Heart pounding and skin crawling with a cold sweat Eren shot out of bed. Mouth open in a silent scream, only a gasp came out however. He was too out of breath to scream, but he did cough. Bending over the side of his mattress, he dry-heaved into the pail next to his bed. Coughing, but nothing came out. Nothing in his stomach to get out. His stomach still tried however. Tied in knots, he felt like he'd just gotten off a rough roller-coaster ride.

Deep breaths, his heart hammered on, breaths coming out in harsh gasps. Thoughts spinning at a hundred miles a minute. Eren shoved his head in between his knees and put his arms over the back of his head. Don't panic. Not a panic attack. Calm down. His breaths evened out slowly and he held his previous panic. Suppressing it and shoving it deep into the back of his mind. No time. He didn't have time.

Eventually, Eren pushed himself away from the pail and off his knees. Weakly falling against his bed. Lying with his back on the worn-out mattress and tired eyes facing the ceiling. Dark bags decorated the skin beneath his eyes like permanently melted eyeliner stuck on his face. Eventually Eren closed his eyes for a moment, before gaining the will power to get up and get ready for the day. Stumbling miserably to the bathroom he brushed his hair and cleaned himself up into a functioning human being. He didn't look like a human in the best shape, but good enough. Put on a backpack and paste a smile, he looked just like another normal tired teen dragging himself to school. His panic inducing nightmare wasn't forgotten, but it didn't matter anymore. The things that haunted him outnumbered what brought him comfort, so it was something he had grown accustomed to, but never numb.

Being numb would be a luxury now, but no. It just kept coming at him. Tackling him from all sides, shoving his head under the waves, where he couldn't reach the fresh air. He didn't even know where the shore was in this never ending current of torment. Still. He held his breath. He'd nothing better to do. There wasn't anything else left to do.

If he ever woke up completely calm, no aching soreness, hurting. Heart throbbing, nausea swirling in his stomach, threatening to revolt against the nothing in his stomach, or his stomach acid in the very least. He would have thought himself dead. At least, until he rolled out of bed and hit something against the floor. Bringing back the dull ache his body almost radiated off of him at this point.

He went off, walking down the stairs, through the hall, past the man in a drunken stupor, who was lying in a splayed heap on the recliner. Not thinking about the day he was going to have math test, the school district that he still didn't like compared to his old home in the upper part of town, worry about how his old friends were doing. Probably great without him dragging them down no doubt. He didn't like the self-hating thoughts. He didn't like thinking they were true. But they probably were if he thought them so often, heard them so often. Still, he held onto the strap of his backpack tightly and straightened his back. Act the part, act the part. Yet, his head still bowed as he entered the bland and beat up building.

No one paid him any mind as he went to his locker, minding his own business just as they minded theirs. None of his thoughts showing on his face, even as he felt the pressure of failure, and his fear of the place weighing down on him like an anchor. He ignored it the best he could, even as his head pounded at the sensation of it. Thoughts assaulting him, screaming in his mind. Shrieking into his ears until I he wanted to do was collapse to his knees and cover his ears. Try and hide from the sound.

Hatred, he hated the fact he couldn't help what he had to live with. The fear of people, of their rejection, his anxiety. The illness suffocated him daily. The thing pushing him deeper underneath the water. It made his life hell, he wouldn't feel it at all if he could, but no one gets a choice to the life they're given. Even if said person desperately wishes they did. Eren sighed tiredly as he trudged through the halls, only feeling better for a moment when his eyes the few joyful people, who gave him smiles that carried his heavy burden for the second that they passed him. For the second he could pretend that smile meant anything. Pretend it was truly meant for him.

Another sighed passed his lips as he entered his first period math class. Not ready to deal with the bullshit called too many fucking triangles in one sitting. Why did it matter? Nothing really did matter, sorrow, pain, depression, anxiety, pure unadulterated agony. It didn't matter, because nothing mattered with him.

Simply because he didn't matter.

At least, that's what he thought. But he was usually wrong on stuff like this. Wrong with everything. A complete fuck-up, however, he thought he was right on the mark with this notion.

Besides, it was an opinion, those were always true, right?

Debatable, but Eren was sticking with it.

Eventually the bell rang, and people flooded into the over crowded and unfunded math room. The teacher started screaming and the chair was slowly but surely working to break every bone in his ass and back. Writing down example problems, adding definitions. Ten minutes into the period of yelling and triangles made Eren more than ready to bash his head into the surface of his desk. Over, and over, and over. Until he was blind to any more white boards and deaf to the giggling females, the girl who was practically being molested by her boyfriend all while moaning quietly and slapping his arm with a flirty smile. Boys jeering and being obnoxious. God, Eren hated this class.

Yet, the minutes dragged on and on, and when the bell finally did ring Eren didn't care. People shoving him into each other wasn't a bad price to pay if he could be the first one the hell out of that damn classroom. Darting out of his seat and throwing himself into the next hell known as the public-school hallway.

Shit.