𝙆𝙄𝙎𝙎 𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙁𝙊𝙊𝙇ʳᵃⁿᵇᵒᵒ

*•.¸♡𝙈𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙇𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨♡¸.•*

Tw: multiple uses of the f slur, descriptive depressive episodes.

Isla POV:

Tubbo didn't show up at school the next day, or the next, or the next. Neither did I, expectantly so, living through one of the worst days of her life will do that to you, but that reminder doesn't exactly make the situation any better. Because unfortunately, the day after the worst day of your life, is just as fucking worse.

And the day after that for that matter, and the day after that, and the day after that, and even the day after that. Every day after until the blinds in your room remain dormant and the days start to blur together into one excruciatingly endless loop.

It sounds like an exaggeration, and trust me, it probably is, but that's just what depression does to you really. It exaggerates every slightly painful aspect of your life and throws them and you into a torturous cycle of disbelief and agony, removing all of your happy memories and replacing them all with a staining darkness up until it completely convinces your brain that your life was always like this and that you will never be happy again.

Or maybe that explanation was too, an exaggeration.

Whatever it is, it's excruciating.

Even more excruciating then the original pain that caused it.

This isn't my first rodeo however, I'm certainly not new to depressive spirals and breakdowns, the pills still remain in the bathroom cabinet, but usually in those circumstances I have someone to care for me, or help me. That someone is usually Tubbo. But we all now that can't happen.

I would confide in Mark as well, but that options off the table as well.

The 148 unread messages and 97 missed calls was kind of a dead give away on that one.

I tried to confide in NitNat at one point too, but she was always busy. Whether she was actually busy or not, I don't know. But even if she was I couldn't shake the feeling that she hates me, or that I did something wrong.

I honestly wouldn't blame her. I hate myself at the moment too.

In the beginning my parents weren't much of a help either, considering the one day I needed them they left for yet another business trip. But even so a week later when they returned for three days, they weren't much help either.

My mum gave me the courtesy of asking if I was ok at the very least, I crumbled into a fit of tears at the question. She didn't hug me though, nor give a shit. She just told me to brush off my shoulders and keep my head high. A better response than my dad atleast.

He just told me to clean the house and get over myself.

I think they were both just pissed that the bills weren't payed and the dishes were dirty.

Great parents they are.

The only comfort I really had left was my bed, hence why I stayed there for a week straight. Keeping Up With Kardashians propped up on my laptop on constant loop and the same bag of stale Doritos keeping me fed.

It was quite upsetting to look at.

Every now and then I would send a message to Mark, all in a hopeless effort to understand what the fuck I did wrong, to confide in someone that cared for me. Someone I loved.

But all I ever heard was his voicemail ringing through my ears. So, alternatively I wrapped myself up in his ridiculously comfy hoodie, clutching the rose quarts necklace and counting the stars on my ceiling over and over again.

There were 42 in total, I knew that.

But I still counted.

The note he gave me was now completely tear stained. I didn't dare look at it anymore. It only reminded me of his voice, a voice I wanted I wanted nothing more than to hear just one more time, yet also banish to the depths of hell.