alive ↠ l.p (complete)

Chapter 11

TRIGGER WARNING

Liam's POV-

When the guys got home, I got out of bed and made the brave decision to tell them about how I've been feeling lately. I feel like medication is the only way to go now, but I really don't want to go to a rehab facility. I walked into the living room to see the guys laughing over some stupid sitcom, and when they saw me they turned the volume down. "You alright, bud?" Niall asked, getting up and putting his arm around my shoulder. "Actually, that's why I came down here to talk to you about."

I scratched the back of my neck, letting out a deep breath. "Well- uh, I don't really know how to bring this up, but I've been feeling kind of depressed lately. I've been having a lot of suicidal thoughts lately and it's scaring me. I have this notebook, and when I feel like doing something I regret, I write in it to release my emotions. I know I probably sound really annoying-" "No Liam, it isn't annoying. This is serious, and I'm grateful you came to us before it got to the point where I'd find you in your room, not breathing. I really think it's time you get medication for this, the night terrors too. Can we see this notebook? We need to know what's been going on in your head."

I nodded, going into my room and grabbing the notebook out of my bedside table drawer. I handed it to Zayn, and he sat on the couch to look through it. "They're going to think I'm some twisted sicko, they aren't gonna want to be around me. They're gonna send me off, made me go to some psych ward."

Zayn's POV-

8/11

Well, the night terrors are getting worse, it's like a bloodbath in my mind. I keep having flashbacks from the dreams, and they give me searing headaches. I feel like I'm burning from the inside out, I feel like I'm dying. I feel like if I killed myself it would make things easier for everyone. The guys wouldn't have to worry about me, my parents wouldn't be kept up at night being disappointed in their son, and Delilah wouldn't be stuck talking to some loser addict that has no self worth. This world is a dark place, and I''m drowning in it, the darkness is pulling me under and I feel like it's going to kill me. If the guys knew about this, I'm positive they'd send me away.

I'm disappointed in myself too, I mean I did all this shit just to get a kick. I made girls want me just because I'm a self absorbed prick. I took their innocence without even thinking about it, gave them anything they could ever want pleasure wise. They gave it back, and it always made me feel good. I feel like shit because some girls did have genuine feelings for me, and I threw them out like trash. 

The one time I did have feelings for someone that loved me, I ruined it. Luna was amazing, but I ruined my chances with her when I started the heavy drugs. She was fine with me smoking weed, but once I told her about the coke and promised her I would stop, she got pissed. And when I broke that promise I lost her. I don't deserve happiness, because I've made so many people unhappy. I deserve to die, slowly and painfully, to drown in this darkness.

8/14

I have a razor in my hand, and I'm so tempted to swipe it across my wrist. I want to bleed, to feel a pain like the what I feel inside. I deserve to just bleed out, to let all the life slowly seep out of me as I fade out of consciousness. But I can't, I can't do that to my friends, to my parents. Zayn would never forgive me if I did, he'd be so upset. Niall and the other guys would be so pissed off, and I'd make my parents miserable because their only son killed himself.

I want to end my life so bad, or at least watch the blood trickle down my wrist. I'm a twisted person, and I see that. I'm just a good for nothing addict and I deserve to be taken out of rotation. Someone better could take me place, someone who would actually do things to improve the world. Someone who would impact people lives, not a piece of shit like me.

I need a fix, anything to make the burning in my stomach go away. A gram would make all the pain go away, but then I'd just end up disgusted in myself, and a day closer to death. I'm destroying myself and I know it, but honestly I don't give a fuck anymore. I can't stand living, but I can't kill myself and let all the people I care about down. Life sucks, but I guess I was made like this for a reason.

I couldn't read anymore. It cut deep to know that my best friend has felt like this for so long. He;s been writing in here since he stopped, and it's awful to see how much he hates himself, hates life. "Liam, I really think it's time you go to a therapist, you need this a lot more than we realized. You need meds, at least until these feelings go away. I wish you would have told us sooner, because god knows if one of us had found you dead, and had to tell everyone. Please Liam, just get help, for everyone's sake.

He nodded, his head hung low in shame. "Hey, there's no need to be ashamed. No one is always happy, it's not possible to always be happy. Hell, everyone gets sick of life sometimes, but you had the guts to show us this, to tell us that you need help." Niall said, and Liam nodded again.

Liam's POV-

"I need to schedule some sort of doctor's appointment, whatever they're called. I want to get some meds to help me, and if it's okay I want Delilah to come around more often, she really does help things." I said, my voice a lot lighter than I had expected. "That's okay, whatever gets you through this. We're here for you Payno, always have been and always will be." Niall said, a grim smile on his face.

The air in the room felt different, like something had shifted in everyone. I can tell they're sad about this news, but I know they're glad that I'm getting help. I really don't want to see a therapist, because I don't want to be shipped off to rehab, it wouldn't help. 

After scheduling both my doctor's and therapy appointments, I showered, had some of the pizza Zayn had ordered, and went to bed. I felt better going to sleep that night, like maybe the terrors would stop because I finally told the guys about all of the twisted shit going on in my mind. No matter how good I felt, ever, they always came back, as a reminder of who I'm trying not to be.