Everything About You

Depression Makes an Entrance!

Trigger warning: Depression, Possible Disassociation, Suicidal Thoughts, Attempted Suicide, Traumatic Confrontations

(I'm sorry if I missed something or need to add something, stay safe, If you need someone to talk to, I am always avaliable and usually on everyday/every other day, at least when I can be) 

You are loved. Believe me.

JEREMY:

Jeremy wasn't doing well in his classes. He had managed to pull himself together enough to keep his marks up before Christmas break, but as the snow began to fall, so did his grasp on life. He stopped going to hang out with the group on Fridays after school, he just stopped caring.

He didn't have the energy to care, he was just so tired.

Rebuilding things with Michael had stalled almost entirely, and though Michael attempted to chip through his shell, every attempt his made only made Jeremy feel all the guiltier. Michael shouldn't have to take care of Jeremy's mental screw ups after all he had gone through. Yet he did.

Jeremy supposed he had gotten an absolute jackpot of a Player 1, even if Michael rarely succeeded in cutting through Jeremy's mental fog.

It was a long day and school was gruelling. One of his teachers had been hounding him for work he swore to the teacher up and down he had done; he pulled a blandly disappointed expression at those same worksheets that were exactly where he had left them, unstarted and blank. He supposed he could have started them, it would have made things easier, but even the thought of them exhausted Jeremy almost to a point of tears. He would do it later, when he was feeling better.

He never actually did feel better, and he never actually did any of the growing pile of worksheets. Jeremy placed the papers on the desk's similarly unfinished stack.

Everything was hard. Too hard. Impossible. Terrible. Jeremy was so tired and all he wanted to do was sleep forever.

He hadn't even noticed that he had slipped back into his shoes downstairs, nor that several hours had passed. He simply blinked and suddenly he was making his way down the driveway in a blur.

His mind was clogged, so full he couldn't even see his own thoughts. It all hurt and he was so so tired.

The park wasn't far. His dad was glad when he said he was meeting up with his friends. He trusted him.

Jeremy barely even remembered what he had written on the note in his pocket.

From the park, he crossed the open, dying, and frosted over grass, walked through the posted metal gate, and stood stock still for a moment in front of the highway.

Every time a car whizzed past him he could feel it. A pull. Physics working with him, telling him to lean in, telling him it was alright, it was fine, you're so tired.

Jeremy leaned a little closer, he could feel something in him bucking and reeling back at the thoughts and sensations racing through Jeremy's suddenly clear head, yet he couldn't—didn't want to stop.

He leaned a little closer, he had to leap at just the right moment, a little closer, closer, closer.

Three.

Two.

One—

JEREMY NO!

Suddenly Jeremy was shoved backward, hard, rolling slightly as he hit the grass behind him. His head spun and his hands began to shake.

What had he been about to do?

His dad would be crushed—would have been crushed. Michael would have killed him—no, Michael would have, could have, Jeremy's friend was already feeling alone, what would he have—

How did he—

"S—sq—squip—p?" Jeremy had thought he had heard, could have sworn he heard—but the Squip couldn't touch him, so he couldn't have pushed him back.

There was no answer but the cold nipping wind at Jeremy's fingertips.

Fresh dread filled Jeremy's gut as he thought about the Squip retaking control of him, of his body, his life. Had he somehow survived? No, Squip would have shown themselves, they would have made another grab for power. That's all they really wanted, control, power, total knowledge and authority over everything the machine claimed theirs.

Which included Jeremy.

"Squip? Are you—are you there?" Wind sang through the park behind Jeremy as the highway growled, cars whizzing past him one by one at speeds that pulled at his hair and made him flinch.

His cheeks were cold and wiping the back of a hand across them had him noticing his face was streaked with tears. When had that happened?

Jeremy's hand began to shake as shock unfurled within him. He would have been—he would be—he had almost—

The tears were coming fast now, hot and overspilling as his body heaved in juddering sobs.

He had tried to—

A violent sob wracked his body, forcing him to push back from the grit-caked side of the road on shaking, spasming hands. He was still laid on his backside, half laying before he turned away from the road onto his side and curled in on himself.

He needed to leave before someone called the cops on him, thinking he was some crackhead or drunk guy having an episode. He needed to pull himself together but the thought of doing that only made him feel further apart.

He was alone.

No one could know.

They would all think he was spoiled, he had such good friends, a loving father, stable enough home, what was wrong with him?

He was so so alone.

Staying like that, shaking and spasming on the dew and frost soaked grass of the park, he cried as his thoughts spiralled. He cried until he wretched, once, again, spitting up into the limply frozen ground.

Alone. The word echoed for him. Maybe he could try again, he couldn't bare to face his family, his friends after this. Everything was so hard and he had made it worse. He needed to escape, he was alone, he—he—

Deep breaths, one in, hold for eight, one out

"S—sq—s—"

In, hold, out... in... hold... out... just breathing, in...

Jeremy's mind began to settle, his frantic and fragmented thoughts slowing their whirlwind. He breathed. In, hold... out... helpless but to listen to the familiar voice murmuring softly but firmly within his ear. He felt a hand on his back, stroking him down and up, back down again.

Everytime his breathing grew quicker as he tried to process things, that voice was beside him again, instructing that he breathe, breathe, breathe.

He began to feel calm, nearly warm inside, his back tingling pleasantly from the contact he rarely received. Slowly, one vertebrae at a time, he rose up, only to be guided by featherlight hands so that his back rested upon a tree's trunk. The clearing was glowing an otherworldly blue that, in his calmed haze, almost seemed serene.

"Alright" He murmured, breath still shaky, hands trembling. "WHAT THE F—"