{Hate the doubts}
Contains:
• Depression
• Self-hate
• Offensive comments
Y/n ~ Your name
H/c ~ Hair color
S/o ~ Significant other
F/c ~ Favorite color
F/m ~ Favorite movie
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The day is like any other, with a passing thunderstorm rolling through the city of New York. The lights are dim, and the room is quiet, other than the soft sounds of gentle snoring that originate from a bed in a corner of the room. You're sleeping peacefully in that bed when your loud alarm begins ringing, signaling the start of another work day.
You groan while holding a pillow over your head, hoping to drown out the incessant noise. Some time passes as you drift off to sleep again, but Mother Nature seems to have other plans. Lighting strikes, and thunder roars like a raging lion, waking you from a dream that was so close, directly at your fingertips.
With a hefty sigh, you get out of bed, only to feel a small puddle of cold water splash beneath your feet. "Another leak. That's just wonderful." You grumble to no one in particular before walking to the bay window directly across from your bed. You quickly slide the curtains away and peek outside, revealing the unforgiving weather that awaits you.
With a soft groan, you rub your tired eyes and pull the curtains closed, frustrated at how the day is already turning out. You ignore the headache beginning to form in your temples before trudging over to your bathroom, ready to take a nice, refreshing shower. But of course, with the storm still right outside the window, you quickly realize taking a shower wouldn't be the wisest decision. So instead, you settle for a quick rinse in the sink--Washing your face, brushing your teeth, and then combing through your tangled h/c hair.
"Ugh! Stupid knot." You harshly pull on the brush that's stuck in a giant rat's nest on the top of your head. After a few minutes of playing tug-of-war with your hair, you toss it into a messy bun.
Once the pain from pulling on your hair subsides, you quickly dress in a f/c button-up shirt, black jeans, and a pair of black socks. You look into a full-body mirror and observe yourself, unable to forget the harsh things people have said about you.
"Such a pretty face; It's a shame they don't take care of their body." "Oh my god, did you see those rolls? That's so disgusting." "You should lay off the carbs, sweetie. You look like a whale." "You're too fat/skinny." "You should eat a burger."
As you stand there and continue judging your body, hot tears begin cascading down your cheeks. You've been even harder on yourself recently because you want to look the best for your boyfriend, Donatello. Now that you really think about it, he hasn't even texted his usual, 'Good morning, Dove' for the past few days.
"Maybe Donnie is tired of me, too." You choke out, finally finding enough strength to walk away from the mirror. You decide to skip breakfast and instead enter the living area to turn on the news. "April O'Neal here with channel 6 news. There have been recent reports of Foot Clan activity, as well as an increase in robberies around the city. Officials say-" You click the TV off as you slump back on the couch.
"Why can't I be like April? She's so smart and pretty. Donnie would be better off with someone like her." After a few minutes of staring at nothing, you stand up and walk to the entryway. You grab a coat off the rack, car keys, and an umbrella before heading out the door. You walk down six flights of stairs since your apartment's elevator has been broken for the past four and a half months.
