Growing up (Get Scared Fanfic)

I know

Nick's pov. 

Luckily, I was only forced to stay in the hospital over night. But now I'm stuck with antidepressants and my eating is gonna be tracked and under surveillance for the next few months. There's no way out of this. There's no saying 'I'm not hungry' or 'I already ate' anymore. This is the end of it. I'm gonna have to regain the weight.

I sat in my room in total silence.  No music, no sounds coming from the kitchen, no loud conversations. Just a soft sound of rain tapping on my window and the roof above me. I stared at the floor for no particular reason.

Numb.

I don't feel anything. It's just emptiness within me. I don't feel sad like I usually do, I feel... well, numb. There's nothing. 

I leaned back, making myself fall back on to the mattress. I stared at the ceiling fan as it spun, sending me cool breezes. I closed my eyes in hopes of being able to sleep, but even after an hour of tossing and turning, I remained wide awake. I don't understand; why can't I sleep if I feel tired as hell? I'm exhausted from all the depression invading my veins. There's thousands of thoughts rushing through my mind all at once, but as it contradicts, it's hard to think. 

Hopefully, Brad won't decide to come and see me today. Same goes for Johnny. I know that if I say that, I'll jinx it and one of them, or both, will show up at my door in the next ten minutes, but I can't help but want alone time. 

Where's the logic in this? I hate being alone because I don't have someone to talk to or laugh with. All I have is my thoughts, which in all honesty is dangerous for me to have time to really think and contemplate everything. But then I hate being with other people because I can't stand having people see me when I'm upset; it makes me feel like I'm a whinny bitch. Or if I just shut my mouth and smile, I feel like I'm lying, which I am. 

The answer is, there is no logic in this.

It's 3:32 pm, but thanks to the rainy weather it looks like it's 9:32 pm. Is it just me, or does weather like this cause some sort hurt. It's almost like the sky wants us to cry with it. Or maybe it's the other way around and the world just knows about all the tragedies and sufferings the people that live on it go through. Why am I being so poetic?

I heard a soft knock on my door.  I sat up again.

"Come in.." I said.

The door opened to my dad. "Hey Nick," he smiled.

"Hi"

"How're you doing?" he asked. I shrugged. "What's been going on?"

"Nothing," I answered. 

"I don't believe that's true," he told me, sitting down on my bed. "Seriously, what's wrong, Nicholas?"

I didn't say anything. It's weird talking about these things to parents. They won't understand; Will they? They'll over react and never let me be alone.  Things are different since they were my age; they won't get what it's like to be made fun of the way I get made fun of. They know I get bullied but they don't know how much it has truly messed with my mind. They don't realize how self destructive this stuff has made me.  They don't know about the old cuts on my body, or the suicidal thoughts the have almost become actions, or that the banging they heard months ago was really me hurting myself, and they just found out about me starving myself. 

He put his arm around me and pulled me in a hug. I didn't hug back; I just sat there, letting him try to comfort me. 

It's sad how after these years of me being distant, depressed, and broken down, he just now decides to check up on me. Now that he and mom could be charged for child neglect... I didn't matter until now after I could've died.