Life Support (Septiplier)

Going Under

-Mark's Point of View-
{Proceed with caution}
I can feel Jack slipping away again and I think what kills me the most is that I don't know why. He was doing so well for a time, but lately his nightmares have been returning with a vengeance and he's almost stopped eating and sleeping altogether. It was something that I feared the most in my whole life. It seemed that this recent wave of depression had come out of nowhere and it seemed that there was nothing I could do about it. Jack was almost permanently bedridden, and this time I didn't know how much of a help I could be to him. He started to cry every time I brought food to him or asked if he wanted to do anything. He cried for an hour this morning because I asked if he wanted to at least try getting a vitamin and a slice of bread down. He begged me not to make him eat anything and told me that he felt like throwing up at the mere sight of food. I was one step away from just calling a doctor and telling them to prep for a malnourished, sleep deprived Irishman. I didn't know how his healthcare program or anything worked, but if he needed to be hospitalized, I was sure I would figure something out. Even if I had to pay everything out of pocket, I didn't care. What Jack needs, I get.

I was in the kitchen when it happened. I heard a loud thump in the bathroom upstairs and immediately my heart jumped into my throats with worry. I stopped what I was doing, throwing down the bag of unopened pizza rolls and tearing my way up the stairs into my bedroom, where I had last seen Jack. My heart sped up as I find my way to the bathroom door, turning the handle only to find it locked.

"Jack?! Are you okay?," I asked, hearing the shower running. I started to cry as I knocked furiously on the door.

"Jack?," I asked in a clearer tone. After a few moments of agonizing silence, I throw myself at the door, busting it open with all my might. Adrenaline course through my bones and everything was a bit blurry.

I see Jack, thin and white as paper, laying on the ground in the shower, water pouring onto his face. His eyes were closed and I ran to him, checking to find his heartbeat. When I found it, I let out a huge breath of relief. He was only unconscious. Still, I was concerned. I turn off the hot water and I wrapped him in a towel, drying him off as best I can and picking him up. I laid him gently on the bed and waited. I heard somewhere to only call an ambulance if he was out for more than ten minutes. I shook Jack gently to see if he'd only just fallen asleep in the shower, but then realized that I was being stupid, because the fall would surely wake anyone up. My panicked mind calmed down slowly as I watched him open his eyes droopily and look at me.

"Oh, thank God. You scared me," I said gently. Jack looked confused. "You passed out in the shower." Jack looked around, barely able to lift his head.

"I guess I'd better take that bread and a vitamin," Jack mumbled weakly. I nodded.

"Yeah, I guess you'd better," I say.

-Jack's Point of View-

Everything was starting to become a blur of grey. The silence was defeating, even when it wasn't silent in the room. Hot tears ran cold almost every day. I could feel myself shaking at my lack of food, but I sipped water from time to time and convinced myself that it'd be enough. Sleeping was getting harder and harder and I could tell my new state was pure torture for Mark. All I did was lay in bed and stare at the ceiling and cry. Constantly. Mark tried comforting me, but I just felt numb all the time. Since I had passed out in the shower because I had failed to be able to hold myself up, I realized just how bad everything was getting again. It seemed impossible to get better. The thing that scared me the most was that Mark couldn't do anything about it. The first time this wave hit me, Mark had barged headfirst into my life like a ball of pure fury, fighting my demons away valiantly. But now Mark seemed tired too, discouraged. He knew that I would only be able to hold myself up for so long, before he would need to shoulder the burden of maintaining two lives. And after fighting so hard to keep me afloat, he was tired too. Especially after seeing me go under again. I knew it had to be hard for him, and that made me feel even worse.

I cried so much the other day that Mark started crying too, sobbing gently into my shoulder asking what I wanted him to do. Begging me to let him help, to eat something, to get some sleep, to do anything. It broke my heart, but my mind stuck to its stubborn, unrelenting depression and I felt so broken. So torn in half. The worst feeling in the world is when you're fighting a part of yourself because you deduce the other half of yourself as the bad one and then you start to wonder if things are ever that black and white. Bad and good. Mark is all white, but me? I, stuck in the middle. The grey area. Nothing sucks more than the grey area.

One of the worst things that happened was the frequent panic attacks. I already felt weak, but not being able to breathe on top of that made me feel like dying was a better option than dragging myself through this hell. I contemplated ending my life on a daily basis. It was hard to steal my mind away from the thought once it had appeared. It sank its razor-sharp teeth into me and injected its toxic venom, making me wonder what it would be like for those that I left behind. Mark would mourn, but at least he wouldn't have the burden of keeping me afloat anymore. Bob and Wade would also mourn, as would my family. I shuddered at the thought of them, crying. I shuddered at the thought of all the fans that came up to me, wearing white scars like battle marks, claiming that I saved them. What would happen to them?

At the end of the end of the day, I always decided that miserable is better than dead. Just by a little bit. And when Mark dragged me over to him and cuddled up to me as he slept, I knew that my decision was worth it.

Every time I heard Mark call out to me in his sleep, I felt reassured that I would make it through. But that hope disappeared as quickly as it appeared. And I long for that hope to return, only making myself that much more depressed.

I could only hope that one day, that hope would come to stay.