I Don't Trust Myself (Tommyinnit angst)

Chapter 8 - Mismatched

(a/n) yo yo yo. I'm back. Sorry for the delay, but I'm not about to make some shit excuse for why I stopped, I just didn't entirely want to write, so take this. I think that it is very funny that I was gone for so long that I have to re-read my last chapter to figure out what I was going to write today. Anyways, I'm just vibing here. Pog. Have a great day. Gang Gang Motherfuckers. HOW THE FUCK DID I FORGET THAT I LEFT THIS BOOK AT A GODDAMN GOOD CLIFFHANGER?!?!?! Well shit... I love myself for that. <3<3<3 Also, when I started this book I was very naïve about all this heavy stuff, so I apologize for the parts where it might seem a bit confusing and unrealistic, but I digress. 

TW: ANXIETY, DEPRESSION, SUICIDE

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I think he should know. He has to know. How hasn't he noticed? Why hasn't he noticed. No. You're not going to do this. This is not his fault. There is no way I am going to pin my irrationality on him. He doesn't deserve this. 

"Tommy," Wilbur whispered, almost as if he were afraid to speak. Afraid of my reaction. Afraid of me? "Tommy, I need you to tell me what the hell just happened. Please."

I took a deep breath. Was I really preparing to tell him this. Tell him everything? 

"Wilbur, as you know, I have anxiety." Yes, good. Ease him into it. "And sometimes it can be overbearing and I thinking about something that happened, or almost did rather, and that was what caused the panic attack that you just saw." The words flowed from my tongue like butter covers toast. Filling up all the lies and gaps with substances only to be revealed later. 

It was astonishing how I could talk easier to Wilbur than I could to my therapist. That's quite funny, as the one person who I'm supposed to be telling my feelings to is missing out on the information that will have the biggest impact. 

"Tommy, if you don't mind me asking, what happened to make you have such a bad reaction? I don't mean to grovel, you don't have to answer if you're not comfortable, I just want to make sure you're safe." Wilbur said. 

"I was on a bridge earlier." I said, my voice not quivering once, it was such a normal occurrence in my life that I didn't even realize the extent of it until I heard a shaky inhale from the other side of the call. 

Oops. 

"What?"

I could tell he was worried, I don't mind having him scared a little, but not too much, as I don't want to take complete advantage. 

"I want to ask why, but I think we both know the answer to that." Wilbur said.

"Yeah.." I chuckled, eliciting a disapproving sigh from Wilbur. "Anyways, I would love to sit here and talk about the truth and how I am slowly, but surely, becoming worse and worse throughout the course of my life in terms of mental stability, but my mother is in fact calling me to do the dishes, so I digress good mate." 

With that, I end the call without another thought, obviously stunning the other to silence with my strong vocabulary and rather confusing run-on sentences. Ha. Comical, isn't it. 

My mother wasn't actually calling me, as it had turned to the later part of the night, possibly even early morning without me noticing. Oh my, how did this all turn so sour so fast? 

Without giving my uncertain circumstances another thought, I waltzed out of my bedroom with a sardonic smile on my face. The smile is question was quickly washed off after I realized my parents were probably asleep and it would be quite rude to simply prance around whilst they are trying to rest. Silly me. 

I crept back into my bedroom and slid up my window, gaping at how large the gap from my window-sill to the ground seemed to be. Let's think this over. It can't be more than fifteen feet, maybe even closer to around ten, so the probability of me actually hurting myself was low, but still there, which was making me a tad hesitant. Well, not like it matters anyways. 

And with that, I threw myself from my room to the ground, only barely ascertaining that severity of my actions. Oh well. You know what they say, better late than never. Although, all things considered, I don't think that this completely applies to this particular situation in any way, shape or form. 

I pocketed my phone, only after seeing that I cracked the screen upon my honestly, quite graceful descent from my wonderful window. Too bad, so sad.

With a small leap and a bound, I sashayed over to the oh-so-familiar bridge that I've grown to love. Wow, for someone who is about to do what I am about to do, I am rather happy, almost filled with an utmost appreciation for everything and everyone. 

For the first time this night, a twinge of guilt hit me as I thought about those that I would be leaving, and maybe hurting. No, not hurting, helping. I'm helping them, they will be happier once not restricted by my burdensome self. 

I plopped myself on the edge of the bridge and whipped out my half-broken phone. I sent a quick text out to the Dream SMP group chat, reading, "Hey guys, just wanted to thank you all for everything that you have done and I can't imagine life without everyone! I love you all so much." Although it was tempting, I decided not to hint at what I was about to do in case someone would be so silly as to attempt to convince me otherwise. 

After another quick text to the Sleepy Bois plus Tubbo group chat, as not everyone considers him part of the group, although I do, saying something along the line of I love them, true, and I wish it didn't have to be this way, not true. 

Standing up, I thought that sending something to my parents would probably be a good idea, you know, after all the trouble they went through caring for me. I told them the complete truth, confident that they would be asleep. I told them also not to mourn me for too long, as that just seems silly, plain and simple. 

I tossed my phone to the side and finally gave into the temptation. After all this time, all this suffering, I would finally be free, free from all the stress and worries. 

Most importantly, free from my mind. The one thing, that no matter what, I could never escape. 

Because, here's my ideology, I'm not the ugliest. Sure, I'm not magazine model, but my appearance is certainly not ugly. But, my mind is. My mind is always filled with these horrible, horrible thoughts that make me want to scream and break things, keep in mind that I'm not a violent person. I feel so useless. Like, no matter how I look or portray myself, the visions of others mean nothing if I hate my mind so severely. It's almost like they don't match. They don't connect, they shouldn't. But, they have been placed together, so I must suffer the wrath or wreak havoc.  

That's another thing, why does it always not hurt when you're the one inflicting the pain. I digress. 

So that's why I'm killing myself. My mind and my body are so unequal, so unmatched, that it becomes too much. So much that it hurts more to live than to die.

Because in the end, I don't trust myself.