A/N: Sorry, I wrote this quickly. It's not Phan, but I'm quite proud of it. It's really personal, but I'm okay now.
Warnings: Depression, self-harm, self-hate.
I am trapped, trapped within myself. With walls constructed of silences and avoided glances, reinforced by cuts and burns littered across arms and stomachs and thighs, no one can touch me. I like it that way; no one can hurt me here. Or that's what I tell myself, as every day, the walls become thicker and stronger with marks meant to distract. It muffles things, my fortress, but not enough. It's not enough.
A fortress built of the horrible to keep out the bad. The bad that is created, incidentally, by me. A simple chemical difference, a genetic misstep. I see what everyone else does. But, the view is warped through kaleidoscope windows of hate, everything is tinged red with hidden tears and throated screams, the friendly is obscured with flecks and spots of whispers that crush and words that batter. Nothing is an ally. Enemies surround me; their kind words and gentle comforts being turned over and dissected and mutilated until not a single piece of humanity slips through.
My fortress is crumbling. The force of tugged sleeves and forced hugs and released tears knock pits and holes into my long-standing walls. Holes through which I saw and I heard, through which I glimpsed a true, unaltered view: small, almost invisible, almost inaudible, but there. Hope drips in; refreshing like storm after drought. But it's still not enough. Each crack is easily covered with layers of worry, and the hope evaporates. Gone. But it tinges the air, making me want, making me remember.
I am trapped, trapped within myself. And I want out.