20 | Depression

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This story is not intended to promote or encourage actions/behaviors such as suicide, self-harm, abuse, violence, or substance abuse.

Day 118

I went back to school today, and, of course, Endeavor's passing has been all over the news. While I was on my way to U.A., I was bombarded by people trying to interview me and find out more information. I ignored them.

While I'd already gotten a plethora of texts and calls from my classmates, they still wanted to check in with me when I got back. I once again faked how I was truly feeling to come off as 'normal' to them. Thankfully, Katsuki didn't call me out on my bullshit in front of everyone. He knows I don't feel a thing over what happened. I even told him about how I found Endeavor and ended up taking the knife out of his chest. I wanted to see his reaction. He said that "that shitty fucking bastard" got what he deserved, and that I put him out of his misery. I asked him if he was mad, disgusted, or disappointed in me, but he hugged me and said he was just so fucking happy that my abuser was gone. His hugs are really warm. I guess I kind of like them. But is it right to dismiss the fact that I killed someone?

Since my flirting with Katsuki ultimately ended in something I didn't want, I've stopped flirting altogether, and Midoriya picked up on it. We didn't talk much over summer vacation, though. I know he's trying to be a good friend, but personally, I find his constant worrying to be a waste of time for us both. I think he thinks I might have depression since he frequently asks me if I've been feeling down or hopeless lately, or if I've lost interest in the things that usually make me happy. I'm not depressed. I know it's easy to assume that I am, but I'm not. I wonder what he'd think if he knew I'm in a relationship with Katsuki. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to see his reaction.

I also found a poem I'd written a while ago when I was cleaning out my bag:

Parasite

A new day, another walk to the park.
Keep on walking 'til the sky turns dark.
But today, there's something a little bit off.
It seems I'm coming down with a cough.

Don't worry, don't worry!
Is it me, or is the world a little blurry?
It's nothing, I swear!
A foolish prisoner to its growing lair.

The world keeps moving day after day.
But these symptoms still refuse to go away.
I take my meds and hop to my usual routine.
I walk in the shadows, not wanting to be seen.

I've been coughing more and more.
Should I really walk out the door?
I take the medicine, but it's never enough.
I'll take more to get rid of this awful stuff.

I cough until my voice is gone.
I look out my window to the flowers on the lawn.
Another sick day of staying in bed.
Imagining better days inside my head.

There's something burrowing into my heart.
I know it's been there ever since the start.
All over my body, the feeling spreads.
The pills are what this creature dreads.

No appetite, no energy, no recovery yet.
It feels like I'm accumulating a crippling debt.
Why isn't the medicine working anymore?
Everything now seems like such a chore.

Something hollows me out from the inside.
All of my motivation has seemingly died.
Voiceless and weak, I'm paralyzed here.
It feels like I've been sick an entire year.

Sicker and sicker, the weeks fly by.
I'm feeling better, but that's a lie.
Empty white bottles strewn across the ground.
My body is numb from the pills I've downed.

I'm living through another pair of eyes.
Hollowed out while a part of me cries.
I beg and beg and sob and plea.
But my body still won't obey me.

Every breath is not my own.
There's something inside me, yet I'm alone.
It still drags me deeper into this hole.
It's taken me over to feast on my soul.

It's controlling everything I do.
It's devouring all the emotions it slew.
I know that I am no longer the same.
A host living half-alive for it's owner's game.

It will feast upon me until nothing remains.
It chained me to this bed by entering my veins.
I'll soon succumb since I'm unable to fight.
It's all thanks to you, my smirking parasite.

I know I wrote at least one other poem, but I don't know where it is. As for this one, though, I have only one thing to say about it: depression.

Speaking of which, Fuyumi also thinks I'm depressed. I'm not. I used to be, but not anymore. I might still be cutting, but that doesn't mean I have depression. Similarly, while one might call me suicidal, that also doesn't mean I'm depressed. I feel fine. I don't have any difficulty getting up and doing my work or taking care of myself.

I just don't know why I'm here at all.

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