POTS ~ The struggle of standing

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Juno's pov:

!!!WARNING: mention of suicide!!!

School goes by in a blur. The kind of nothingness that has a person sitting on the edge of a building, and suddenly time is of no essence. No value. It's not importent how happy you look sitting there, enjoying the view. You wish that you could have the cuorrage to take a swan dive.

Juno has never been courageous.

Life feels like buying a train-ticket, and boarding the wrong train. You did everything right. Prepared ahead of time. Yet everything can fail. It can always start raining.  And when you can't cry, over your own well-being, you get to cry over the small things. Like taking the wrong train. A single snowball can make an avalanche. What was originally planned, had already failed. The right train had left. Who is to say, that it won't continue to do so? Why try to make a difference when doing nothing gets you just as far? (Little personal rant, sry bout that)

'Nobody sane ever write anything, worth reading.'

Juno knew his ability to slip into self destructive tendencies had increased. But knowing something was wrong and doing something that actually helps those tendencies, we're oceans away. Juno was in no mood to swim. If he do, would he end up feeling anything other than the water burning his lungs?

All mental illness comes in waves. But Juno got out of the water. How can he tell people that he's falling back into patterns he recognise all too well?

Counteracting negative tendencies was not at the top of his to do list. Or maybe it was. Who actually follows through with to do lists?

Nothing is as permanent as temporary solutions.

His sister wouldn't want him, to join her too soon. He couldn't disappoint her.

Not again.

He felt left out of the conversations, he had with himself, in his own head.

When was the last time he visited her stone?

His phone lit up. A message.

'We need to talk'

Eliot had send him a message. Of his own accord. Because he wanted to? Or because he felt obligated to?

He needed to talk to Hazel. To sort this out. Was it something bad he wanted to talk about? If not, why write it like that?

He opened his chat with Hazel. It had been a couple of days since he wrote last. When was the last time Hazel took the initiative to start a conversation?

'E wanna talk. Wha' should I do???' He wrote.

Would Hazel even want to talk to him. She hadn't actually said anything. But they spent less time with each other. A lot less. Who would want to spend time with someone who can't even look in their eyes? Who could not hold a conversation, without making the conversation about themselves?

Should he delete the message?

He understood why Hazel had choosen Eliot instead of him. When every friendship falls apart, the surrounding friends, willing or not, knowingly or not, chose a side. Staying neutral for a longer time was unconventional, bordering on impossible. That was what it was, was it not? An uprooting.

He should delete the message.

Hazel was typing.

Love had never been unconventional. Even with their years of friendship, Hazel had no obligation of staying on his side. To choose him over Eliot. Not did he expect her to.

If he could also choose Eliot's side, would he? Would he choose his own? Did he trays this own judgment?

Hazel had sent him a text message; 'That's great!'

(A shorter ine this time. After this torturously long mental rant on Juno's pod, I am now finally proceeding with the story.

Fun fact: this story was initially to be a fantasy story. A bit has changed since then..

Sleep well, Raindrops🌧️)