I Don't Trust Myself (Tommyinnit angst)

Chapter 7 - How Ironic?

(a/n) hey diplomats, how ya doing? Yes I did just call you all diplomats because you all made me feel so much better about myself and you were very sensitive and effective. I seriously love you all and please remember to be healthy, and believe me, I know how difficult it can be, but eating and drinking will help you so please! Drink! Eat! Look at me, being all sappy. That, I can promise, will most likely never happen again. I know that my upload schedule has not been very good but I simply do not care. Have a good day losers. 

TW: ANXIETY, SUICIDE

_____________________________

I looked around. Wondering. Contemplating. What was I. What am I? What am I doing here. 

Everyone knows I'm not brave. I'm a coward. There's nothing else to it, I am a fucking coward with no sense of anyone around him. I hate this. I hate being here, for everyone to see. 

Naked. 

Vulnerable. 

Upon looking around further, it hit me. I realized that this is not only the very bridge that I had previously encountered and had a wonderful out of body experience, or at least that is what I am choosing to call it, but I am here. 

I'm on the bridge. About to jump. 

I had predicted this. I had known before I did. 

Taking all this in, I slowly bent my knees, falling to a crouched position. How ironic? How does one know that they are going to have an attempt. To save them later on? A logical prediction based on their spiraling mental health? 

I lifted my heavy foot and placed it underneath me, stretching my leg to reach the ground. Not today. I can't jump when I knew all along. That's just plain illogical, and I am nothing of the sort. 

I started my slow, but steady nonetheless, walk back to my house, desperately trying to wipe the tears off of my face that I was completely unaware of until now. 

Making it back in record time, I walked in and decided to tell my parents about this. They needed to know so that I can feel better. They need to know so I can heal. I need to heal. Heal. 

Well, it was worth a shot to convince my silly little brain that I should tell them. I don't have to. They won't care. I need no sympathy, as I am just a poor little boy.  

I did have to talk to my parents about the meetup again because of the new information that we have been provided. I skipped over to the white couch that laid centered in our living room and plopped myself down promptly between my parents. They looked over at me, wondering what I was doing, as it was pretty clear I wanted something. I can only assume, of course. 

"Yes Tom" my mum inked.

"Okay, so you know about that meetup that we had planned with a few of my online friends? So, basically, they all know that I am taking a small break from streaming due to anxiety, but they surprisingly still want me to come and meet them. I was wondering what you guys think I should do, because honestly, I am fine with it either way, there are pros and cons to both." I said in almost one breath.

My parents shared a look that I couldn't quite read because of me needing to swivel my head just to see both of their faces at once. Darn me and my touch starved self. I wish I picked a better position. 

"Well," my father cleared his throat, "I am fine with you going being as you and I already met Wilbur and Toby, very nice boys by the way, as long as you stay on top of your medication and maybe call your therapist once every few days, depending on how long you are staying with the boys."

"Um," I paused, I had just thought they would have declined my request, "I think around a week, and Tubbo's parents offered to allow me to stay in their spare bedroom rather than in the airbnb some of the guys are renting if that makes you more comfortable." I finished.

"I don't mind you staying with your other friends in the airbnb, only if one of us can drive you there and talk to the boys beforehand. And, no matter your opinion on them, we have the right to just take you back home without any complaining. Okay?" my dad said, his voice softening at the end.

My mum nodded at my father and me, silently letting us know that she was in agreement with the plan we had in place. I thanked them and sent them screenshots of the info Phil had sent into our group chat.

Deciding that I should probably make a small YouTube video about my hiatus before I go away in three days, I pounded up the stairs, rushing into my room and almost breaking the door in the process. 

I booted up my PC and set up my camera. I pressed record, barely comprehending what I was doing, just pressing buttons that felt natural. I tried to shake some of the initial nerves away with a shake of my head, which ultimately gave me whiplash. Fun. 

Who would've thought that only 30 minutes after my almost suicide attempt, I would feel this giddy, or maybe that was just wrong. I'm not entirely sure of my feelings right now. My head hurts and shit. Maybe I should've jumped. Nobody would care. 

How ironic? 

The conundrum that I call my mind is confusing me, my feeling jumbling up like tumbleweeds eventually finding someplace to rest. I like to think of myself as a jigsaw puzzle. All these pieces that look fine by themselves, but only until you truly put together all the pieces do you see the hidden picture, or in my case the hidden mental issues.

I felt my chest get tighter, but pushed it aside as I had only just gotten to the most interesting ideas. 

Why do my friends like me? That I can simply not understand, no matter how long I ponder the issue. 

Maybe if I found ways to make it seem accidental. Then I wouldn't have to deal with the overwhelming guilt that pulled down on my brain like a deadlift does on one's back. I wonder. Maybe if I pulled the brake off my bike and crossed the street at the wrong time. 

My feelings aren't serious. They aren't. They aren't real. You know what it is? It's just me replicating the symptoms that I see online to convince myself that I have issues. 

Ping! Ping! Ping! 

The familiar sound of discord rung through my ears, tearing my mind from the intrusive thoughts and back to reality. I swiveled my head around to look at my messages, seeing multiple from Wilbur and Tubbo telling me to end stream immediately. 

I looked at them in utter confusion. What? I wasn't streaming. I was just recording a YouTube video right?

Not truly wanting to know what the real truth was, I reluctantly looked towards my main monitor, being blessed with the horrid sight of my face, cheekbones hollowed out more than what seems healthy. Tears streaming down my face. My usual thick, blond hair thin and lifeless. Icy blue eyes turned dull, pale blue gray and coated with a look of pure horror. Dark bags under my eyes from overexhaustion. 

Shit.

As much as I wanted to end stream, I couldn't tear my eyes away from the sight of myself. I looked sick. I looked like the Death Reaper himself would take me away at any moment. I let a small giggle slip past my lips at the irony.

How ironic?

Gaining at least the tiniest bit of dignity I had left, which was slim considering that what I could only assume was tens of thousands of people had just seen me break down on stream, I clicked a few buttons to end my stream. I frantically pulled up Wilbur's contact on discord and pinged him, double checking to make sure my stream was ended. 

"Tommy!" I heard Wil exclaim with a panic-laced voice, "Tommy! What happened? Are you okay? What can I do?"

"I-I was, or I thought I was, recording a video talking about taking a break and I guess I wasn't and I was freaking out because I-" I stopped abruptly. Telling him this meant telling him everything. From my suicidal attempts to the self harm I have inflicted. 

Do I really want to tell him? 

Should I tell him? 

Does he deserve to know?