DYING IN LA | WHY DON'T WE SICKFICS

SPIRALLING pt.2 - jack

some people wanted a part two :))

warnings !!
mentions of self harm/depression

please don't read if you think it might affect you :( i love you guys !! please stay safe <3

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Fading in and out of good days was like a weight that hung over Jack. Some days he felt stronger, the weight lifted and he felt free. His bones weren't weary and he could breathe, feeling better without being held down.

And then the next day, the weight fell back down. It would drop with no warning, abandoning where it had previously inched up and off of his shoulders. Jack felt weaker, tied down by invisible baggage that was heavier than any luggage he'd ever carried around. His body grew sore and his muscles tightened in anguish, wishing for someone to free him of the burden of carrying the weight of the world on his back.

The day Jack relapsed was the day he lost himself even more. He'd been holding so much in, holding back from relieving his mind by telling someone what was on it, he broke.

It was his own fault, Jack knew that. He had so many people to turn to in his life, yet he didn't tell anyone anything. It almost made him feel guilty, knowing a lot of people in situations similar to his may not have anyone. Jack felt like he should take advantage of the fact that he had people in his corner, though not being able to muster up the courage to admit what was going on.

Things got to be too much for him, desperately wishing he could seek help at his weakest moments.

When he went months on end with no slip ups, it put him in a state of believing it would never happen again. He was so close to one year, only a few months short. Being clean for so long made him feel good, made him forget about how low he could truly go.

The process of getting back to that was harder than anything else. Once Jack had gone months with no urges, it was almost like all memory of it had disappeared in the first place. Like Jack wasn't some fuck up who couldn't seem to be happy and hurt himself to feel okay.

Once he started again, it was difficult to find it in him to want to stop. Without it, he forgot about the strange sort of relief it provided him in desperate times. The day he did it, the pattern just continued. It happened the next day, then a few days after, and he'd nearly gone a month when he found himself seeking relief in it once more.

Jack was embarrassed to admit to someone any of this. The boys found out once nearly two years prior and the topic had never been brought up again. His family didn't know—no one did except his best friends, and even they never checked in again about it.

Maybe they didn't want to bring up such a sensitive topic, but he wished they would. Jack couldn't find it in him to talk about it himself, though he wanted to tell someone.

Keeping something like that in tore Jack up inside. Depending on something like that was far from healthy. It was a nasty habit that once you started, it was even harder to stop. In an almost scary way, it made Jack feel better. He knew that deep down it didn't do anything but worsen how he felt, but in the moment, it helped.

Jack didn't want to be viewed as fragile just because of what he was going through. He remembered the last time they found out, it was like they were trying so hard to avoid the topic, they made Jack uncomfortable by acting weird with him. It made Jack feel like he was messed up and he hated it.