tear in my heart | tyler joseph

Chapter Seven

     "So, how has your life been without me in it, trying to transform it?"

     "It's been great. Life has been just great." Cynthia said this with a large amount of sarcasm. Blurryface was the reason she was diagnosed with anxiety and depression. That's why she hated him so much.

     He noticed the sarcasm and said, "Wow. I didn't even have to be there for your life to be miserable."

     "Shut. Up," she said, her anger clearly noticeable. He chuckled dryly and said, "You still get triggered easily, don't you? Makes sense. You've been like that ever since your brother died. I should know. I've been around since then."

     That hit her hard. She never liked it when people brought up her brother. There were too many memories.

     "Can't you just be quiet for once?" she yelled, full of anger and sadness. He looked at her, then moved closer to her. She stepped back, unaware of what he was planning to do. "You just don't get it, do you?"

     "Get what?"

     "I am Blurryface. I can't be quiet. My job is to be the voice in your head that puts you down, crushes your dreams, ruins your life......"

     He looked at her with an evil grin on his face before continuing.

     "I'm the voice in your head who takes control of your life."

     Before she had a chance to respond, he pounced and took control of her.

     She felt a strange sensation go throughout her entire body.

     She had felt this before.

     She didn't like it.

     At all.

********Warning: Possibly triggering. Proceed with caution.********

     It had been three weeks since Jake's funeral. Cynthia had been a depressed mess. She mainly stayed in her room, crying, wishing they had never gone into the woods. Ever since his death, she stayed as far away from the woods as she could.

     She had often wished she could turn back time to the good old days.

     When her brother was alive.

     But instead, she was stuck, stressed out.

    Her parents left her alone. Her mother didn't really approve of her being so depressed. She wanted her to get out there and meet new kids. She might be able to make new friends.

    Whenever her mother said that to her, she would scream that no one would want to be friends with a "depressed freak," as she sometimes heard her mother call her. Then she would throw anything she could find at her, and yell at her to get out and just leave her alone. Her mother would leave and tell her that she wouldn't bring it up again, but the very next day, she would bring it up again.

     One day, it was too much for Cynthia.

      Her mother walked into her room, and brought it up. When her mother was finished, Cynthia didn't say anything. She didn't move, either. "Cynthia?"

     "Hmm?"

     "Weren't you listening?"

    "Yes....?"

     "Of course you weren't. You know, sometimes, it feels like you only care about yourself. Seriously. I mean, you couldn't even be bothered to listen to what I just said! Instead, all you do is sit around in your room and cry. You could be doing something much more productive, but instead, you cry about every little thing."