A/N: i copy and paste the following author's note to all chapters of all of my stories, for complete transparency. most of my writing is done on my phone and while i try to be sure my grammar, punctuation and the like are on point, the majority of my writing is in entirely lowercase letters! because i'm putting this disclaimer here, any and all comments about this aspect of my writing will be ignored. if it bothers you, please just don't read my work. thank you!


i was sixteen years old and already i had started to struggle with my self image. as i walked through the halls of my school every day, i wondered what i looked like to the people around me, who they thought i was, what they knew about me. back in elementary school, i was a lot more social; that's not to say i had friends, but i talked to my peers, at the least. now i was that boy in the red hoodie, the boy who was always wearing headphones, scribbling something in his journal.

i missed being so carefree.

being so carefree about your outwards appearance was a trait which came with the innocence of childhood, and i wished i could go back to that. back when i didn't care that everyone thought i was a freak. back when i didn't care that i couldn't relate to or become friends with any of my classmates. back when i didn't mind sitting alone on the recess yard or at my lunch table. back before i truly started to hate myself.

my breaking point was the tuesday i dropped my stuff down the stairs. nobody stopped to help me. a few people swore in my direction because i'd inconvenienced them, a few people laughed, a few people threw a playful insult at me. all of it hurt.

i was quiet that day when i went to foster's. i spent the entire evening locked in my plant room, headphones on, lying on the old chaise. i heard a knock every now and then, an apology or the name of a hot drink through the door. i didn't answer to any of them. i contemplated why i didn't just go home, but soon realized this was better than dealing with my brother.

it was dark by the time i'd left. i had considered staying the night, but i figured there was no point if i wouldn't be doing anything. i could feel sorry for myself at home; i didn't need to worry the only friends i had. and in some ways, i wanted to be in my own bed, where the blankets smell like me and the scent of my mom's perfume still stained my pillowcase, from nights when i was a toddler and felt scared when i wasn't sleeping next to her, so she'd spritz my pillow with her perfume to make it smell like her and i'd sleep sound as a baby. my brother came to mind again. ...i could lock my bedroom door. the friends in the foyer all waved me goodbye to me, but i glanced towards my next step and didn't reply, shutting the double doors firmly behind me.

stepping through the threshold of my apartment's front door, i saw that my brother was still awake, watching tv in the dark. he turned to me with half a smile that read malice. he greeted me with an insult. i didn't reply. he told me i should know better than to get home after dark. i didn't reply. he told me our mother would be upset with me. i didn't reply. he told me i was worthless. i told him to go fuck himself. i locked myself in my bedroom, laid down on the bottom of the bunk bed that only i now slept in, and cried. i heard my brother shout something at me through the door. my sobbing muffled his words.

my life felt like a living hell, most of the time. i felt worthless and stupid and outcast. my only solace came from foster's; the place where my few friends and i could congregate, where i had the opportunity to spend time with the couple people who enjoyed my company. i thought often about how pathetic that it was that the majority of my friends were made up.

i stood up from my bed at one point, and weakly hobbled over to the mirror hanging from the back of my bedroom door. by that time my brother had stopped yelling at me, but as he heard my footsteps upon the creaky floor, he was prompted to start shouting again. i don't know what i had ever done to make him hate me. my first memory i had of him was when i was maybe three, and i held up a coloring book to him, asking if he'd like to play with me. he responded with a chuckle and the words "get bent, scrub." i don't know why he hated me. i had never done anything to provoke him. maybe somewhere in his twisted mind, he blamed me for our dad leaving. as if i'd been the final factor to cause our dad to figure a family life wasn't his preference. i didn't remember our dad. i didn't care to meet him.

i stood in front of the mirror and looked myself over. my brown hair had only grown shaggier over the years, and at the moment, was long enough that it covered my eyes if i didn't bother to wipe it away. i was short; i only stood at five foot two, and had stopped growing taller. as i had gotten older, i hadn't always taken the best care of myself; i was weak - sure as hell didn't exercise enough - and over the years, various depressive episodes had caused me to gorge myself without any compensation to lose the calories. i was chubby.

at the moment, i despised every part of myself.

my hair was greasy, as i hadn't showered in days. the skin around my blue eyes had turned red from the crying. my facial features looked hideous to me. i hated my body, from my scarred wrists to my scabbed elbows to my thick torso to my thighs lined with stretch marks. my body felt like a waste of material. i'd do better as plant food. at least then the plants could sustain.

as i looked myself in the eye through the reflective glass, the hatred for my own being bubbled up from my gut and i broke again. warm tears resumed falling from my eyes. my legs started to shake, and i collapsed on my bedroom floor, clutching my legs closely to my body. my whole body shuddered as i sobbed.

why did i have to feel like this? what had i done? i was a good person, wasn't i? i followed rules. i kept my friends from doing things that were immoral. i tried to be civil in conversation. wasn't that enough? why was i forced through this internal agony?

as i lost any remaining will to feel sorry for myself and went numb, i glanced to my bedside table, where the picture sat of bloo and i, taken when i was only eight. for whatever reason, the picture made me smile. an empty feeling started to burn in my chest. i looked at the photo for another minute, the feeling growing between my ribs. i pulled myself to my knees and stood up, legs still shaking. i couldn't take my eyes off the picture.

something clicked in my brain. i threw open my bedroom door and walked quickly to the front door of the apartment, slipped on my shoes, and threw my keys into my pocket. my brother demanded to know what i was doing. i didn't reply as i threw open the apartment door and pulled it shut behind me. my brother's voice rang out through the wall about repercussions, but i didn't care; i couldn't care anymore. i hurriedly walked out of the building, and jogged along the sidewalk until i broke into a run under the moonlight. block after block i ran the route i knew all too well, the same path i ventured every day of my pathetic life. i couldn't go fast enough.

it was half past eleven in the evening, but i let the double doors of that wonderful house fly open as i shot inside, indifferent towards the consequences. i stomped up the stairs as fast as i could, and navigated the twists and turns of the infrastructure the same way i did every day of my pathetic life. i finally reached my destination and the door of the bedroom slammed against the wall as i threw it open. within seconds, my creation, the apple of my eye was pulled from his slumber and wrapped tightly in my arms. tears had begun to run down my cheeks again, but now, i couldn't care less. my shoulders shuddered and my body shook with sadness, but the smile on my face read pure bliss.

finally he had come to his senses, and awkwardly, he squeaked, "hey, mac... is everything okay?"

"i love you so much," was the only thing i could manage to push out of my throat.

at last, bloo wrapped his arms around me, and i felt safe. "i love you too, mac."

serving as the one remedy to any of my ailments, i swear i could've stayed there in our mutual embrace for the rest of my life.