed, my fingers fiddled with the bottom of my boxers as I stood. My head hurt, my eyes did too as I shut them, leaning over to grab the pain-killers out of my drawer. I'd always kept them in there, heavy headaches in the mornings weren't too frequent but they happened every once in a while so I took precautions. Pouring two out, I stood from my bed and made my way to the bathroom, eyes catching onto Paul's shoes by my door.
So he didn't leave.
I'd never felt more relief than I did when I saw his beat up low converses sitting neatly by my door and I smiled slightly even through the pain in my head. Tightening my hand on the pills in order to take my mind off of the pounding, I continued my walk to the bathroom that connected mine and Jade's bedrooms. Turning on the tap, I popped the pills in my mouth before leaning down and drinking from the tap.
I could hear a small knock on the door and sat up, wiping at the side of my mouth, my eyes catching brown ones in the mirror. His curls were laying flat against his forehead, wet as if he'd just taken a shower and I noticed the towel in his hands and the new clothes. There he stood, bottom lip pulled into his mouth, his lean torso nestled in one of my shirts that were slightly too big around the neckline considering my shoulders were higher than Paul's. His collarbones were peaking out, small tattoo there and fading hickey beside it.
His hands we're playing with a pair of my navy blue basketball shorts that were bunched at his hips, showing that he had to secure it tightly and his feet were clad in mismatch green and gray socks.
"Hey." His voice was soft as was his smile as he pushed his hands into his- my shorts.
I couldn't get over how good he looked in my clothes.
Rubbing the side of my head, I pulled a small smile in return before turning around and resting my elbow on the counter. Even through the throbbing, Paul still made me smile. "Hey." My voice was barely there and it kinda hurt to talk, I'd probably done a lot of mindless wailing once Paul was there the night before... I'd cried in his arms like a child and I hated that fact.
Biting at his bottom lip, he looked down at the towel in his hands before stepping further into the bathroom to place it in the clothes bin, "Your dad um, he saw me and offered a shower and some clothes to change into but I thought I could just wear yours."
He was doing that cute thin where he twined his fingers together in front of him and shuffled his feet and God, I was so in love with him. "You look cute in my clothes."
Blushing, his eyes lit up and his smile slowly turned into a grin. Fuck.
"How'd you sleep?"
"Okay, I guess," aside from waking up throughout the night just to assure myself he was there, the small amount of sleep I'd gotten was fairly decent. Reaching for my toothbrush, I turned on the tap, wetting the bristles before covering it with toothpaste. Trapping the brush in between my teeth, I furrowed my brows. But no, if I'd fallen asleep around five and was restless, I would be feeling even worse. It couldn't have been morning, it most definitely could not have been morning, "Shit, Paul, what time is it?" I'd asked, barely recognizable -with both the fact that I was preoccupied and my voice sounded like death- but he seemed to understand.
Patting in my pockets, I realized that I didn't have my phone.
And my boyfriend, if I could still call him that, bit the inside of his cheek, looking around as if he could find the time in mid-air. He stood briefly on the tips of his toes before rocking back on the balls of his feet, "Almost three, I think." Running a hand through his damp curls, his eyes met mine and I wondered why he let me sleep so long.
Brushing at my teeth, I bent down to reach in the bottom drawer and pull out a spare for him, green because it was his favorite color. I was absolutely sure that he didn't remember to grab one on his way to stop my panic attack. Heart heavy, I held it out to him before spitting in the sink, "In the afternoon?" Nodding, Paul sent me a look of confusion and my eyes had rolled without me really noticing, "Why didn't you wake me up?"
I'd slept the entire day away and I knew he must've been bored or upset or anything of that variety especially with what had happened the night before, I was such a fuck-up. Spitting out in the sink, I rinsed my mouth before reaching for the mouth wash and going through that stage.
But Paul was tolerant like he always was, forgiving like he always was and he'd seemed to forget the happenings of the night before. Completely, almost as if they were washed away, he didn't even touch close to the problem at hand and instead focused on me... He always put me first. "You need rest."
"What?" Placing my toothbrush back where it originally was, I shut off the sink before spinning to face him as he fiddled with the toothbrush in his hands, "Babe, I can't just lay in bed all day."
He flinched at that, right when I'd added the pet name and I knew he wasn't over our fight. And without looking up at me, Paul sighed, scratching at the back of his neck in nervousness. "Don't be mad..."
At that my brow furrowed and I stepped closer, taking his face in my hands and leaning up slightly to kiss at his forehead. He didn't move but he stiffened and sucked in a breath as soon as my lips had touched him. I knew exactly why he as being like this but it really wasn't a good feeling and it crossed my mind that maybe that's what he wanted to talk about... Paul was always so confident, he never failed to meet my eyes. "Why would I be mad?"
"Julian." Sighing again, he reached for the hand I had placed on his face and sat the toothbrush on the counter before loosely tugging me out of the bathroom. I'd complied, "Come on, let's lay down."
That was when I stopped him, grabbing at his wrist and hoping that he would stop stalling, "Paul, I've been laying down all day, what's wrong?"
"Come on." Understanding but not really understanding the plead in his voice, I let him pull me to my bed and laid down beside him. Allowing his arms to wrap around me, I sat still but rigid. Nothing could be this bad, right? He's not dumping me, he wouldn't say all these things; if he were, he wouldn't talk to me so softly and hold me like this.
My voice was raw, lips slightly chapped and my head was still pounding but lesser to a degree, "What did you do?"
"I really, really care about you." Brushing his fingertips over my bare shoulder blades, he provoked a sigh from me. Tucking me closer underneath his chin, he breathed in. My heart was hammering against my ribcage hoping I could maybe feel the words he didn't wanna say and I sucked in a breath as he spoke, "Remember that."
But I couldn't relax like I normally could when we were this close. He was still dancing around the subject, ignoring my subtle hints to hurry up and break my heart, making it feel ten times worse. Scrunching my hands in the wrinkled fabric of the shirt, at his lower back, I tried to calm myself down, "Paul, you're freaking me out."
"I'm sorry." But Paul was breaking up with me. I couldn't ignore the facts when they sat right in front of me, he was trying to make this easy. And with all the gentle touches and holding and the fact that he kept proclaiming how much he cared about me... It sounded like an 'it's not you, it's me' speech and it most definitely was me. He was really gonna dump me over this and I completely 100% deserved it.
"I get that I did stuff and that I lied and I'm sorry, okay?" I lied and I broke his trust and I discarded every promise we'd ever made. My sadness was weighing on me, my heart heavy and chest constricting at how much pain I was in. "I'll get better at this, I promise." Keeping my arms twined around him, I held as much as I could, trying to protect myself from the hurt, trying to hold him so he wouldn't slip from between my fingertips.
But he was less soft with his words, not understanding that I was trying to understand, "What are you talking about?"
"I get what I did," nuzzling my face further into his chest, I tried to make him stay, holding the tears behind my closed eyelids. I saw my breakdown coming on and I hated that I knew it would happen, "please don't dump me over something like this-"
And he was silent.
He was so silent and my jaw had clenched, balling my hand in a fist to hope that the feel of my nails pressing deep into my own skin would avert the pain. But my fingernails were blunt, not piercing the thin skin on my palm and I couldn't distract myself from Paul slowly pulling himself away from me. He was away from me in a second, my hands unwillingly retracting from his body. And I felt myself swallow back my own protests, teeth chattering softly and I could feel the rejection prickling at my skin as if I were freezing.
Then, he looks at me and I find myself wishing he had left his morning before I woke up, at least I wouldn't have to feel this right now. "I'm not breaking up with you." That took me by surprise, palms itching and my heart stopping. And almost as fast as my past heartbeat, Paul shook his head, taking my face into his hands and looking at me as if he didn't know where I had gotten this. "I'm still mad and I need to think about it, you know, by myself but... I'm not breaking up with you."
My voice was dry, throat tightening, "Huh?" I hated how I was speaking at the moment, voice cracking and gritty as if it hurt to do so. There were tears in my throat along with words I didn't have the heart to say in fear that he would feel the same about me as I felt about me. "Then, why are you acting like you're about to break my heart?"
Sighing, he sat up as if he needed to look away from me in order to admit it... His lips were set in a grimace as he let it spill through, eyes concentrated on my door and hands playing with the shirt he was wearing. "I told your dad about your panic attacks."
My heart dropped. "You did what?"
His lips parted at my disbelieving tone, voice shaky as if he didn't trust himself to speak. "Don't get mad-"
Madness was already in me and all the progress I had made -although it wasn't much- had started to disintegrate. Shutting my eyes tight, my hands shook as everything washed over me. My father and I had just mended that little break in our bond and now Paul had told him I was a freak. My hands were shaking and I had snapped at him, "Don't get mad? You told my dad that I'm so screwed up I can't even breathe right." I couldn't even breathe right, nor could I hold in my cries and maybe he was lying when he accepted me.
"Julian, this is serious. They have long-term effects and I can't just ignore that you've had two really bad ones in the past week-"
"That's none of your business," shifting away from Paul when he tried to get closer, I shoved my head in my hands.
"Yes it is." Moving closer, he stopped when I shifted completely away before standing up. His eyes were wide and he looked at me as if he didn't get it because he didn't. "Come on, you can't be this angry with me..."
"Why the hell would you do that?" By then, I was crying, hating myself for it almost as much as I hated what Paul had done and I didn't know who to blame so I blamed him.
And then he was up with me, trying to get close but for every step forward, I'd stepped back. Paul's eyes were watering at that and he sucked in a sharp breath before staying soft with his words as if I were delicate despite the fact that I was loud in my lament. "Because I care about you and you're not okay. You need to talk to someone about this."
'You need help, Julian.'
Wiping at my face harshly and pushing at my body to start moving, I made my way to my dresser, pulling a shirt over my torso and searching for pants. "Bullshit, I'm fine."
His voice was barely there as he followed me, I could see him in the mirror but we didn't lock eyes, "Julian-"
"I'm going to Ben's." Shoving my legs through my jeans, I moved towards the bed and grabbed at my phone, I'd left it unplugged all night and it was most likely dead so I couldn't even call Ben and ask. Rolling my eyes at my stupidity, I grabbed my car charger and made my way to the door.
Paul -being exactly who Paul is- caught my arm before I could even graze the doorknob.
"No you're not," my blood was boiling, angry tears no longer there and I wiggled out of his grasp, "there's something wrong and you need to talk to someone before you hurt yourself."
For some reason, that made me even more mad, "I'm not gonna hurt myself!" And I paid little attention to the way he flinched back at my tone. "I'm not a fucking freak!" But there were crescent moons on my palms and I wasn't sure if that was so true.
"I-I didn't say that. I just, I care about you-" Scoffing and cutting him off, I turned back to the door only for him to grab both my arms and keep me in front of him.
"What do you want, Paul?"
I could tell he was trying to be gentle as he normally way but my attitude was hitting him and he was getting pissed, "I want you to stop yelling at me first."
"You shouldn't have done that."
Rolling his eyes, he breathed out a heavy sigh and tightened his grip when I started wiggling to get free, "I don't want you to get hurt." He shook his head, refusing to look at me, "I don't want you to get sick."
'You're a sin! You're sick!'
"Get out." This was hitting too close to the past and I shut my eyes, breathing deeply through my nose so I could pull myself together.
"What?"
Behind closed eyelids, I could see my mom and I felt my walls building back up, pushing Paul out because I was too exposed. Pushing at his shoulders, I tried to get him to let me go. God, it happened so fast, my body was shaking and I knew I was confusing him as I tried to yank myself away. Paul let my wrists go in fear he was hurting me.
"Get out!"
His voice was jagged as if I was hurting him and he gripped at my waist tightly but not tight enough to hurt, "No."
"Let me go." and I wasn't sure if I meant now or break up with me. I was too much a burden for him but also too much of a coward to leave. "You're not my fucking father, Paul, you don't have to act like you care about me."
My eyes were unfocused, my body moving only slightly now as if I were running out of energy. Paul tried to make me look at him, tucking hair behind my ear, "what? I do care about you."
Get off me. "You had no right."
He was looking at me with those sad eyes. I seemed to be the only one who provoked that these days.
"I am your partner."
"It's your mind, Jules." He looked so sad then, "its your health, it is important. I am spending part of my life with you. You're mine and it is on me to make sure you're okay."
I love you.
"I understand why you're mad at me right now but I promise it will get easier."
I love you.
"I'm sorry." My voice cracked at the end, it was embarrassing how quickly I'd fallen apart.
"I know."
Fuck.
"I hate feeling like this." Shame took over my body for cursing at him, yelling at him. He was just trying to help, "I'm sorry, I keep hurting you and I hate it."
He was still trying, fingertips at my chin and pulling my face up until he settled for just wrapping me up in his arms. "It's all fine, you're gonna be okay." But it wasn't and that made me more sad than angry so the tears came back again at full force and my emotions kept switching and so did my mind and my skin burned for his touch but my heart dropped to my knees when he tried. God, I hated this.
"M-my dad doesn't deserve this."
"You don't deserve this."
His arms were around me, mine still shaking but dropped by my sides. And he held me as I cried. "I just want it to stop."
And this breakdown felt way worse, maybe it was because I really thought I was getting better. I'd convinced myself that I would be okay. I was willingly upsetting him so he'd leave me but I also didn't realize how much it would hurt. I never loved someone this much, I never hated myself this bad.
Wrapping his arms gently around me, he held my head in the crook of his neck and I swear, I'd never fall out of love with his hugs. Raking his hands through my hair, he didn't care about the tears on his skin, "Shh, it's okay."
"Why?" He cared too much about me, I fucked up way too many times for him to care this much.
"It's trauma."
"Why are you with me?"
"Because I like you." There was confusion in his voice.
"I'm a lot."
"You think I don't know that?"
I love you.
"You're also absolutely dreamy, Jules." He smiled, it small.
"You shouldn't be unhappy because you feel like you owe it to me."
"What?"
"I'm a burden."
"Don't say that." It was strict and clipped. Paul's eyes burned mine.
"I'm making you worry."
"You're hurting."
"I really can't stand to see you like this." His sigh was heavy and I breathed in the scent of myself on Paul's skin. His natural scent was mingled with the one that was trapped within the cotton of my shirt and I don't think that I'd love anything more than when he held me. "Pete has really bad anxiety, he gets... Or used to get panic attacks. I'm not always there, what happens when something triggers you and I'm not there? What if it's as bad as last nights'?"
And his voice was calm, kind of serene, but I could hear how worried he was. I kept worrying him, I always ended up making him care too much about me and I fucked up after that.
Just like I fucked up the night before.
I shuddered in my skin, wondering if he regretted being with me as much as he should've, "You're going to college in California, I'm not going to be there. What if we break up?"
"You have doubts about us? You don't wanna be with me anymore?" He regretted getting this deep into this relationship and he was trying to find a way out and once he could, he'd never wanna talk to me again. I couldn't handle that, I couldn't.
Tugging me away so he could look straight into my eyes, Paul bit at his lip and paid more attention to brushing my tears away than wiping off his neck, "No."
Shaking my head, I'd disconnected myself, I went to my normal setting of 'I'm fine and everything's okay' and for the first time, I couldn't fake a smile around him. "What are you saying, then? It sounds exactly like you want to break up with me."
"I don't."
Yes you do, of course you do, prolonging it makes it hurt more. "Do it."
"I'm not going to break up with you," his voice eastern and my heart was heavy and he was trying to get me to look into his eyes. Rejection was something I'd prepared myself for time and time again and everything was getting repetitive so I see why he would be tired of it. But he wasn't, groaning when I refused eye contact, he threw his head back in frustration, "stop thinking that I'm going to break up with you."
I stayed silent, eyes fixed on the wall behind him and attempted to ignore the exasperation in his voice.
"Even though I have faith in us, there's always a possibility. I-I don't like that you're not okay when you're by yourself... I can't be in this relationship and stunt your growth and if we break up, I can't just leave you like that."
No. Don't leave me.
Shakily, he clasped at my hands, "You have to be independent. I-I'm scared something's gonna happen to you, I'm terrified that it'll get worse and I'll hate myself for not getting it checked out while we could." And he smiled sadly, pain in his eyes. "This isn't healthy, you need to talk to someone."
'You're sick! You're a sin! You need help, this isn't healthy.'
Hearing those words from Paul, even if they weren't in the same context, made my heart beat faster. My stomach dropped to my knees and before I knew it, he was yelling, "Jules!" I was shaking, eyes unfocused and he wasted no time putting his lips gently on mine and rubbing at my shoulders softly. Pulling away, he held my body closer to his so he could hear my heartbeat slowing. That was barely a panic, a shock and a tremor but that seemed to worry him more. "Jules, look at me, baby."
I still couldn't breathe and I was so glad that he stopped me before the night before happened again, "Look at me, I'm right here." This is why he didn't want to leave me, this is exactly why he felt like I'd fall apart without him... Because it was true.
I don't know why I said it or when I realized it or how long it was until I came to the conclusion but "I need help." came from my lips soon after and it was true. I was freaking out about things that I should have more control over and it wasn't fair to Paul to ignore it. I had problems and if I didn't want him to leave, I had to get help.
"Come here."
"I hate this, Paul." Even after he's assured that he was there, I felt alone. Sinking back into his arms, I gripped the fabric of his shirt again, sobbing into him shoulder and he just held me. I loved him so much that it hurt and I was convincing myself that if I got better, he'd love me back... I had to try. I don't think I'm ever going to get over it.
"I know."
"I wanna..." I wanna not be here, I really... really want to die.
"You wanna what, angel?" My heart skipped a beat and I buried myself further into him, whispering out my words, looking up so my teary eyes met his. Maybe things would be okay once I got checked out, I could fix myself and everything would go back to normal.
"Can we go to sleep?"
And brushing his thumb on my chin, he placed a chaste kiss on my parted lips before not-so discretely wiping under his big brown eyes, "yeah. Just for a little bit and then we can talk to your dad." I wanted to take some damn pills and get over it. I wanted it to be over any way possible and I knew that if I didn't get checked out, I'd probably hurt him emotionally.
"Okay." I didn't want to hurt him. "Thank you."
A/N:
I hope you guys understood that his thoughts were contradicting on purpose and sometimes they didn't make sense because he's so conflicted inside.
I've never written a storyline that got this in depth with the main characters' problems and mental breakdowns and I hope that you guys can see where I'm coming from. Jules is stressful, he's frustrating to write about because so many people have to go through this and I don't want to offend anyone with it and I also don't want to simplify any mental illnesses.
If anything does offend you, please tell me because I don't intend to at all. Respect is something that I'm big on; I do a lot of research before I type so I don't disrespect anyone who suffers from the same things that my characters have to deal with.
I understand that I probably won't ever fully understand but from writing this, it's made me so much more aware and I really want to acknowledge how strong you guys are who do suffer from depression.
Or really any mental illness.
thank you for being tolerant and trying and fighting. you guys are amazing.
Updated: Sun, July 24.