Dark Frerard Smut

So Perfectly Broken

A\N
Whether you're an old reader or a new one (if you're an old reader, hi! Nice to have to back), I hope you enjoy this book, and again, read at your own risk.

xoxoxoxo

There's something about that certain type of thoughts not all people have - in fact, it almost seems to me like I'm the only one who has it. I know it's not only me, this is simply how I feel. I've never talked to other people who have it, not personally for that manner, but I know they exist, because as alone as I feel on this, lots of people must be going through the same thing. I wonder how they deal with it. Probably not the same as I do. Other people would go to therapists in this case, or a psychiatrist, or whatever the system will provide them. Not me. The psychiatrist I went to told me after the first meeting of me talking to him that I don't seem to have any psychiatric case, I don't have any mental illness and I don't need medications.

You'd be surprised how good an actor I can be.

Well, maybe it wasn't me. Maybe it was him telling the lies, convincing me to act normal and explain things in a reasonable way so I don't look crazy. But oh, I know I'm crazy. What I let other people see isn't half of what's going on inside me. I'm a trainwreck, I'm a full on tornado and I'm a mess, but no one can know, I can't express it with words to anyone - not like he would ever let me if I could.

If you're still wondering what the hell I'm talking about I'll just explain to you; I've always been told I'm a smart person, more than other people, like a full on genius - but not in maths and physics, I will never be that kind of genius. No, I'm creative. Very.

Which led to me having very "creative" thoughts. You see, my thoughts are basically what keeps me alive. Without them I would have most likely died of boredom years ago or just be the stupidest guy in the world. But the thing is, or as other people would call it, "issue", is that my thoughts had gotten sort of a mind of their own.

It's like I'm not in control over them anymore. They used to entertain me and keep me creative, give me ideas for stories, songs, things that I liked to do. They gave me the tools and the weapons to create whatever I wanted and to be whoever I could dream of being. That's not the case anymore. Because at some point, they simply got bored of my usual interests, they wanted something more.

And that's what turned them dangerous.

Now, at first it wasn't that much of an issue. Every teen has strong hormones, sometimes depressions, confusions, wonders and questions. It's normal for teenagers to get creative with their minds. Only my thoughts had probably stepped over the line, and it wasn't long before they started taking a form in my head, slowly but surely, they'd taken over. They're a part of me.

And that used to terrify me, it honestly did. I found myself hopeless against my own brain in so many situations, felt like I was getting beaten up by thousands of bullies, all the while they were laughing in my face and mocking me, hurting me, going inside me in the most painful ways, torturing me and devouring at my soul until they got bored and left, leaving me a crying shaking mess in my bed. Sometimes it would be considered an anxiety attack, sometimes it would be what I call an episode - the episodes scare me a lot more.

I'm hopeless during an episode. The thoughts would take a single memory, of something bad and wrong that I've done, or even someone that has hurt me, and make it a million times worse. They'd start explaining why the other person did it, they'd start dropping the blame on me, they'd laugh at me, tear me apart and burst into hysterics as I lose myself in the oblivion of tears and misery, and self pity which they would scream at me I don't deserve.

They'd tell me I don't deserve anything. Nothing at all. I don't even deserve to die, because then they wouldn't have any power left over me, I would stop feeling pain, I would stop being told I'm useless - and apparently they can't afford it.