Why? A Troyler Fanfic (AU)

Goodbye Tyler Oakley

THIS IS AN OFFICIAL TRIGGER WARNING. THERE ARE MENTIONS OF SELF HARM,DEPRESSION, AND SUICIDE. PLEASE BE CAREFUL...ENJOY :) 

Tyler’s POV

Sawyer’s gone? Is this real? God I’m so fucking stupid. I never noticed. I mean, he had problems, and I knew that, but HAD that’s the point, they were in the past. I thought he was ok. But now he’s gone.

I open my letter, expecting to see a link. But I see much more than a link. I see pages of Sawyer’s scraggly writing, followed by scratches and scribbles of nothingness.

“Tyler,

I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m gone. I mean, I know you didn’t care, that you’re much happier with Troye. And I’m happy that you’re happy. Also, I apologize in advance at the mess this letter will probably be. This will be my last chance to talk to you. Ever. And it’s odd, actually, that the thought that this is my last time saying stuff to people, that I’ll be dead, that comforts me. It makes life not so bad. So here goes, everything you need or want to know about Sawyer Hartman, everything I’ve held in for so long.

I couldn’t do it anymore. I came to college to let go, and I met you. It was a beautiful time. Thank you for putting up with my brain. I just, I don’t know. All my life, I wanted to grow up. I wanted to grow older, be a grown up. So people would take me seriously. It all sounded so good to me, growing up, living life. But, it’s all a scam. Love, that’s the biggest scam of all. I was in love. And everyone I loved laughed. They left. But love wasn’t the worst thing about growing up. When you’re younger, you’re in this aura kind of. You’re in a bubble. The world is new, you have this wonderful lust for life. I feel like this bubble is made up of multiple layers. Every stage of your life, one layer gets popped. I lost all of these layers. And, I don’t know. I know this makes no sense, but I have to get it all out.

See, my life had become what I started calling a reverse nightmare. I wake up, into the nightmare. The nightmare was life. When I was asleep, I at least had some chance of an escape. I could be someone else in a dream, but I can’t escape reality. And that sucks.

Tyler, if you ever feel like this, go to someone. Find help. I needed to, but I couldn’t. And now I’m gone. I am telling you now, tell someone. I don’t fucking care who it is. But tell someone. Or if your friend looks down, you know what it looks like. I mean, not all depressed people look depressed, but talk to people if they have a problem and if you have a problem ask for help it’s not that hard. Well, it is hard, but do it. Trust me.

Now, the reasons. I’ll go backwards, from the final reasons to the core of this. Which will probably make absolutely no sense, but I’ll try. The final reason. I was sick of it. I was sick of constantly hearing my heart beating in my ears and sick of hearing myself breath and talk because I was sick of being constantly reminded that I was alive. I was so fucking sick of faking it. I was so fucking sick of everything. And I was, I don’t know, I guess, I wanted more time, but I wanted to be in control of the time. Tyler I wasn’t happy on my birthday. MY BIRTHDAY. I knew I had to be careful, because there were these demons and monsters inside of me that could come out at any moment, so I promised myself. I was just keeping so much inside of myself, that I had somehow transformed into someone I didn’t know. Into something I couldn’t let go of, no matter how much I wanted to. But, Tyler, I’m not telling you this to guilt you or to tell you that you missed it. No, if anything you saved me from myself as much as anyone could. With all of the hurt my brain caused, I couldn’t keep it. I had to write it down. So I did. I know this makes no sense and I’m sorry for that. But I kept writing about you. My roommate told me the words were beautiful when he found them. And my girlfriend found the notebook too, telling me once again that they were beautiful. I don’t know why. Maybe it was written about you, or maybe for you. But what they didn’t know is that I would stare at the fucking blank piece of paper and just feel pure frustration. I couldn’t figure myself out, and I was tearing myself apart. Because no matter what I wrote, it couldn’t compare to what I felt. Or the lack of what I felt. If actions could be translated to words I would write me shouting in my fucking car on the side of the highway at 4 in the morning because I remembered what I did to you and your favorite song came on the radio again. I would write me standing in the shower with the scalding hot water burning my cuts trying, just trying, to think what happened and what the fuck my brain is and I would write me shutting off the water in total defeat because I realized that I was never fucking ok without my bubble. There’s no poetic way to say I feel like fucking shit. And nothing could fucking change this. I just thought of all of the people who woke up this morning going through this and I feel so bad for them then I remember that I am them and I’m going through it and this is my way of dealing with it. I’ll be ok. I’m sorry, Ty. This is a mess. I’m just writing there’s no story here. I’m done Tyler. I’m gone.

So, to you, Tyler Oakley, thank you. One last, final thank you. You, honestly, kept me alive longer than any one single person. And you, you are you. Those demons are weaker than you, you can get over them. Talk to people. If you’re sad, don’t hide it. Let people know. And, Tyler, this isn’t your fault at all. I love you, and want you to know that you were given this life to live. Goodbye, Tyler Oakley. I’ll miss you little twink.”

I’m bawling my eyes out, when the letter is taken out of my hands, and Troye picks me up.

“Where are we going?” I ask him, and he replies “To Sawyer’s room.”

***SORRY IT WAS SHORT AND SHITTY AND ugh. it took a week for that? Ok. Well I hope that made you at least tear up or something? Ok. well thank you for reading and hmu on social media if you ever need to talk: (I'm here)

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twitter: hyellohtroyler

that's all. Have a good day or night or whatever it is--Tay :)