CW: Nightmares, Panic attacks/disorders, Sleep Paralysis (mentioned), Death of a Parent (mentioned), Depressive Episode (sort of)
Bexon hated the world. He hated the hand he was dealt for many reasons, knowing that things could always be worse was something he got told a lot. Though no one commented on how things could be better, that the bare minimum would be good enough half the time.
It never quite stuck.
Any time Bexon would comment about something, ranting or complaining about something he wanted to get out of his thoughts, it was as if they had to come up with a solution to fix him. Tell him some fucking toxic positive quote instead of just listening to him or saying a simple: "That sucks," would have been much better than the shit show he always got.
He knew he should probably look back into going to therapy again, but after years of not finding the greatest fit for him, he wasn't all that eager to look into it. However, on nights like this he questioned why he couldn't just get over it, maybe he could find someone to help his years of ignored trauma.
Waking up sobbing and paranoid always made it easy for him to think that maybe he should try to take care of himself more. No longer actively trying to do the opposite wasn't enough anymore. Nights like this where he was tired but waking up to a nightmare so realistic he could paint it.
Bexon knew his nightmares got worse near this time of the year. He knew that no matter how much he tried to ignore it, there was nothing he could do to help. So many years later and nothing seemed to improve.
He tried pills, but they never worked. He tried drugs, which obviously made things worse. He even tried alcohol once, that one ended with him in jail for some form of arson—a bullshit charge his dad was able to get him out of—though it was never forgotten.
Though it was better than doing nothing about waking to see his very much dead mother sitting at the edge of his bed while he was frozen in his bed unable to do anything, even screaming felt impossible. It was a form of torture knowing he was sleeping, but also awake at the same time.
When it came to sleep paralysis he was careful with his nightmares not wanting them to turn into something worse than they already were. He had things in play to help, for example, if he changed things around in his room or turned his TV on while he slept the sleep demons left him alone.
Just not all the time. When he hadn't been sleeping he tended to start seeing things and then ignoring all the signs that things would only get worse from there.
Bexon was awake this time, able to move as the sight of his mother left but the eerie feeling was left behind. He looked over to his nightstand and reached for his phone, watching videos or playing some stupid game to distract him wasn't going to work tonight and he knew it.
It was twelve in the morning.
He wasn't sure what would help him recover from probably one of the worst nightmares he had in a while. The lingering images and feelings the dream left him lingered in his mind to the point he found it difficult to know what was even real.
Bexon felt the hot tear fall along his cheek and tickle his chin.
He didn't move.
He couldn't at that moment.
His dark room was not comforting as it usually was to him. Growing up with his dad's grim aesthetic Bexon often found great comfort in the shadows, if he couldn't see it then it was less real. Though this time everything felt too real. Every shape looked like some creature wanting to get closer and closer, the walls around him were closing in on him, all at once.
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And They Were Housemates ✓
RomanceBexon Venturi was the embodiment of death. He worked hard to stay at the top of all his classes, which left him no room to dwell on his unpleasant past. Years spent convinced it was his fault took their toll; he was distant and only allowed a few...
