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The Tears Won't Come [Aaron Burr]

He wasn't sure what triggered it. He thought he'd been doing better. He thought that it was finally going away, that he would finally be okay. That he would be normal again.

But it came back.

His bad feelings came back in the form of a coworker's phone call, frantic to find some misplaced files. Misplaced by him. In the end, the files were found. But his had mood spiraled down after the call ended.

A pit formed in his stomach and he wasn't sure if it was the anxiety from messing up, or simply because he'd barely eaten that day. Either way, it didn't matter. Without much thought, he went to his room and curled up in a tight ball, digging his nails into his skin, trying to get rid of the horrible thoughts that had begun to circulate around in his head.

It didn't work. Nothing worked.

The thoughts kept coming back and each time he felt more exhausted, more anxiety and more self-hatred.

God, he hated himself. How could he have misplaced those files? He should've been paying more attention! He's such a moron!

His eyes burned and he waited for the tears to arrive, he waited for the tears to begin staining his existence, but they never came. No matter how horrible he felt, no matter how much he wanted to cry, to let out all his stupid, worthless emotions, it didn't happen. It won't happen. The damn tears which he so desperately wanted, needed, just wouldn't come.

And so he lied there, completely numb, completely blank.

He lied there for what seemed like hours. And maybe it had been, Aaron didn't bother to look at the clock. He could barely bring himself to move.

There was something wrong with him and he knew it. He knew he needed help, he knew that he should talk to someone, anyone, but he couldn't. He didn't want to burden his friends. Besides, his feelings really weren't that bad. He just had a couple of bad days, that's all. It would pass. It always did.

But each time it passed, it came back soon after.

Each time he thought he was better, his feelings slapped him right in the face.

No matter how much he tried, he never seemed to get anything right. He was always average, never good enough. He always made the stupid mistakes. The type that made people stop and stare at you, thinking,

Is that guy really that stupid?

And he couldn't even bring himself to be mad or hurt because each time, he thought it too. Is he really that stupid? How could he be that stupid? He was supposed to be smarter than this!

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. His eyes burned even more as he spiraled deeper and deeper into his tunnel of self-hatred. And yet still, the damn tears wouldn't come.

When had he become so... broken?

Where had the smiling little boy gone?

When had that smile turned more fake than real?

When had the hopes and dreams of that boy become self-hatred and thoughts of ending a life?

When had he shattered?

....

When would he be fixed?