You'll Be Okay

5

Trickling self doubt.

It was like a creek, a stream in Harry's mind that plagued every thought, every action until he could barely even breathe properly.

"Do they hate me?"

Voices echoed in the wide expanse of Harry's mind. It travels until the very edge, and as hard as he tries to run away from them, as much as he wishes he could, he can't.

It starts small.

And like a seed, once the thought is planted, it grows... if you give it enough attention.

And of course he does.

Tobi had once told Harry, that he read a book about two wolves. They battle around in your mind, teeth and blood, snarling and struggling. One is all that is negative and bad, soul sucking and ugly. The other is the sunshine and laughter, the hope and faith each person so loosely possesses.

He asked Tobi. "When do they stop fighting?"

"When the stronger one wins."

"And how do you know which one's stronger?"

Tobi pauses. "The wolf that you feed the most will be the strongest."

It was a nice metaphor, but Harry doesn't really see the wolves. Instead, it's plants. And he has many plants in his mind, growing and furling into big trees and flowers, vines and leaves climbing up to the highest places in his mind, curling and swirling.

The ones that he doesn't visit die. The leaves fall to the floor with each day he doesn't think of them, tend to them, until all is left is the naked, defeated bark and root. The ones that grow from the gross thoughts that he wishes didn't torment his mind, grow into disfigured cruel shapes. It almost hurts.

This one right now, is painful.

It jabs at Harry, almost teasingly and his face twists into a contorted, uncomfortable expression.

"Are you okay?" Vikk nudges him.

"You look sick."

Harry snaps out of it. "No, I'm fine." He assures his friend, flashing him a smile.

"You don't want to take a day off?"

The way Vikk presses makes him feel ashamed. Why should he take a break when no one else does?

So he shakes his head and declines. He doesn't want Vikk to hate him too.

***

It started with filming, of course.

There seemed to be some sort of pattern emerging here. Though, then again, this sort of thing did seem to happen just as frequently, when there were no cameras to be seen.

There had been a day, when, driving to the studio, Harry started shaking.

And he knew from the moment he woke up, the familiar dark pull of dread when he forces himself to lift the quilt away from himself.

He can't go.

But he had to.

So he gets up, after seconds and minutes of the agonising frenzy that explodes his mind. It doesn't want him to go. His mind doesn't want him to go.

He ignores it. Shovelling it down and he gets up. That was the easy part. He walks to the bathroom, and doesn't bother to greet anyone but no one questions it. It is early in the morning after all.