This one...this one is tough. Don't read unless you are in a good place.
But remember, I love you all, my darlings. I'm here.
Mitch doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know what to say, how to feel, or why. He doesn't know how this happened. He doesn't know when it started, how long it had been going on, or even what triggered it. He is so hopelessly lost in what to do that it almost makes his physically sick to even think about it, to think about all of the suffering and pain.
Mitch wants to help. He wants to be supportive and uplifiting. He fights to be positive every day, to tell a joke or make a corny reference. He looks through stupid pictures to try and bring back a good memory, a memory of happier times when stability was present. He asks others to come over and make conversation. He excites over the latest trends in fashion and music. He tries.
And tries.
And tries.
But nothing works.
Nothing ever works.
Mitch is lost. He can't help his best friend, the person he loves most in the world. And it hurts him. It breaks his heart and poisons his mind. It changes him. It darkens him.
Mitch is never the same.
...
Scott sits. He stares. He talks. He forces a smile. He pretends to laugh at stupid jokes. He breathes.
Scott doesn't want to. It hurts. It's hard. He doesn't have enough energy to lift his head most days, nevertheless rise from bed and go to work. He loses his strength quickly, and he can't sing like he used to.
Scott doesn't go out, doesn't party or socialize anymore. He ignores help in favor of wallowing in the depths of the dark. It's almost comforting there. There's no expectations, no stereotypes. He doesn't have to look a certain way, like a certain gender, talk a certain dialect, or be a certain person. The darkness let's him be who he is.
It consumes him. Slowly yet all at once. He doesn't realize he's drowning. He thought he had been swimming. He was almost certain. But, no, he's drowning. His cries for help are muffled, and he isn't sure he really cried at all. A part of him refuses to attempt to reach the surface.
The drugs don't help. The therapy doesn't help.
Mitch doesn't help.
Scott knows he tries. He appreciates someone sticking by him. So many of the people he cared about had left. Not Mitch. Never Mitch. That's why he loves Mitch.
Yet, it's not enough.
Scott doesn't eat.
And it kills him.
And it takes Mitch with him.
