Depressing One Shots

Sounds Of The Outside

I lay in my bed at 02:13am, wondering why I was still awake, and listening to the rain. It soothed me after a bad day.

To be honest, he was playing with my head. Mikey was playing with my mind, because he wouldn't make his own up. I was a supporter that he should give it time, but Frank was having none of it.

"Okay, he is playing with your head, and you don't need this right now." he'd say. "With all that you've been through lately, you really just need him to decide if he wants you or not."

"It's not that simple," I'd argue.

Frank still wouldn't take no for an answer.

That day, I had been out with the whole band, and read. Nothing more, nothing less. Although only Frank knew about my depression, I think that the others have their suspicions.

About an hour passed, and it was 03:19am. I don't know how I managed to stay awake for so long.

I knew that I was fucked, because whenever I lay on one of my sides, tears would form in one of my eyes and it was making my pillow wet. Way to go, Ray. However, it felt nice to (almost) cry; I never cried. Suddenly, I remembered the events from the past few weeks. My family finding out that I self harmed, which I bent the truth and said I only did it once, but it was a habit. So much more things had happened.

It wouldn't hurt just to cut once more, right? If I just measure out where I can hide the cuts and I'll be fine about hiding it. Not like it's unusual to me now. It won't have an impact on my life, right?

Before the real me could think properly, my inner deamons were taking over. Reaching into my drawer, I grabbed my razor.

Oh, the sense of relief as it moved slowly across my skin. The feel of the blood was also addicting.

As expected, I soon realised what I had done.

Terrible.

After cleaning myself up, I just lay there again, listening to music and the rain at the same time.

You know what?

I'm so worthless. I hate myself. I hate how I'm always pushed to the back. I hate how I look. I hate how I act. I just generally hate being me. Do you understand the feeling? Your answer should be no, because you're amazing and nobody could experience pain like this. The pain was honestly unreal.

I was tired. Not tired as in "I want to go to sleep," but tired as in tired of living. Life was just becoming a task. Summer was almost over, which meant school again, and while I wanted summer to end, I didn't want to go back to school. My life was a never ending circle of "Just get this week over with" and I was tired of it by now.

The band would be at benefit without me.

Life would be easier without me.

I was in a fucked situation. So fucked up, I was.

Comfort was hard sometimes; I couldn't find a comfortable position. Oh well, I didn't deserve comfort. I deserved hate, no friends, no money, no job and more. I deserved nothing.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to sleep or stay up. Eventually, I decided on staying up for a little, but only for a bit.

Going downstairs as quietly as possible, I got myself a drink of water. Water helps lose calories, so I was sticking to mainly water.

Skip a few hours ahead, and I was cutting again. Yes, again. I just felt so worthless thay nothing else mattered anymore. I'd hopefully die soon anyway. I tried the infamous method of suffocation but my body fought against it.

I was beginning to feel dizzy and tired.

Solution to this? Sleep.

I didn't want to sleep, though.

Just listen to the rain, Ray, listen to the rain. It's persuasive.

So, I slept.

That next morning, I decided that I wasn't even going to bother getting out of bed. It was pointless. At that moment, Frank called me, and my phone was on the other side of the room. Ugh. I dragged myself to it and just pressed decline, for I couldn't be bothered to talk to anyone today. He had also sent me Instagram direct messages, Snapchats, texts, anything you could think of, he sent to me. Obviously, he was worrying about me again.

To be honest, it's nice to know that someone cares.

One person.

It was enough for me, though, because as Hazel Grace would say: "It's not about being loved widely, but being loved deeply."

By this point in our friendship, I knew he loved me and was there for me.

When I felt down, he knew. When I needed support, he was there, When I wanted help with things, he'd help as much as he could.

It was nice to feel cared about.

Anyway, I went onto my instagram and opened the direct message. He was asking me to go to the park. Obviously, I accepted, because if I get out then maybe I'll feel somewhat better.

However, it was 11:53. We were going at 2:00. I wasn't sure I'd make it for that 2 hours and 7 minutes.

Despite wanting to go out, I was thinking of many suicidal thoughts, and I was scared that the deamons would take over again and make me try to kill myself.

Let's hope not.

I just got into the bath, and left myself alone with my thoughts.

And that was that.

In the end, I didn't attempt suicide again, and I went out to the park. I actually had a really good time, for once.

Mikey never ended up making his decision, which leaves me in confusion to this day, because I'm still pretty in love with him.

I guess I'm still far from recovery, but a few months have passed since these events, and I had come to realise that there is a recovery ahead of me, no matter how long it takes.

It could take only a month. It could take years upon years upon years.

Nothing else matters anymore, though, because I'm used to it now.

So, that's the story of how the rain on the window helped me gain back some sanity.

The sounds of the outside helped me to not kill myself that night, and helped me decide to sleep, and helped me through everything else, up to now.

Thank you, the sounds of the outisde.