worst ; gawsten

ten

trigger warnings for anxiety, depression, and mentions of suicidal thoughts

It comes in waves.

Some days they're small, with tiny baby crests that lap and sting at his feet. Some days it feels like just that, like the pain is a mere few sharp needles stinging at the base of his heart. It doesn't feel like his heart is bleeding. It doesn't feel like the paintball, the physical manifestation of pain, has been splattered against the front of his skull, sinking deeper and deeper, creating ridges in his bones.

Some days it dies down. The wave crashes without any aftershocks and he goes out on stage with a smile that doesn't feel like a sticker. He plays the chords he always does, sings the same notes, changes the same lyrics – he's the symphony, all she is is a sour note – chokes up during the same songs – the performances of 21 Questions and Powerless will never reach even close to his maximum vocal capability on this tour; he's accepted the reality – if he makes it through both without shedding a tear, it's the biggest victory.

Some days he feels like a different person, like he's floating on a separate plane of existence outside the Earth, watching his body function and go through his day while his mind is somewhere else. He watches himself, bites his lip as he tunnels under his blankets and lets the sobs come, doesn't make a move to stop them blossoming up his throat and encapsulating him in a bubble that presses the tears into his skin, harder and harder until he's a liquid ghost collapsing into a puddle.

I'm a symphony.

I'm a symphony.

I am a fucking symphony.

He keeps telling himself, tries to say the words out loud, mouth them, when he's in a public place but his private thoughts are tripping over themselves in their attack on his brain. He tries to keep going, keep repeating, keep the pattern of I'm a symphony I'm a symphony I'm a symphony in the air like bouncing a ball; everything is fine as long as it stays up. He's scrambling, jumping from foot to foot and stumbling over the words, sometimes not even getting them out, everything is fine I'm a symphony everything is fine I'm a symphony everything is fine I'm a symphony everything is fine-

Geoff likes him.

Geoff likes him.

He can say it over and over, mouth it and voice it and read it and think it, but no mater what, he's still trying to wrap his head around it. The words are there like an intruder amongst the familiarity of his body, like a guest in his house. They're trying to make themselves comfortable but there's this divide, this disconnect, this separation that makes them feel further than ever.

Jawn is his best friend.

Jawn is the person who's known him since they were twelve years old, known him through every single thing he's been through since, good or bad, a victory or a failure, the times he wants to bottle up and shove into his closet of good memories and the ones he'd bleach his brain if it meant he could forget.

Jawn has been there through everything.

Jawn has seen everything.

When he was first diagnosed, through every mental breakdown, the first (and only) person to see a lot of the lyrics that otherwise would never see the light of day...Jawn is the common thread in all of it. He's been there through everything. He is everything.

Jawn is the person he can lay across when he hasn't showered in over a week and tell that he doesn't want to leave the house because his anxiety is at an all time high for a reason unknown that day. Jawn is the person he can change plans on, who will come with him to the dumbest of places, if only because he's too scared to go anywhere alone and needs someone there to talk to people for him. Jawn takes over in any given situation as his spokesperson, knows by now what he needs and how certain things will affect him, like they're two parts of the same brain. Jawn didn't get the bugs under his skin and the talons stretching across his heart. Jawn gets the thoughts and he gets the feelings that make him wish he were no longer breathing.