Timothèe Chalamet Imagines

✾struggling✾

Trigger Warning: This depicts depression and mental health issues in detail. If this could trigger you in any way, please do not read.

I also share my own story with mental health down below, and one thing that has really helped me struggle with bad days is this website: https://www.blurtitout.org/

It's full of helpful blogs that make you feel less alone in this battle.

Your POV

Every day is just another one to survive through. Every little thing feels impossible. Brushing my teeth. Washing my face. Somehow finding the will to cook breakfast. It's all extremely difficult.

The good days are almost normal; I can easily cover up what I'm feeling and go through the motions as I normally would, just with less feeling. The bad days seem impossible.

It feels like I have no one, like I'm the loneliest girl in the universe. I have to fight that lie; I do have someone. I have Timothée.

But I can feel our relationship dying right in front of me because of how depressed I've become. It's like I can't save it, and I feel guilty for not having the motivation to try.

This morning I'm laying on my couch in my apartment. I fell asleep here last night, unable to find the energy to get up, put on pajamas, and go to bed. I'm still in yesterday's clothes. The TV drones on in front of me, playing a movie that I'm barely even watching. Small lines of sunbeams filter through my closed blinds. I can't get up to open them. I don't even want to let the light in.

I cancelled once again on my friend today. We were supposed to get coffee and go for a walk this morning. I just can't.

My phone buzzes on the coffee table. Barely moving, I reach forward and flip it up so I can see it.

A text from Timothée makes my heart pang with guilt.

Hey. Free to hang out this afternoon?

I have barely reached out to him this week. I've only seen him twice - and we don't live too far away from each other. He's noticed I've been distant lately, but the one time he asked about it I dismissed it. I don't want him to know how crazy I feel. I know he'll leave me if I show him the darkness.

I don't answer the text.

I just close my eyes and let the sweet release of sleep take over.

***

I wake up to a pounding noise.

Rubbing my eyes and sitting up, I realize someone is at my door. I stagger up, disoriented from sleep, and lazily open the door.

Timothée is standing there, one hand running through his hair, a pained expression on his face. We stare at each other in silence for a moment.

"Uh, hey. Sorry to come over... you just didn't answer your phone... and I feel like I haven't seen you much lately," he says, breaking the quiet.

"Oh. Yeah. I've been... busy," I say. I'm still standing in the doorway.

"Can I come in?" he asks wearily.

"Right. Yeah," I say, shaking my head and stepping aside so he can walk in.

He sort of does a double-take at the appearance of my apartment. It's only now that I realize how out of sorts it looks. It's very dark with the blinds drawn and the lights off, I have dishes that haven't been washed in days sitting in my sink, and laundry is all over my living room floor.

He brings one hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it. One of his anxious habits.

"Want to watch a movie?" I ask.