Sometimes You Find Hope in the Darkest Places | Mashton

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Hey guys.

This is my new story- and as you can probably tell by the summary, it's gonna be painful. I'm warning you now- there's gonna be a lot of triggering shit in here- Michael isn't in a good place, and most of this is gonna be his thoughts, so if you're easily triggered, I wouldn't advise reading this.

Cancer is not a subject I have experience writing in, but two of my uncles are oncologists, and I've gotten some information from them. I'm gonna try and make this as accurate as possible, but there will be things that'll be fictional, I don't know everything about chemo and shit.

Anyways, enjoy.

...

Michael has no idea why he’s even in this damn car.

His mum had the bright idea that helping others will essentially help him, so here he is, being driven to the local hospital. This day is far from ideal- and truthfully, all he wants to do is submerge himself in blankets and take a blade to his wrist.

Hospitals are homes for sick people. People suffering, in pain, people with horrid diseases or incurable ailments- people who have it so much worse than he does. And Michael can’t help but hate himself that much more, for wanting to die, when there are people who have it so much fucking worse.

It’s not fair- Michael knows he’s selfish and ungrateful. He should be happy that he’s completely physically healthy- that he has no terminal diseases, that his fate isn’t permanently sealed. Sure, he wants to die, but he’s not one of the people who only has six months to live, or something like that. His death is entirely his choice.

He sighs, resting his forehead against the window. Of course, his mum didn’t think he’d actually come to the hospital, if she let him drive himself, so she’s chauffeuring him there. Pretty pathetic, isn’t it? He’s 19, and he still has his mummy drive him places, what a fucking baby.

Michael just doesn’t think he’s worth it anymore- his perception of himself is entirely distorted. In his eyes, he’s nothing but a lost cause- they can try and save him, but he’s already too fucking far gone. He’s the reject at school- the bullying target, the one who’s called a fucking faggot more than his own name.

And his mum wonders why he cuts himself.

It’s so fucked up, he’s so fucked up. Everything is just turning to shit, he’s such a mess and he has no fucking clue how to fix himself. Therapy doesn’t help, Calum hasn’t been able to do anything, and he won’t go to rehab. Michael isn’t firm on a lot of things, but he is firm on the fact that he will not go to rehab. He’d rather slam his head in a car door, than ever set foot in a rehab clinic.

This is his last hope. His mum said that it’s either this, or rehab for three months. And hell over high water, there was no way he was picking the latter. So now, for the next three months, he’s stuck being chauffeured to the hospital every other day, after school.

His shift is 3 to 7 on weekdays, and he also volunteers every other weekend, all fucking day. Apparently, it should be a distraction from cutting, and his mum has this bright idea, that it’ll help him stop. Michael wanted to laugh when she told him that- that’s fucking bull. Distractions are notgoing to help him stop cutting. The only thing that’ll make him stop cutting, is his own death.

…

Michael sits numbly through the lecture, along with all the other volunteers. None of them look like potential friend candidates- and he’s glad about that. He isn’t here to make friends and get attached to people- he’s here because he has to be, and he knows that he will not enjoy a single second of it. His fate is sealed- he’s going to hate these three months more than anything- but it’s still better than rehab. Anything is better than rehab, at this point.