Lord give me strength

Achilles, come down

Song fic bc I don't know where to go with all my other drafts

Tw: Implied/referenced homophobia and for suicide attempt

If you are struggling, here's a list of suicide and crisis intervention lines to call or text

https://www.cnet.com/health/suicide-hotlines-crisis-hotlines-to-call-or-text-when-you-need-help/

So self-indulgent 

And Self-referential 

No audience could ever want you

He once had someone ask, who the voice poisoning his thoughts reminded him of. He'd replied telling them it was his voice, refusing to meet their eyes, they continued anyway. They asked if it sounded like his father. He cut them off, saying it didn't matter, but they saw his hands shaking. 

You crave the applause 

Yet hate the attention

Then miss it, your act is a ruse

He still hates being yelled at, or having someone get mad at him, but it's the only way to drown out the voices. There are still things he wants to do, animations he has yet to complete, ideas he has yet to start. What happens when he gets around to doing anything? Does the expectation rise? Do people expect more? He couldn't handle disappointing anyone else. 

It is empty, Achilles

So end it all now

It's a pointless resistance

For you

He tries pushing people away as often as he can, no one ever actually wants him around. If they do talk to him, it only hurts more when they do leave. 

Achilles 

Achilles 

Just put down the bottle

Don't listen to what you've consumed 

He'd been told self hatred is only ever a seed planted from the outside in. Sometimes, while he's laying in bed at night, those thoughts sink in. He thinks about how much better everyone would be without him, he feels numb as his body shakes with sobs. They deserve better.

It's chaos, confusion

And wholly unworthy

Of feeding and it's wholly untrue

He understands bottling it up is unhealthy, he understands distractions aren't good, but he's done it for so long that it's hard to think of any other way. 

You may feel no purpose

Nor a point for existing 

It's all just conjecture and gloom

It feels like there's a rock in his chest, a sinking feeling in his gut. He needs to get away. He can't keep smiling and pretending everything is fine, can't keep fearing anytime someone talks to him slightly different, he needs to do something. 

And there may not be meaning 

So find one and seize it

Do not waste your self on this roof

He talks himself out of things constantly, convincing himself it would only disappoint people when he couldn't live up to their standards. He tells himself it'll be the final straw, if he ever did something right. Maybe then they'd realize just how broken he is, tell him how much more he could be doing but isn't.