mattiapolibio started a live video | Rottia

CHAPTER VI

[NOW ENTERING CHAPTER VI]

[WARNING: THIS CHAPER CONTAINS DEPICTIONS OF SELF HARM AND THE BEGINNING OF AN EATING DISORDER]

[CONTINUE?

[LOADING CHAPTER VI...]

Mattia relaxed slightly, setting up his phone to go live. Alejandro was over and helping him decide how to phrase all of it. Alejandro was always so supportive.

"Hey everyone!" He shot a bright smile at the live. "Um... So. I'm gonna be addressing the whole situation happening right now. You probably already saw my comment on tiktokroom but I wanna give a more in depth explanation, y'know?

"So basically i had.. some stuff happen to me. Stuff i really don't wanna get into right now. I don't know if i ever will. But all you need to know is that it fucked me up. And now I age regress. Basically.

"Um.. If I ever go live like that again please don't encourage me or anything. If it happens too often we'll set up a thing that stops me from going live without someone's permission. If that's possible. Is that possible? I don't know. I hope so. But yeah. Just tell me to get off live, message my friends n stuff, that kinda shit."

𝙐𝙨𝙚𝙧
𝙨𝙤 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙙𝙙𝙡𝙜

𝙐𝙨𝙚𝙧
𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙨 𝙥𝙚𝙙𝙤𝙥𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙘

"No! Not like— Not like DDLG. That's gross. Not DDLG."

But the comments kept coming.

"I promise it's not like DDLG it's like- it's a coping mechanism. It's not DDLG please don't say that-" He whimpered slightly and looked at Alejandro, his eyes getting cloudy and his brain getting fuzzy.

Alejandro sighed deeply and ended the live, pulling Mattia into his arms. "Shhh, calm down. It'll be okay, they'll figure it out. And if they do it's not like it's the end of the world."
"But- But if they don't figure it out then my employers will see it when i try and apply for jobs!"
"That would happen with any controversy you've gotten into dear."
"That's even worse!" He bawled into his chest, trembling uncontrollably.

Alejandro just sat there, as moral support.

♡︎♥︎♡︎

Every day he got flooded with comments, telling him about how disgusting he was. Usually he would ignore them, but, with his vulnerable mental state they got to him. Especially when he was regressing.

And eventually he had enough.

He wanted to punish himself. If so many people hated him then they must have a reason right? So to fix it he should punish himself. And through physical harm was the only way he knew how.

He had a pack of pencil sharpeners he had just bought from walgreens stuffed into his back pocket as he dug around for a screwdriver. Once he found it he put it in his pocket too and hurried to his room, before his parents could figure out what he was doing.

He took hold of the cheap plastic of the red pencil sharpener, laying his eyes on the exposed blade. He took a long, deep breath and unscrewed the screw holding it all in place. It fell apart surprisingly easily and he was able to pick up the blade pretty easily.

His first thought was to cut up his wrists. That was what everyone did right? But then his parents would find out. So instead he slipped off his pants, cringing at the sight of himself, before promptly cutting into his hip.

It stung, which he didn't expect. He wasn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't that. Maybe more of a burn. But it was relieving. Finally he could take his upset out on someone other than everyone around him. Finally he could give himself retribution for what he did to himself.

Cause everything was his fault right?

He kept cutting, more and more every day, one for each comment. Well, not necessarily, but in his mind that's what he did. He just kept going and going, eventually running out of room on his hips and moving down to his thighs. Each night, even when he was in a good mood.

He sat in front of the mirror, tears in his eyes. He hated every aspect of himself. His thighs were too big, his stomach too large, he even had boobs. His arms were like sticks and never seemed to build muscle mass. His teeth were ever so slightly crooked and he had a gap between the front two. His hands were far too feminine for his taste, with little to no veins and dainty, undefined fingers.

He hated all of it, so much so that it left a horrid taste in his mouth. All he wanted was to have it all gone.

He didn't eat dinner that night. He didn't feel like it. Everything tasted bland to him anyway.