Pinkie Promise

Chapter 4: Help

AN: Important this is a really dark chapter with self harm, depression, anxiety, blood and just horrible nasty thoughts so go carefully. Read it at your own risk.

It was one of those weeks for Phil, the ones where he felt like he was constantly drowning: tears bubbling at the sides of his eyes threatening to fall.

It wasn't constant drowning, but there were those moments where he was sent plunging headfirst into the waters of self-hatred.

In his head, he couldn't fully say it was depression, anxiety or panic attacks, but waves of his inner monologue turning to attacking him. Maybe even a weird combination of all of them with depression attacks, depression anxiety and just... panic attacks. No two drownings were the same.

Dan had noticed it was one of those weeks, but Phil being Phil hadn't explained it, claiming he just needed some time alone as he wasn't feeling well, which was technically true. And of course, Dan, being a caring boyfriend, had done just that. He was perfect like that in Phil's mind.

"Phil, can I come in?" Dan requested, knocking on Phil's bedroom door.

"Yeah, sure." Phil replied after checking his book of tally marks was hidden. Dan cautiously opened the door. He was dressed up and ready to go out, shoes already on and phone in hand.

"Just checking again; you definitely don't feel up for doing the radio show tonight before I head out to the studio? Not to push you," he smiled, wandering over and sitting on the end of the bed.

"No, no... I don't feel well at all... Sorry to leave you by yourself on there and all..." Phil mumbled, pulling the covers closer, making sure they completely wrapped around his arms.

"It's fine, Phil... you just try and get some sleep." Dan smiled tightly, kissing Phil on the forehead gently before getting up. "I've got to go, the taxi is here. See you later."

"See you, Dan." Phil smiled as Dan left, closing the door behind him. It only took a moment until Phil heard the main door close behind Dan as well.

Phil sighed, rolling over and curling up tighter in the covers. He didn't even like being in bed when he was feeling this way. His favourite place was the small space of his wardrobe -- small spaces being a better place to deal with all his emotions, knowing he was all there.

Phil sat up and stretched his muscles, feeling a hundred years old from all the lying down. Well, if you exercised more and were a better fucking human being it wouldn't feel like that. His mind had yet again whipped out at him for the smallest of things, no bother, he had already learnt to ignore petty comments.

Maybe a sandwich or some secret cereal eating might help; he didn't have to hide from anyone now he was alone in the house. Although he loved Dan and his fans it was nice to be alone sometimes, today was one of those days he didn't want to step into the spotlight.

After snacking on maybe too much cereal, Phil headed back to his room, lighting the candles on his table before crawling back into his bed. He couldn't even watch the radio show yet as it didn't start for another couple of hours.

It was then the book caught his eye, the book of tally marks. It had been a while since he counted especially since the beginning of this wave cycle. So he sat and counted the number of times he had had the drowning sessions, sitting there tallied on the page. The new total was fifty six in the space of two years, something he was always was convincing himself was normal. They were spaced out: it wasn't constant and didn't fit into any categories of mental health. They were just his 'down in the dumps' days.

The room was starting to smell of candy canes and apples due to the different candles he had already lit, but despite the lovely smells, it didn't improve the churning in his stomach. Trying to distract himself from the growing pain in his stomach, he logged on to Tumblr and tried scrolling through the endless content but it didn't feel right. His leg was twitching as it usually did but it was faster and more urgent.