lυncн & ғrιendѕ oneѕнoтѕ

perѕonal venт

personal vent

t/w a lot of angst, ranting, depression, self harm and all that shit.

me 

i will be referring to myself as by my name, cooper, I guess you could picture it as cscoop if you want.

i can't bring myself to write any fiction so I'm trying this out. feel free to skip this if you don't want non-smp/lunch club content, that's perfectly fine.

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Cooper was falling. 

He had been for a long time.

He kept falling quickly, then slowly, then quickly again, but now he felt like he was at terminal velocity, speeding toward the ground at maximum speed, bound to crash at any moment.

He somehow had the best, yet simultaneously worst, experiences in the past couple weeks, sharing many laughs with his friends, and yet retreating into the comfort of his own isolation and suffering all over again.

Every morning was a breeze, he'd zone out during classes and laugh with his friends, making incredibly stupid jokes about hot pockets and eyes with his increasingly close friend.

But after school was over, after he wasn't forced into working, into putting his mind into something other than his own thoughts, he simply fell deeper into that spiral of negativity.

Whenever he didn't set a goal for himself, and he wasn't focused on a specific topic, his mind would run rampant. It had hyper fixations on a whole spectrum of things, and he could barely keep his thoughts calm enough for a human to function properly.

On the contrary, his body was entirely calm and lazy. While his mind ran wild, he'd simply lie in bed, burying himself under his covers and sinking deeper and deeper into that familiar dent in his bed.

While his depression and sadness had seemed to ease up on him, he was hit with a wave of anxiety and paranoia, every single little creak in the floorboards, every spelling error he made triggering a switch in his mind.

His recent realisation didn't make it any better. He had OCD.

He'd rejected the notion for years, thinking of himself as simply a perfectionist and a self-proclaimed "grammar nazi", but recently he'd been driven to a point near the brink of insanity.

He was unlucky to have been blessed by two teachers with horrible grammar, pronunciation and general capability in the English language, and he was stuck with them for the whole year. However, not even two months into the year, he found himself being so annoyed and paralysed by their inability to express even the simplest thoughts with accuracy, that he started doing things he never thought he would.

His hand would grip the edges of his desk like it was second nature, eventually gripping his sharp pencil and sinking it deep into the back of his left hand, scraping the skin deep, leaving scars and the occasional drip of crimson blood.

And since quarantine started, and his lessons were online, the scratching had let up, but everything else compensated for it. Every email he read was tainted by terrible grammar and spelling, causing his head to throb and eyes to water at the very sight, and every word uttered in those prerecorded lessons caused him to sink deeper in his chair, eventually having to close the tab and audibly groan, sometimes banging his head on his table.

He was too scared to tell anyone. Too afraid of revealing his new stupid disability, until now.

I understand that you may be disappointed in the lack of chapters, but I needed to let my thoughts out one way or another.

Don't be mistaken.

This is a cry for help.