See Me and Accept Me (a prinxiety fanfiction)

Chapter One - Dark Eyebags & Tube Trains

I oversaw Thomas editing his latest video in concern – watching myself was intensely disturbing. As if I didn't have enough self-derogating thoughts spooling through my brain, cringing at myself in the playback only stirred them into a frenzy, like poking a swarm of wasps. I just kept dragging myself further and further down – I should have touched my eyeshadow up more for that video, did I really come off that mean, did they (Prince, Logic, Morality and heck, even Thomas) really all hate me how they seemed to? Round and round these thoughts swung on my roundabout brain, sickening me.

Despite this, though, I still tried to be there for Thomas, to fulfil my duty as 'Anxiety' and make sure this video came out the best it could be. Unfortunately, everything I said came out harsher than I meant it – "Thomas is there any part of this video worth posting?". It's something I struggle with, I suppose it's the result of having to deal with both his anxiety and my own, not a nice combo. Plus, after a while of accidently blurting unintended meanness, it's what people come to expect of you, and after the verbal abuse they all hurl at me, who would I be to let them down?

Although my method may not have been amazing, my comments did lead to the improvement of the video, but I was astutely aware that I did almost lead to the deletion of the video altogether. Thomas sat with his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes with his fingers.

"Thanks for your . . . help . . . . Anxiety.".

Opening his eyes, I could see that perhaps my "help" was not as I had intended it to be. Ah well, I tried, and as per usual it didn't come out right. Nothing ever comes out right. After a while you just have to go with it, hence my bubbly, sunshine-filled reputation, of which I am sure everyone is well aware.

- ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ -

Having sunk back into Thomas' head, I made my way to what I suppose you can call my 'room'. Opening my glossy fiberglass door (save the environment and all - yeah yeah I know 'but it's not actually a tangibly real door!', well I can encourage Thomas can't I?), I enter into my place of respite, Amy Lee staring at me darkly from the poster directly opposite the doorway. Further in, I throw myself on the quilts of my dark purple bed and stare sideways at the matte grey walls, tracing my way across the room to Amy again, then my book shelf – stacked with Disney films (because Prince isn't the only one who likes those), my music collection, and a range of conspiracy theory books (yup, the ones I keep Thomas up at night with, questioning everything, I mean, is it really possible that the moon landings never really happened? Lieing to the world, how could you pull that off? But if they did, what else could they be lieing about? Maybe we are really all in a Matrix esc situation . . . maybe I'll cut my self off right there, deep breath).

Moving on from those shelves, on the far wall opposite me, is my desk-come-dressing-table. Scattered on the surface are drafts of sonnets, thoughts, and research projects. Above is a mirror, in which I do my makeup each day. Legs dragging, I make my way over, slipping my hand into the top draw of my desk for my products. With a single remover wipe, I begin to remove the dark from the eyes that glare at me (again, a single wipe, got to be conservative for the environment, and if I start getting selfish and using too many that could carry across into other situations, and then everyone will think I'm horrible, and then . . . what if they already think that? What if it's too late? Logic was looking at me funny earlier . . . ). I chucked the wipe in the bin, then brought my gaze back up to the mirror. I look just like Thomas, just like the others – well, except maybe a bit more tired. If they could see this, that I appear so similar, maybe they could understand that I share a likeness with them in other ways . . . that I am not devoid of emotion, or caring. Or maybe they wouldn't want to know. I mean, who would? I certainly wouldn't, if I had any option to be anyone other than me.