Trigger warnings: self harm, depression, suicidal thoughts, violence
There comes a time in life when you lose who you are in order to appease people's expectations for you. You act like how they say you should act. You end up being who they expect you to be; they either intentionally or unintentionally force you to be something that you're not. Nobody really plans on this happening, why would anyone want to change themselves? But, as for everything in this universe, there's a reason for every phenomena.
What shall that reason be? People do this to be accepted. To be loved. To be in some way acknowledged, for what person doesn't at least once in their lives crave the attention of those around them?
Now, being who people want you to be can manifest in two ways: positive or negative. But in the case of Feliciano Vargas, we will be focussing on the negative aspects of being constantly subjected to the expectations of those around oneself and the affects of losing oneself.
What he could see in the mirror was a reflection that looked like him. His reflection had the same shade of brown hair, the same, fair skin tone, the same ruddy cheeks. But his reflection wasn't him, at least, not in a figurative sense. The reflection had a sorrowful, painful looking frown instead of his usual cheery, peachy smile. The eyes of the reflection were bloodshot and damp, very dissimilar from his usual closed eyes which showed know emotions. His face was red and his cheeks streaked with dried tears, unlike his usual blushing, dry cheeks.
He let out a shaky sigh, pressing his unsteady fingers to his reflections face. "Why can't you be their 'Feliciano'?" he whispered quietly, tears starting to prick at his eyes. He pressed his forehead against the cold mirror, staring deep into the reflection's despaired eyes. Thunder crackled outside and rain beat against the window, skies as aqueous as Feliciano's eyes.
"You're sad because you're not their Feliciano. You'll never be their Feliciano!" he cried out lugubriously. He then let out a disconsolate moan, not bothering to eschew the tears that gushed out of his eyes. His body started to quiver as it was racked with an unshakable sadness; the feeling of despondency seemed to be ubiquitous within him.
He turned away from the mirror, morose and disgusted by the reflection. He collapsed to his knees, simply sitting there in his own personal agony. He couldn't keep being their Feliciano without thinking of the multiple expectations that the people he called his "friends" put on him. His crying had left his eyes burning and his vision blurred with tears as he slumped against an antique book case. The book case held five shelves full of his favorite books ranging anywhere from art, biographies, astronomy, psychology, all subjects imaginable; he had studied up on several subjects ever since the Renaissance, making its impact one of the high points in his life.
"They all think that I'm an ignoramus," he said softly to himself, sprawling himself on the floor in front of the bookcase. "a good for nothing imbecile who can't do anything on his own."
He slowly dragged himself into a standing position, drawing out random books from the shelf as he went. "According to them I have no Galileo!" an astrology book hit the hardwood floor. "According to them, Da Vinci isn't a part of me!" some books about Leonardo Da Vinci met the hardwood floor with a slam. Within seconds the entire bookcase rest on the floor, books scattered about.
A sketch book caught his eye amidst all the blur caused from his tears. He blinked a few tears out in order to see more clearly, shakily getting up and walking over to the dilapidated book shelf.
"Their Feliciano is good at art! Their Feliciano can draw anything!" he said to himself in a disgustingly cheery way, almost as if he was at the tipping point betwixt sanity and insanity. Impatience overtook him as he hurriedly sketched a rabbit on a ragged sheet of paper. Consternation struck his heart when he saw the rabbit he had so easily depicted as a child now looked like a complex disarray of shapes.
Within a matter of seconds, the book flew from his hands and collided with the glass mirror, shattering it into dangerous shards.
"Oh no, their Feliciano isn't violent! No, he doesn't break things at all, he's too weak!" he laughed maniacally. His smile slowly faded as he observed the shattered and disarranged shards of glass that littered the floor.
His face became distorted with panic and his heart filled with disquiet. "Oh no... why did I make a mess" he whispered almost inaudibly, his hands trembling on his lap. "I'm supposed to be good at cleaning. Yes...Mr. Austria and Hungary said I was so good at cleaning! Yeah, so I have to clean this mess up!" In a haste he found a broom and a dustpan, his angst relieved for a second; he was finally being able to satisfy another expectation that had always been put on him.
"Wait! Germany... he doesn't think that I can handle glass without cutting myself. He only sees me as a clumsy nuisance. I mean... ve~ Germany only sees me as useless..." he said dejectedly, "Damn I hate talking like an idiot, but that's what they expect of me... At least I can fulfill their expectations."
A piece of glass pricked his thumb lightly, the bright red liquid lightly flowing out of it. A demented smile crawled onto Feliciano's face as he stared at the other gleaming shards of glass on the floor.
He dropped the broom and picked up a piece of glass with his bare hands; trembling, he ran the sharp shard against the palm his hand. The sharp stinging sensation along with the crimson blood made him smile even more. The red liquid made it's way to the floor, splattering in tiny formations.
"Their Feliciano can't handle pain!" A cut to the forearm.
"Their Feliciano can't handle a little bit of blood!" The blood trickled down his arms with an increase speed as more gushed out, the burning feeling getting more intense on his palm and on his forearm.
"Their Feliciano isn't me!" he screamed horrendously, feeling as if he had finally reached a catharsis. His left arm was now more red than anything, blood drenching it, rolling down smoothly over his skin. He felt a sharp pain throughout his arm and shoulder, followed by a miserable ache.
"Their Feliciano wouldn't end it, but I choose to end it here and now," he whispered to himself. He ran the glass along his wrist sharply, an excruciating pain surging through him. The crimson blood covered him even more, but he didn't really care. He didn't care about the pain, he didn't care about how the blood dirtied his clothes and the floor, and most of all, he didn't care about their expectations anymore.
He collapsed to the floor, feeling suddenly light headed. The world was a blur, but he smiled through it.
"I'm my own Feliciano," he whispered, nearly inaudible as the world faded to black.
I'm back with an angsty fanfic. I am in no way supporting suicide or anything, I just chose to write about it because it is an unfortunate choice that many people make everyday. If you are in anyway feeling anything horrible like this, please don't give up.
Here is the suicide prevention hotline:
18002738255, if you need it then please use it. Don't be embarrassed if you need help or anything because we all need help.
So, for now, I'm finished with this chapter. Please tell me what you liked and what I can approve upon next time. Thanks for reading.