Time of your Life - Trillie

Preface

So I'm just making this up as I go along so please bear with me.
    |TRIGGER WARNING STAY SAFE KIDS|
  
    |Billie|

Billie couldn't sleep. Not for the life of him. It was five past three in the morning, and insomnia was, quite frankly, still a bitch.
But the voices refused to leave him alone. They needed company. Late at night, when everything except partying teenagers were at rest. So lonely; so cold. They needed Billie's problems. His problems were their fortune - when it's dark, they will feed off the problems.       Feed off what brings out the worst in the boy.
The voices of an insomniac.
He hadn't necessarily been ridiculed, or bullied in his life. But, then again, anxiety does strange things to you. It's a constant conflict - feeling like everyone's judging you, or staring at you, or talking about you behind your back. Having to mentally recite words so you don't mess it up. Caring too much about everything.
The voices of social anxiety.
While some things remained unspoken, yet another chilling presence in Billie's mind would penetrate his thoughts. Say the sentences we never wish to hear; "nobody loves you," "nobody cares," "freak," "misfit," "fuck-up," "just kill yourself." And, the tragic problem is, you believe every. Last. Word.
The voices of depression.
You could weight one hundred and seventy pounds or you could weigh seventy, this voice will always haunt and tell you constant lies. No matter what weight you started off at, or what weight you are now, the daunting voice always returns as you enter the kitchen - "fat" - and it will never, ever leave, not until your dying breath. Not until your buried in your grave. Because this voice is an insanely good liar. It makes you believe every single word that it sends from the back to the front of your mind.
The voices of anorexia.

These voices. They are fatal on their own. But together. You might as well be planning your funeral. The voices together will destroy your mind, rushing through and leaving a trail of destruction behind them. And they use the most powerful weapon of them all.
Thoughts.

 
But, they were always there. They have been a part of you since you were but a young person. And they will never leave.
But, sometimes, there are occasions where a person is born with an agitated soul, and this causes these voices to become restless. And, just like that, the thoughts that had buried themselves so deep at the bottom of your mind - so deep you had forgotten them entirely - were suddenly so fresh and clear, you wonder how on earth you had forgotten them.

Don't you see? It's a civil war. Your brain is the bsttlefied, your thoughts are the soldiers. And there is always a predetermined winner.
It's just up to you who that winner is.
It's all in your thoughts, see?

A young boy named Billie Joe Armstrong was considering this one night. The war with himself. He had a big decision to make: who was the winner of his conflict?

It was three in the morning on February seventeenth. Billie Joe's fifteenth birthday. Not that he was excited. The most he did for a special occasion was have a sleepover with the boys (with Billie Joe's birthday, they took turns having sleepovers at the other houses, since Billie Joe's house wasn't the best environment for a sleepover).
Billie Joe felt an itching in his left arm - the horrible tingling feeling he had tried his best to ignore. But he couldn't take it anymore.
Slowly and carefully, making an effort to not let the sleeves touch his arm, he lifted up his shirt sleeve to reveal them.
The scars. The horrible, ugly scars. Some had faded to a mere white line. Some were more recent - only just beginning to scab over. Wincing, Billie Joe prodded the most recent one, and the skin broke ever so slightly, and he sighed. It still hadn't healed.

Billie Joe couldn't take the feeling any longer. He needed to give the voices some oxygen. Quietly, so as not to wake his siblings, he opened a bedside drawer and took out a small, gleaming blade.
He ran it along his tiny, frail wrist. Instead of feeling pain when the thin, dotted line appeared, he felt a strange sense of relaxation.

But, after a while, he couldn't stop. He needed more distraction. Billie Joe cut deeper and deeper, blood spilling over his sheets and clothes as he tried to desperately block out the feeling.
Suddenly, the boy felt dizzy, so he staggered to the bathroom to get a drink of water. The blood was still flowing freely. Although he drank, his head kept spinning and spinning and spinning. But, he seemed to enjoy this feeling, so he slashed once again at his wrist, hitting a vein.
Smiling to himself, thinking "I'm finally dead,"  his vision blackened and he hit the corner of the bathtub with a THUD.

Hello, I hoped you liked this. I have posted a trigger warning, so please don't blame me if you were triggered. Byee