Before
[bih-fawr, -fohr]
preposition
1. previous to; earlier or sooner than:
The sound of his parents arguing in the other room was enough to set him on edge, the incessant yelling of his father and the defensive shouts from his mother echoed throughout the house. It wasn't uncommon, more like an afternoon thing that occurred too often to bother counting. It became part of his lifestyle; every day was the same like a constant déjà vu. He would come home and say hello to his mother who had collapsed onto the couch, watching re-runs of fashion shows. It was only then Castiel would grab a piece of fruit and drag his school bag into his room then spend the next hour buried in work. Give or take ten minutes the screaming starts. Sometimes it's about dinner or who was supposed to do the groceries; a grudge from the night before or a snide comment about family and heritage but the arguments always happened like clockwork.
One would think Castiel would have been used to it by now, that it had just become one of those things that you should deal with; all parents fight, why was this different? Each time a word of abuse could be heard from the kitchen, the living room or wherever the fight was taking place it was like a slap, like it was the first time. Castiel wasn't sure how he remained sane; maybe it was the other person on the end of the phone and their mindless and pointless conversations that would last for hours.
Dean, it was the first thought that come to mind, the only thing therapy that Castiel could ever think of. Dean was the one thing that made Castiel smile through thick or thin, Dean was there. Dean was always the face on the other end of the phone, the one thing that was always stable and constant in his life. It was like a song and dance with them, whenever Castiel needed an escape, a reason to relax or just some good old fashion human company it was always Dean he ran to. The conversations always started the same; it was always Castiel messaging Dean something, anything, whether it would some picture he found on tumblr or a theory about a show. Dean listened, he talked back. He was there.
Picking up his phone he messaged Dean,
Castiel Novak
4:27pm
Hey, you there?
Dean?
Dean Winchester
4:32pm
Heya Cas, what's up?
Castiel Novak
4:32pm
Nothing much, just wondering if you caught last night's ep
Can you believe that he died!
I can't wait till next week! He can't have died!
Dean Winchester
4:34pm
K
Castiel Novak
4:34pm
Have you seen F. new music video?
It's really good
You should see it
Dean Winchester
4:37pm
Sure
Castiel Novak
4:37
Hey, I'm a month clean now.
Pretty proud of myself
Thanks for helping out before
Dean Winchester
4:37pm
I don't care
Betray
[bih-trey]
verb(usedwithobject)
todisappointthehopesorexpectationsof;bedisloyalto:
to betray ones friends
'I don't care,' the words seemed to be jumping out of the screen tearing Castiel's sense of equanimity apart. Castiel knew Dean's words weren't meant to be harsh, that he had a life outside of their stupid, pointless Facebook conversations but this felt different and it wasn't the first time he had been tossed aside like he was unimportant. The words felt bitter, making a strident sound in his ears as the words reverberated through his head. Repeating them over and over like a mantra, burying themselves into his memory like a leach feeding off of the despair and self-deprecation.
It was always said that the pen is mightier than the sword; that words hurt more than actions… The hurt came first, and then betrayal followed suit directly behind it. The black and white of disappointment as every promise and expectation was crushed in one foul swoop; it was betrayal at its finest. The subtle rejection of a friend and something more; a sword couldn't have done more damage than this.
I don't care.
The words taunted him; laughing as they danced around on the screen. They refused to go away. Am I really that unwanted? Do I not matter? Trash, unwanted, not needed, unloved.
The whole one sided conversation taunted him. Castiel knew that his and Dean's safe words were TV shows; it was the only topic that came up when either was depressed and struggling. It was what they talked about when Dean gave up, what was mention when Castiel almost took a blade to the writs. It was the irrelevancy of his words to Dean, like he was just there whenever it was convenient for him, just another tool in Dean Life; nothing more and maybe even less.
His hands shook as he threw his phone across the bed, letting it slide across the sheets and onto the floor. He just wanted it away; the thoughts, the feeling. He wanted it all to be gone, to be thrown away like an old toy. He wanted to throw his feelings away as easily as Dean did to him.
Abuse
[v.uh-byooz; n.uh-byoos]
verb (used with object), abused, abusing.
1. to use wrongly or improperly; misuse: to abuse one's authority.
2. to treat in a harmful, injurious, or offensive way
3. to speak insultingly, harshly, and unjustly to or about; revile; malign.
The first hit was always the worst, the pure shock of it all. No matter how many times the situation arose the first hit always came unexpected. It was like trying to teach a young child maths, it knows it for a week than forgets. It slips through its memory, replaced by thoughts of friends and recollections of the day's events. Every time Castiel could feel his father's hands connect to his face, his fingers digging into the soft skin around his shoulders as he shook him back and forth like a ragdoll; it reminded Castiel of the same song they sung every time. This time it was worse, it wasn't the abuse that hurt. No, his father's hands didn't quite hit the flesh but it was the words that cut much deeper that any physical object could.
"You fucking ungrateful child! I do everything for you and you treat me with no respect! You never were the child I wanted!" Castiel could feel his father's spit fly from his mouth and land on his cheek. "You are disgraceful, you are not my child! Why don't you just go to your friends and leave!" Castiel could feel a metallic taste in his mouth as he bit back a remark; he could see his father's hands twitching longing to somehow make contact with soft flesh.
Keeping his head up Castiel spun on his heels, muttering as he left, "the only person that isn't wanted here is you," and that's when we broke into a run hearing his father chasing after him through the house spitting out a string of curses and insults.
The same melody played as Castiel raced into his room, pulling the door closed shut behind him as fast as he could, leaning against it in hope that his father didn't follow. Castiel could feel his body still shaking with the adrenalin as he pushed himself off the door to find his bed. xz
Panic disorder
noun, Psychiatry.
1. A disorder in which inappropriate, intense apprehension and physical symptoms of fear occur so frequently as to produce significant impairment.
A single tear slid down his cheek, tickling his skin as it passed. Castiel watched it pass over the bridge of his nose before dropping down onto the bedspread in front of him. He waited for more to come but was abused by the sound of his father yelling at his mother in the other room. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't block the words out, each one coming at him like a blow to the face, knocking him down.
"That kid is useless, one minute it is something that I wanted and the next it is the most hateful child…"
"Stop yelling! You're just gunning for an argument…"
"I do everything for that child, I drive him everywhere, I do everything and he is just a disrespectful little shit in return. All he cares about is his friends and he hates us. I bet he would stab me if…
"Stop it! You know that's not true!"
"Don't defend him! Can't you hear how he was speaking to me? Choose a side! You both are the same; you are just as ignorant and unappreciative. It's your fault he's like this!"
"It's always my fault with you!"
"You and your mother are just the same…!"
I can't do this, I can't. He doesn't want me. I'm nothing.
Castiel could feel the rate of his breathing increase, it was like his throat closed up and no air was getting to his lungs. Taking in large rapid gulps of air Castiel sat up on the bed and pulled his knees in to his chest. The hyperventilation didn't seem to stop, he cried tearless sobs that send grabbed his IPod as fast as he could, putting on a pair of headphones to block out the rest of the conversation. He lay in his bed, curling up on himself trying to appear as small as possible, trying to make himself as small as he felt. His whole body was shaking as he tried to let himself cry, trying to let out the pain he had been bottling up and storing away for weeks.
Emotionless bitch… heartless… don't you ever get sad? Why are you so weird?
He let the music play, letting it sweep over his body like a wave crashing over him. The music started to tug at his heart, making it feel heavier, more of a burden that it ever was before. He could feel his stomach clench and his throat close up as the music continued wash over him. Tears started to threaten to make an appearance as his throat started to seize up. Emotions wracked through his body but it wasn't enough, the pain still pulsed through his body devouring his heart, puncturing it like a sharp blade. No matter how hard he tried no more tear's came, all that remained was an ache in his chest and sharp pain in his soul.
He focused on the words that cut like a knife, slowly sinking into his flesh and pushing down even further. He could feel the cool press of the blade against his flesh, sending a wave of goose bumps over his body, making him shudder. With each word the blade sunk deeper, driving itself into his heart and piercing his soul. He could feel it, his soul splitting, tearing in half as the words echoed through his mind, 'unwanted,' 'not needed,' 'useless,' 'afraid.' He could hear Dean's taunting words press and prod and the open wound, widening, turning it into a huge gaping hole in the middle of his chest.
I don't care, I don't care, I don't care, I don't care…. I. don't. care.
I DON'T CARE
A sob escaped Castiel's mouth as more tears started to form in the corners of his eyes; they flowed freely down his face
'I need you, please.'
'I don't care'
Unwanted; replaceable; useless; hurt; pain.
Schizophrenia
[skit-suh-free-nee-uh, -freen-yuh
noun
1. Psychiatry, also called dementia praecox. A severe mental disorder characterized by some, but not necessarily all, of the following features: emotional blunting, intellectual deterioration, social isolation, disorganized speech and behaviour, delusions and hallucinations.
Castiel wasn't sure how long he had been lying in bed, minutes, hours, it was hard to tell. The house was quiet, the lights were out. Castiel could tell the sun had started to set as he lifted his head to glance around the room. Shadows danced around the bed as his old and dull bedside light flickered, barely illuminating his entire room. He let his mind wander to the figures, waltzing around, dipping through every crevice and gliding elegantly over every crack. He kept his eyes trained on the shadows, unblinking and emotionless. Watching their every move, every twist and turn until he heard them; the voices whispering in his ear, mocking and unforgiving. The harsh tone of his father's voice and the irritated retorts of his mother's, the vociferation of their voices drifted from their room to his. Castiel couldn't make out their words; it was like rambling, harsh incoherent whispering in his ear. No matter how loud they got, how shrill he could never tell but he still knew. He knew what they talked about, unwanted, stupid, useless.
The sound of the bathroom flushing snapped Castiel out of his thoughts, as the realisation hit his heart started to jackhammer in his chest as he looked frantically around the room. Trying to find comfort in the shadows but even they had flee. The voices hadn't stopped, they still shouted in his ear unforgivingly.
He pulled his hands over his ears and started to rock back and forth, his lips forming the echo of the same word over and over. "It's not real. It's not real. It's not real."
Warm trickles of air circled the room, heating Castiel up considerably under the blanket. A thin layer of sweat started to glisten against his skin as the temperature rose but Castiel didn't move, he just pulled himself tighter into a ball as a lump formed in his throat.
A soft sob escaped Castiel's lips as the fear and adrenalin started to make his whole body tremble all over. His hands shook as he reached out to pull the cover over his head in attempt to block out the noise and then there was silence. The whispering had climaxed and come to an abrupt halt, the crickets had stopped singing, and the wind ceased howling. The silence was comforting, welcoming; it greeted him with open arms as he broke down, falling away piece by piece.
depression
dɪˈprɛʃ(ə)n/
nounfeelings of severe despondency and dejection.
Every child knew about the universe, about how life on Earth came to be. Every child learnt that the sun was a star and that black holes eat away light. It was mundane knowledge every child learnt in school. Everyone knew the physical aspects of the universe, of the world, of how every person ticked. It was taught, learnt and taught again but not a single person knew what it was like to be trapped. Trapped in the mind of the diseased and the rejected, the metaphorical black hole that was ones thoughts. Not a single person knew the numbness that was within the soul.
Numb. That was all Castiel could feel. Day after day drifting through the world with too many unanswered questions and too little knowledge of the world; all he saw was a black hole, slowly consuming the small spark that was his hope. He could see that never-ending darkness in the pit of the hole, he could see despair gnashing its teeth as it swallowed any spark of happiness that dared to venture near its merciless jaws. He could feel his heart shrivelling up like a decaying flower, its bloom fading away and becoming ugly and twisted as the days went on. His soul was a black hole and his heart a wilting lilac.
Castiel was drifting, but he daren't ask where.