He sat, clutching his teddy bear, alone in the dark apartment. He had taken pills, he thought enough to kill him. He was wrong though, he just got sick, after he climbed back into his bed and laid there, clutching his bear. He felt so empty, so alone, so slighted. All he had wanted, was death. An end to his anger, his sadness. Eventually, he fell asleep, where strange dreams plagued his mind.
He dreamnt of a deep darkness in which a figure resided. The figure's name was Sid. He had no idea who or what "Sid" was, but Sid only watched him from his space in the Darkness. He stared out at him, his lips attempting to form the words of asking, no begging, for death. Sid only offered a stare in response, silent, as his Darkness swallowed everything near. He was left there, gazing at Sid, his belly feeling like an empty pit, his eyes feeling so..., so very heavy. It wasn't a heaviness of death though, it was of being tired beyond tired.
He had been fighting for over seven years, almost eight now. Fighting his rage, his sadness, everything about himself he despised. He thought it was supposed to get easier, once he left high school. It did not, however, it only got more difficult. None to rely on but himself as old friendships dissolved further. He loved but that one loved too quickly, unable to see and fully grasp how broken he was.
That one blond he loved, he never stopped to wonder why the other man was so quiet all the time, he never wondered why he was always so closed off, he simply accepted it and went on with his life, loving him still.
The blond had gone to work, and he was finally awake. His belly still feeling like a pit, his movements listless. He still clutched his bear, whispering to it. He had just wanted death..., not this remorse. He wawnted to end. So tired of fighting, so tired of everything.
He hated himself, his life, his job. He was filled with so much anger, so much hate. All he had wanted was to end it all. He just wanted an end. Believing himself beyond help, he sought to take matters into his own hands, but again, he was denied. Death, not for him, despite everything he wanted.
Even when he was with his love, he felt alone. He tried to explain everything but his love didn't understand, no matter how many different ways he tried. He was so tired of fighting...
He sought his end and was met with silence. Still, his heart beat in his chest, he walked, he drew breath, his mind plagued by more nightmares. He felt far beyond saving, he didn't want it, all he wanted was a death, painful or not, it didn't matter, so long as he no longer had to wake into this world.
Since waking, he kept seeing things out of the corner of his eye, but he wasn't schizophrenic... Unless it a mild case could be brought upon by stress? He didn't know, wasn't even sure he cared. What did it matter? His love wouldn't be home for hours yet. He had planned this day for months, but of course, like every other time, it had failed.
He wanted to hurt, to feel, he wanted to lash out at something, he wanted to see his body bleed to truly know he still walked this planet on the living plane. He was at a loss though, unsure of what he could do to make himself feel pain. He wanted it, yes, but what could he do that he had not already? He used to punch things, make his knuckles bruise and bleed, it always felt good. Blades always refused to cut him, pills would not kill him.
He was a walking corpse. He knew that. He wanted to die but was refused at every turn.
He forced himself to eat something, perhaps that would make his belly feel less like a pit.
After the warmth of the food settled in his belly, he sat alone, in the dark with his bear, his phone sitting beside him. He was so lost...
He used to be so strong, so sure, so..., admirable. What had happened?
When did he become so fragile? So lost? So afraid? When did he change into this mess?
Or did he not change, but fool himself as well, thinking himself strong, able, intelligent, better. He lied so well, he even fooled himself into thinking his charade could last forever.
It and he had crumbled to dust. He was just a scared, weak, little boy. That's all he'd ever been. He just hid it, from himself, from his love, from his friends. He was an exceptional liar, he read, he learned, he absorbed, he became what everyone wanted to see. It wasn't hard, tiring, but not hard. Not really, not unless his real self started to show through the cracks. He was..., tired.
All he was, was a child, living in a world he had dreamed for himself out of everything he had read. He even had a love. Even if the love couldn't see past his lies, that love was so very true.
Naruto Uzumaki. Seldom was something as pure as that man. He had captured Gaara's heart, as sure as Gaara had somehow, captured his. Gaara was so broken, so scarred, yet Naruto loved him, even if he didn't understand him.
Anymore, it physically hurt to be alive, to continue to draw breath. Especially after what he'd tried and failed to do. He was so..., broken...
Sitting here, in the aftermath..., all he wanted was what he wanted at the beginning. Death.