Øverturning the lies (a twenty one pilots fanfiction)

~Mari~

For once Mari doesn't feel the panic expressing itself on the outside. She isn't barely able to stop her hands from shaking, her legs from wobbling as she tries to walk.

But she does feel it on the inside.

She's acutely aware of the jacket she's wearing rubbing against her skin, the way her shoes pinch her feet just so, the way her hair falls, not quite straight but not messy enough for her to go into full fear mode and try desperately to straighten.

And yet, she feels so detached from it all.

Like she's really curled up inside a ball inside of her heart while the rest of her just goes on without her, no one noticing how much she's hurting.

They only see it when she breaks. Truly breaks, unable to keep the pieces together through sheer willpower anymore.

When the pain is on the inside it may as well be invisible.

Except its not.

She can feel it.

It's always there in some shape or form.

Sometimes she can forget its there, just living as she's supposed to. As everyone else does.

But.

She always remembers eventually.

When she can no longer force herself to focus on anything.

When her thoughts drift again and again and she remembers how easy it is for them to.

And she hates herself for that.

Just wants to finally, truly be able to say that she's okay.

Not okay for now.

Not bad.

Just.

Good.

Please?

Please.

Maybe someday.

Maybe someday her tired, worn-out soul will be at peace.

She hopes so.

This seems like more than she can take.

She closes her eyes, covers her face with her hands.

No tears.

Just anguish.

She rubs at her face, not even sure why.

Not even sure why except she hurts inside and her pain is now on the outside, manifesting itself in so many different ways.

Until she can't handle it.

Not her head, so heavy and weighed down with these thoughts, these feelings, not her heart...somehow still steadily beating even though she feels as though things have stopped and started again and again.

She feels a sense of foreboding, like something truly terrible is about to happen.

Nothing does.

Nothing nothing nothing.

But her body, he mind-it was so sure something would.

She hates being proved wrong, truly wishes her body's strange habits she can't control were at least able to prepare her for something.

Wishes they didn't just make it easy to push people away and hide her pain behind if not a smile, than a hopefully nonchalant, seemingly just fine face.

In the end it doesn't matter her pain makes a full circle eventually anyway.

It always does.

High.

Low.

Low.

High.

Is there any stability involved in this life?

Anything other than just holding on for dear life and trying not to go insane?

Insane as the world falls and any innocence she might have held onto growing stale, stale and weak and tired...

Always tired.

That was her.

Always tired yet never lacking the energy to become pushed even more over the edge she's so precariously balancing on.

But if she lets go, then who is she?

What is she?

Nothing nothing nothing just a person trying to survive just a girl trying to stay strong trying to stay alive.

Just a person who has seen the brink of chaos and is somehow, somehow, not fully inside it.

Not yet not yet not yet.

She exhales.

Hopefully never.

But that's a fight she's afraid she will lose.