falling [total drama island]

chapter one

It's days like these where I feel like I might actually get better. Days where I don't cry myself to sleep and days where I can keep down breakfast, lunch and dinner. Being able to stifle one of those meals is an accomplishment, because I always have no control over anything I do, no control over my body or words.

I'll never tell anyone either. If my world was dry and colorless then what type of person was I to reflect it on someone else's? It's not worth it. My own sufferings are for me to bear, and me alone. 

I've resented myself for as long as I could remember. The curve of my eyes and how empty they look all the time, for the sorrowful rings under them and the way my body was shaped in general. I flinch every time I see a mirror. For me, it's almost painful to see the reflection of me and compare it to everyone else. Comparison would someday kill me, if not, it already is.

Sitting here on the bathroom floor with the door locked I can feel every part of the cold tiles sliding against my legs and the cabinet cool against my back, every inch of my spine is brick hard against the material. I prop my upper arms on the floor. The fresh scars running up and down my arms feel soothed. The scorching light hanging from above hurts my dry eyes even more, dry because I have no more tears left to cry. If you ask me about any part of my body, I will have reasoning to hate it.

I don't know how I ended up like this. I think it started with school.

The academic pressure that everyone put on me had hit harder on me than it did most people and, God, I sound selfish. Everyone at school is, in one way or another, a burnout, and everyone shows it differently. This is just how I show it.

But all everyone ever sees in me is straight A student Noah Sterecra. If I let one of my grades slip then I might as well be done for. They see the son born to worthy, intelligent and kind parents, the boy who lived up to society's expectations and would become great in the future. But most importantly, they see well-born as well-monied. They look at me and see my parents' fortune, nothing more of that and nothing less.

They don't see through the thin veil. They don't see what happens underneath that darkness, where I cloak myself in scars on my thighs, arms, stomach, they don't see the self hatred in my eyes every time I look in a mirror, nor the patchy heavy circles from lack of sleep. Society sees what they only want to see, and they'll refuse to accept anything otherwise.

The more effort I put into academics and into hours of unnecessary studying the more my self care deteriorated. Because I looked so fucked up all the time I just ended up despising everything I look like, wishing I could change my appearance, wishing I could be anyone else but myself.

Then failure hit me like a gunshot. Whenever I failed in anything I would tear myself apart, because then what was that all for? All my efforts, all my studying, all those countless hours spent at my desk scribbling notes and forcing myself to remember pages of textbooks. Does that mean all that was for nothing?

And I don't want help, because if I ask for it or accept it, then the only thing I would feel is guilt. Guilt because I haven't done anything to change what I do to myself, I haven't endured anything and surely other people have it worse. I deserve to suffer.

I know it's bad, what I do, but I can't stop it. As I said, I have no control.

///

Courtney is the type of person who everyone's parents want their kid to be around, and lucky for me I grew up with her short temper, desire to win and excessive study habits. She always knew what was wrong with me in the nick of a second. She was calculated, pristine and the golden child, and I wish I was her. 

My parents are away in the country for three weeks which meant tonight I didn't have to stifle my sobs and hold the hiccoughs in my throat. Without a word said or a message sent I heard the front door open and soft footsteps walk up the stairs. Someone picks the lock and I don't care. I can feel Courtney's worried eyes as she looks me up and down. 

"I hate seeing you like this," she says. I can't look at her because if I look at her I will cry even harder than I already am. She kneels down next to me and puts a warm hand on my back. I don't need her help. All I have to do is get through university, get a stable job and just be run out of here in a heartbeat with a life I want. But I don't think that will be any time soon. 

"Don't lie to yourself, Noah," Courtney says. "We both know that you're not getting any better." She sighs and I go silent.

Suddenly I can feel everything against me. The moonlight delicately glazes my skin in the defeating breeze of the night and Courtney's hand feels like the sun. I feel warm, warmer than I've ever been before. This always happens whenever I realize how it feels to truly live. I rub my head deeper into my knees and cover my eyes with my arms. Those red hot cuts sting. 

Courtney sees my cuts and the tension in the room gets alarming, I can feel her tense against me.  "Oh, Noah." Her energy grows angry.  "Is it those homophobic dickheads at college? You know the only reason they can't accept gay people is because they're pathetic and sticklers for the rules. If they're bothering you I can get Duncan to-"

"Don't," I say shortly. I don't need Duncan's help with anything. And Duncan starting a brawl with average country dicks won't make my situation any better. It would get him in trouble and furthermore entangled with my issues. "I don't need...anything."

"Okay, then." Courtney sits there with me for a bit until my weeping ceases. I look up at her, my eyes red and hollow with the ghost of who I used to be. She looks at me with sorrowful dark eyes. "I wish you would let me get you some help." 

Help wouldn't be appropriate. You know, help wouldn't actually be helpful. 

"Ending yourself isn't the solution, Noah," Courtney says. "I hate myself for not noticing this earlier." She sniffs. "Promise me you'll try and make it through the school year."

I am trying.

I nod and she smiles weakly. Courtney helps me up and brings me to my bedroom, where we sit there, leaning against the wall for a long time. She tells me about her day and I get distracted in her soft voice. 

I look up at the moon. Has it always been so full and round? Has the sky always been full of stars? They tell me that when people die they go to Heaven up there, become stars and at night those very stars choose your fate. 

I've never felt closer to Heaven than I ever have before.

a/n

omg