Day 48
I feel sick to my stomach. It's probably because of Endeavor. I've even been vomiting blood. It makes me wonder how much internal damage he's done to me. But this isn't good. I might have to see Recovery Girl before this gets worse. It's been going on for a while, but it's gotten exponentially worse.
Yaoyorozu has been very worried about me. She visited my dorm, but I didn't feel like getting up. I don't know how long I stayed in my futon for, but it was a long time. It was past four in the morning when I finally turned on my phone to check my notifications. Even looking at a screen seemed unbearable. Why? There's nothing difficult about it, so why is it so hard for me? I've been doing this for a while, but I didn't think much of it at first.
Endeavor texted me, saying that I'm a worthless piece of shit. I didn't want to read any of my other notifications after that, but I knew it would be even more difficult to go through them all tomorrow. Yaoyorozu asked me if I ate dinner, but I felt too nauseous to eat anything. I'm probably sick from the damages on the inside that I can't see. But I was surprised that Yaoyorozu actually replied at the late hour that it was. She cares about me a lot, but I still had to lie to her and pretend like everything was fine.
I tried to go back to sleep, but I felt too damn sick to sleep. It hurt. A lot. I felt faint, not sleepy. I felt like I was going to pass out. But as the night carried on, I got dizzier and felt incredibly weak overall. I wanted to believe that it would pass with time, but it got worse. I ended up on the floor of my bathroom with the taste of blood and vomit in my mouth. I passed out. I'm surprised I woke up at all, but the sun had already risen when I woke up, and I knew I wouldn't be able to get up.
It was early in the morning, but I called Bakugou, and he took me to the infirmary. I wasn't thinking rationally, and the pain was agonizing, but once again, he helped me through it. I didn't originally intend to call Bakugou, but I had an unread text from him about how I was doing, so I figured I'd just call him. I was adequately healed up and injected with a steady supply of fluids at the infirmary, but I still felt extremely weak. Recovery Girl asked me what happened, so I said I encountered someone I didn't want to see. I could see the anger written all over Bakugou's face. But I guess Recovery Girl believed me. She told me to visit her again if I got worse. I won't, but I'll hopefully be able to make a swift recovery.
Not too long ago, though, I wrote a poem on a small note. I don't really want to explain it, but while writing it, the words came naturally to me. Sometimes, writing is the escape from reality that I need. Yet, I don't want to write about happy things when I know it'll make returning to reality all the more painful. Sometimes, reading happy things just makes me feel sad or empty because I know I can't have the happiness I'm imagining in my head. Sometimes, I really just want to sleep instead of always being trapped between reality and my dreams. Oh. This was unrelated to the actual poem I wrote.
Painting
A canvas as white as snow.
Thoughts with an incandescent glow.
Ideas fuel the flames that drowned.
Supplies strewn across the ground.
Techniques lie all in the wrist.
A product by reverie that was reminisced.
Styles that run into the canvas so deep.
Yet the careless "style" has nothing to reap.
Oh, the strike of the paintbrush!
The entranced adrenaline rush!
Color is wept from the empty vessel.
Here is where contamination will nestle.
Purity besmeared by paints.
Slashing until the painter faints.
The canvas drips after being filled.
The original canvas was effectively killed.
A masterpiece is what the painter sees.
Others that see sadly drop to their knees.
The painter ignores the others' thoughts.
The painter will paint until it all rots.
The intoxicating patterns feel numb today.
There are more canvases to throw away.
An accomplished job leaks to the floor.
The painter will still come back for more.