Endless loop of madness - William afton X reader

41 - Clare and Daniel

Warning: depressing, Mental health issues such as depression, anxiety and self pressure.

Clare's pov

Day by day, night by night, I did what I needed to do, minutes feeling like dreadful hours. Sitting alone, dreading these feelings that harboured within me. Without reason. Why did I feel so empty and useless? Why can't I do this? Why can't I not simply get up in the morning, without it feeling like the world has squeezed around me leaving me breathless and tired? William gets up and works without an issue, Beth even when she feeling a bit lazy, doesn't have any issues getting up in the morning like my brain just suddenly made everything, so daunting. Little tasks I need to get done, task that I always do. Getting up out of bed, my morning routine, dressed in the morning, make food for myself. Make the bed. It's worse when comes to my duties, looked after my grandparents, make dinner for me and William, just to eat alone. Being alone felt too much sometimes, but when I try to talk to anyone, I feel my mind racing, my chest too tight, my vision spinning and the lightness. Clean the dishes, get ready for bed, and try to sleep. Sleep when I suddenly can't. Pretending that I'm over the miscarriage was the hardest thing to do, but seeing how I can't talk to anyone was worse.

I try to be happier. Doesn't stop the loneliness to filling every room I enter, ever space I am in, and every moment of my day. I can't escape it. Endless loneliness. William's days off didn't feel real, his cold hands pressed on my cheek never felt loving enough, like a role we play. I see it in his eyes. A weird form of emptiness. No life in them. No joy. I don't think I've ever seen him look like he is living.

How was he feeling? Was he okay? Was he pushing through his days like I was? How could I ever bring up these questions when he's so closed off and always busy? Why was it so hard!? Why did he make loving him so difficult?

Were we happy? Was this just another moment of wavering doubt on my part? I mean, why was I complaining, when he became happier for a few months, dedicated and more active in making feel like life was life. There was something there in his eyes, I won't call it life in them. It was enjoyment maybe, but not life. They were cold, unnervingly so but I've never saw him without this almost soulless dead look to them. I don't even know when he slipped back into feeling distant and cold at times. How he looks at me is different, after I felt like I was feeling better, I felt like I could live, and finally breath under all of the pressure on my chest, squeezing me until I was nearly unable to even do simple tasks, slipping back into my old ways before he stopped putting an effort.

Why was I meaningless? Why does it even matter? My grandparents were right, I was good for nothing, wench that spoils all the good things in life. If I truly wanted to leave this life I would have already have done it. Despite, I'm the one tending to them most days, caring for them, and making sure they are able to maintain themselves in their old age.

Why me? Nobody else wanted them. It would be more interesting if it was for the purpose for inheritance but I knew I was getting nothing. I've done nothing to earn their respect or reason for them to see me more than another brat that my mother had. I hated it.

When did life become a chore while each day were uniquely the same. Everyday. Every week. Same old days, same lectures from my grandparents, same bothering comments from Beth, same dismissive grumbled from William. What wasn't I doing right? I must be doing something wrong, so what was it?

I do everything in the house, do everything for my grandparents, and all I see is dread.

I wanted to get better, but I didn't know how. I didn't want to be a disappointment, oh gosh, I didn't know how to get myself out of this repetitive life. Do better for myself and for my future.

I couldn't escape the walls around me, bland but this was right for me. This was a normal life but I couldn't stop making worse for William, but my inability to just be happy with myself. I know he was disgusted of my body, I knew it. It was this feeling in my gut that told me I was too disgusting for even him to see me naked. To hold me in bed. To want me.