A/N: TW here for a bit of self-harm and one slur. I'm sorry about including this and I promise there won't be any more actions like this. If you ever feel like this then please reach out to friends, family and don't do stuff like this. Things will get better, and this isn't the answer.
Robbie
I bring my phone out from beneath the uneven hotel duvet covers, though I can already tell from the darkness surrounding my room that it's early morning. 2:27 am. And I'm wide awake. Screw jet lag. But screw my mind too.
If you'd told me a year ago that I'd be in America, I'd laugh at you. My British ass was perfectly happy not travelling halfway across the world to the place my friends and I had mocked for years growing up about Gun toting diabetics and every other stereotype we could think of.
One moment I'm playing small gigs in pubs and venues you'd only find if you'd made a wrong turn somewhere, the next I'm on tour playing bigger and bigger venues across the U.S. I'm not quite at 'Madison Square Garden Level' as some overly confident people I've met put it, but I shouldn't complain. Still, everything's so surreal.
One thing which hasn't changed is my mental health. And I tell myself jet lag is part of the problem, but I know the real reason I'm not sleeping. My career is finally starting to lift off after years of hard work and people saying I couldn't possibly do it, but I don't feel anything except the incredible lows.
At least I'm not feeling low at the moment. It's worse. I'm empty, I don't care and I'm running out of reasons to care. I would just write another song but I've written so many when I've felt like this that it isn't exactly therapeutic. My phone buzzes. Oddly enough for someone who people have called 'Up and Coming' and been tagged in countless videos across Instagram, I still don't get that many messages.
I raise the phone above my face, blinding myself briefly as the light of the screen adjusts to the darkness. I see the username and the message along with it. My heart sinks.
[Instagram] adrian_cooper: Since when were you in America???
Typical Adrian. We'd been best friends since we met on the first day of Year Seven, and had stayed close for all the years before we finished our GCSEs a year ago. But I'd always felt like he'd never treated me the same as his other close friends, and I was proved right when he started ignoring me after I came out, despite him saying nothing would change. So I returned the favour, not wanting to endure one sided conversations where I was genuinely interested in what he had to say, yet he couldn't care less about me.
This is the first time he's messaged me in around seven months. I bet he'd seen the post I'd put up earlier last night, of my usual crowd picture I take during the last song of my set at every gig I play. Of course he still pays attention to my feed, but couldn't be bothered to try to talk to me.
The memories and emotions come flooding in all at once as I reread his message on my lock screen. Is it even worth trying to respond? He's messaged me first for once. I'm not in the mood for this, but maybe it's time I called him out on his bullshit.
I hesitate, before unlocking my phone and opening Instagram.
robbie.mp3: yeah I'm out on tour now, I'm currently in Atlanta haha
adrian_cooper: omg! that's so cool you're getting to go to America whilst I'm still stuck doing A-Levels
I frown a little. Since when was he so invested in my life? He was one of the people who laughed when I first said a few years ago that I knew I wanted to be a musician. My phone buzzes again, and my heart is up in my throat.
adrian_cooper: ngl, i'm kinda annoyed you didn't tell me that you were going on tour. I've supported you for as long as we've known each other and i feel like you're ignoring me nowadays.
For Gods sake. Of course I know what he's doing. He wants to know everything so he can go tell his real friends that he knows someone whose actually 'interesting' from our hometown. Well, now he's starting to go through what I had to go through for practically the last few years of my life.
robbie.mp3: dude you don't message me at all, and when I try talking to you you don't pay attention? You've been ignoring me for ages, so can you see why maybe you weren't my first choice to tell about this??
I see the read receipt come in immediately, but the typing bubble takes a while to appear. He's actually putting thought into a message he's sending me for once. Okay, maybe I'm being a bit of a dick but come on. He's finally getting to understand how I've felt about our friendship for years.
I'm going to bite the bullet here, I don't care. That numb sensation from my head is flowing across my body as I start typing out another message as he continues to type.
robbie.mp3: do you even care about me? i've been trying to keep our friendship going cause I refused to believe that you really didn't care, but it's obvious now. you weren't here for me when I needed you, and I would've done literally anything if you needed me. I'm tired of trying.
My breath catches in my throat. There's no going back now. Those three dots appear, disappear and appear again, mocking me and my anxiety. Finally, a reply comes through.
adrian_cooper: see this is typical from you. you're only thinking about yourself, even when people are going through the exact same shit. It's boring and you're always talking about yourself and your problems, being a tranny isn't ur entire personality.
Is he being serious?! Why can't transphobes come up with original insults for once? And of course he's turning it round to me again, trying to cover up his problems by pinning them on me. Like he did one time in Year Eight, and has continued to do ever since. I'm unaware of the tears forming in my eyes until I blink and one drops onto my cheek. Another buzz from my phone.
adrian_cooper: you know what? Fuck you Robbie. I thought we were close but clearly this isn't the case. You did this to yourself. This is your fault.
I feel a pang in my chest as my breathing quickens. I tell myself to ignore what he's saying, but that dark part of my head is already agreeing with Adrian, telling me I've always been the problem.
I can't focus on the screen as I type out my response, my hands shaking and breathing much more quicker than it's ever been when I've felt like this.
robbie.mp3: I'm sorry.
adrian_cooper: you should be
You have blocked adrian_cooper. Delete chat?
I can't take this anymore. I'm so far away from home, from my family, and I haven't felt this bad in so long. There's something rising up inside of me as I roll over onto my side, crying heavily in between ragged gasps for air. I know the feeling which is coming up. The desire to feel something other than the crippling sadness, isolation and numbness overwhelming my head. I've been clean for nearly eight months, and I know the implications if I start again.
I try to think. But I can't think or focus with the whirlwind inside my head. I slip out of bed, wiping a hand across my face and running nose. I flick on the small, cheap bedside lamp and reach for my rucksack on the floor near my bed. I know what's inside the small pocket I'm reaching for in the back of the rucksack. Shaving equipment. Disposable razors.
I'm disgusted with what I've done, especially after all the progress I've made since I last did this. I'm supposed to be a figure people are starting to look up to as an inspiration and I'm still doing this shit, although I tell others to never do it.
I avoid looking at my arm as I cram the razor into my rucksack and out of my sight. I don't need to look to see how bad it is. It's another reminder of how much I've messed up.
Flicking off the lamp, I crawl back into the bed and check my phone again. No new notifications. Typical. I definitely feel just as overwhelmed and isolated as I did before I harmed. There was no point, and now I've gotta worry about my stupid arm for at least the next couple weeks. I'm playing here in Atlanta tomorrow, and then working my way towards New York and that's definitely a place where you don't want people to see scars like this.
I focus on the ceiling, trying to push the thoughts rushing through my mind away in a poor attempt at trying to get some sort of sleep tonight.
The familiar sound of my alarm shocks me out of the half asleep state I was in. I reach across with my left arm towards my phone to turn off my 7am alarm, and as I turn it off I see my arm.
I exhale, rolling onto my back. I probably got at best two hours sleep last night. And now I need to figure out what the hell I'm gonna do for most of today before I play my next gig tonight at the Tabernacle -- it's going to be one of my biggest gigs since I started. Of course, the night after I self-harm for the first time in months. I'm categorically an absolute moron. I still have no idea what I'm going to do today. Staying in a hotel for most of the day was fun when I started touring but now it's just boring. I guess I should try to get out exploring the cities I'm playing.
Knowing my manager will have also set an alarm for 7am, I guess I have about 30 minutes till they'd come knocking for breakfast. Luckily no matter how little sleep or how depressed I am, I'm somehow still a morning person. I'm in and out of the shower immediately, trying to avoid getting hot water on my sore arm.
Picking out an outfit for the day is easy, mainly cause I only wear the same few shirts, jeans and pair of beaten black and white vans everywhere. I don't see the point in spending tons of money on designer clothing, especially when I think most of them don't even look as good as something comfortable and cheap I could pick up from a high street store for less than a tenner. Plus dysphoria's a bitch and these outfits help a lot.
It's a lot like how people viewed Ed Sheeran as the 'worst dressed' musician but I admired him, not just for his music but because he wore what he was comfortable with because at the end of the day if you're judging what a musician is wearing whilst they're up on stage instead of the music they're playing then what are you doing at a gig?
I'm bringing out the shirt I bought specifically in the chance of something like this happening. A simple black 'Vans' long sleeved shirt, with black and white chequers along the sleeves. I slip into the familiar embrace of the same old black jeans I wear everywhere, before I take my time slowly pushing my left arm into the sleeve of my long sleeve top, trying not to catch and irritate the skin which is already difficult with my binder on despite me being used to it by now.
I'm wearing nearly all black today, the emo gods my best friend Quinn used to praise would be proud of me. Almost as soon as I get the arm into the sleeve and pull the rest of my top half into the shirt, there's a banging on my door.
'Coming!'
I take a step, but then remember my glasses, thrown on my bedside table from last night. Sliding them on, I haphazardly step into my beaten black and white vans and lace them up. I fiddle with the sleeves of the shirt, making sure that no skin will be shown above the wrist, before stepping towards and flinging open the heavy fire safety style hotel door.
Cade is standing impatiently, a white plastic cup of coffee clutched tightly in one of their hands. Judging from the bags under their eyes, they've had the same amount of luck I've had sleeping, but from the amount their face is already twitching I'm gonna assume they're on their fourth complementary coffee.
'You good to go?'
'Yeah.'
Cade grins and turns around, heading down the corridor at an alarming pace.
'They're gonna stop serving hot food in about 15 minutes so we've gotta be quick'
I watch them disappear off down the corridor, as I grab my phone and keycard for the room and lock the door behind me, before sprinting off after the caffeine fuelled hurricane. I catch up to them just before the elevator arrives at our floor.
'Cade. How many coffees have you had?'
'I lost count at four.' I knew it.
The doors of the elevator open, and the businessmen who were up at 6am to get better seating and portions vacate the elevator, visibly stuffed with their all you can eat breakfast buffet.
Cade and I get into the empty elevator as the doors close. We stand there in silence, and the lift stays still.
'Why isn't it moving?'
'Cade, did you actually press any of the buttons.'
'I did! Well. I think I did.'
I lean across them and hit the button for the ground floor. Cade takes another sip from their coffee cup.
I fix them with the patented glare I only started using when they're so lost in caffeine world that they think they've done something when in reality they've been staring vacantly off into the distance.
You'd think that for someone whose close to 30 years old, Cade would be the one taking care of me, someone just over half their age. They've been a damn good manager since they introduced themselves to me after a gig I played in Bristol, and they're basically the reason I even got to have a tour and go to America.
Cade's twitching hand runs through the half of their hair which is jet black, unlike the dark red other half. The newest colour for this week. I'm aware of them eying me up and down. I'm quiet normally but I think they can tell that something's bugging me.
'How you feeling about tonight?'
There it is. The question so many people ask me before every gig, and I know especially with tonight being the biggest one I've done so far I'm going to hear this question from everyone around me, hell even my parents when I call them later.
I shrug. 'I don't know. Indifferent? It's just another gig really.'
Cade grins, seemingly satisfied.
'I guess this is what you're wearing tonight then?'
I sigh. Bless Cade, I know they're keen to build my image or whatever but I'm more than happy with the way I am.
'You know me, I'm not gonna change and get dressed up right before a gig.'
They nod and take another slurp from their coffee cup. The elevator buzzes as we reach the ground floor. Cade looks me up and down again.
'It's your gig man. Do what you want.'
And with that the doors open and Cade is unleashed upon the buffet table. I follow the trail of destruction out of the elevator, ears burning in embarrassment despite having a month to get used to this. An employee watches in horror at the caffeine and hunger fuelled whirlwind in front of them.
'Sir, please slow down! There's plenty of food but please leave enough for every customer!'
No disrespect to Cade but I can't spend the day alone with them. I'm gonna need to find something else to do.