Øverturning the lies (a twenty one pilots fanfiction)

~Tyler~

Nothing-nothing-makes sense anymore, and he knows it.

He knows it with a dreadful, dreadful certainty.

This. This shouldn't have evoked the reaction it did.

Shouldn't have filled him with such confusing emotions.

But it did.

And that fills him with anger.

No.

Hatred.

And rage, it's cousin.

But at what?

These less-than-ideal circumstances?

At life itself?

Or at himself, for these emotions he can't control?

That, he doesn't know.

But what he does know is this: one emotion that's starting to grip him tight is one he knows all too well: desperation.

It only grows stronger every second he stands here, unsure of how it will all go, uncertain of his own existence, as much sense as that makes.

But it's true.

He just feels lost-lost inside of those feelings that don't make any sense, lost inside of a mind filled with nothing but chaos, swirling around and around in an unbreakable loop.

And that-that feeling of not even truly belonging inside of his own body-that's enough to push him completely over the edge.

He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

And he just shakes his head, not liking what he sees, not feeling as though this person he's become is anything he can be, but unable to do anything about it.

And he knows he doesn't have much more time.

He knows.  

And yet. 

He can't make himself. 

Can't make himself care. 

Can't make himself even finish those first few motions of the day that will enable him to do anything-and everything-else. 

He may just be standing here, but his mind is going in circles, spinning around and around, closer to-closer to the darkness the more he thinks about that, the more he focuses on it. 

Until he can hear his thoughts buzzing, bouncing off of each other. 

Until he knows this is too much. 

He knows it. 

How will he even get through the hours upon hours that will make up today, undoubtedly? 

How will he even get through life like this? 

He sighs, horrified, and confused-

And hurt.

He shouldn't have tried. 

He shouldn't have tried to figure himself out. 

He shouldn't have tried to figure the world out. 

He should have learned his lesson by now. 

This is where he is now. 

Now he has to accept this as true, and not try to change it. 

But he can't. 

He can't accept this...just doesn't know what to do about it-

Or anything. 

He swallows, feeling every second that he doesn't make a solid decision weighing on him. 

So heavy. 

Like everything, these days. 

What's left...well, if anything is left of his conscience-it can't be happy about this weight it's carrying, so against everything he thought he knew and wanted to know-and-was told, years and years ago, before all of this-

No, don't think that, don't think that, why are we thinking these dark thoughts here and now? 

Why is it so...easy?

Why-

Why. 

That's the question he asks himself. 

Why am I still here, still alive? 

Surely there's a reason...

Unless there's not-

Unless there's not. 

He doesn't tell his reflection, I hate you, but he thinks, I wish...

I wish I could really be this person. 

And he turns to go, continuing, for now, to keep living. 

Continuing to go along this path that was set for him.

Not turning back but not going forward-

Not progressing. 

And still alone, still a fresh wound that hurts so bad.

No interventions, no miracles now to save this soul-

Unless...

But no. 

Unless...

He shakes his head, casts one last look around, then goes out the door. 

Folding those thoughts away, folding these feelings away. 

Still going along  with the same path as always, not quite a rebel, not quite belonging in the system, but still here. 

Still fighting, as much as that seems to matter. 

Still breathing and hating and living...

And maybe, he thinks, trying to keep his hands from shaking and his mind from spinning and his heart from pounding, maybe that will be enough. 

But...

He keeps his head down, staring at the ground, trying to ignore those tears that come, trying to ignore this place he is still in, the gloominess and oppressiveness of it all, trying to ignore that urge to do anything, to run, hide, if it means escaping from it. 

Trying. 

But what good does that do? 

What good does it do if he finds himself breaking, collapsing, mere minutes later, after he tried so hard to keep himself together? 

That's just it...

It doesn't matter. 

He swallows, scared by his change in mood. 

And he survives, second after second, but he can't help but feel as though he's missing something...something important. 

But what? 

He finds himself barely choking back tears, right here and right now, in this middle of this day that was meant to be meaningless, that he hoped would be meaningless, just another 24 hours in the sequence of time...

But that wasn't, not at all. 

No, nothing is meaningless for him, is it? 

It all means too much. 

Far, far too much...

His world is spinning again and he doesn't know how to stop it. 

Everything is turning into chaos, and it's all. 

So. 

Much. 

Overwhelming.

And he hates it. 

All of it.