Sanders Sides One Shots

Mantra

*Trigger Warning-self harm, suicidal thoughts, and self-hate*

"They're mad at me. They have to be. I fucked up. I am a fuck up. Why can't I do anything right? Why am I even alive? I'm useless. I wish I could just disappear," Anxiety's thoughts screamed at him. 

"I'm stupid. I'm ugly. I'm useless. It's all my fault. Everything would be better if I was dead. I'm fat. I am unlovable," he began to say like a mantra like it was the only thing that could save him, when in reality it was destroying him, pushing him close and close to the edge.

He pulled at his hair, ripping some of it out. He didn't care. That pain was nothing compared to the raging storm inside of him. Tears began to fall from his eyes, but he didn't notice he was too distract by his thoughts whispering lies to him. He believed the lies.

Nails digging into skin. Up and down, up and down, up and down, until blood. It still wasn't enough. The storm still raged on and he wanted it to stop. He wanted everything to stop.

He went to the bathroom, hoping that splashing cold water on his face would help. It did, but not enough. He looked in the mirror. He hated what he saw. Too pale, not enough sleep, ugly, so ugly. He punched the mirror, relishing in the pain the glass shard buried into his hand brought him. 

He slumped down, his back against the door. He let the tears flow. Loud ugly sobs shook his body, but he had no energy to try and compose himself. He fell asleep, bleeding, crying, and just wanting to die. 

If the others noticed the missing hair, the scratched, and the bandage on his hand they didn't say anything.