I love feeling good about myself because I got my hair cut and a new dye job then feeling like shit because my body is still disgusting!!! A n g s t! Yes please! This isnt klance but its kinda a Lance centric type thing. Its just a thing before he and Keith get together I guess?
Obviously there's a trigger warning. Thoughts of self harm, self harm, dysphoria. Shit like that.
Lance had just gotten his hair freshly cut. The edges weren't curling under his ears and giving him that 'Spiders are crawling on me feel™'. He felt like he was on top of the world. Nothing could bring him down.
Except for himself. By the time he's home he feels terrible. Just because his hair is cut doesn't mean he looks any less like a female. What if he was lying? What if he wasn't trans?
He sits there laying in bed. Thoughts beginning the cycle. He feels as heavy as lead as he thinks. Thinks and thinks and thinks. Thats all he could do.
He should just end things. He should just go into the bathroom and slit his wrists. But he wasn't going to. It wouldn't help anything. Although it would. He'd feel something other than feeling wrong. He'd feel pain rather than emptiness.
He hated waking up. He hated starting each day looking at the disgusting sacks of fat on his chest. He despised hearing his voice. Shrill and girly.
Everything about him was disgusting. His face, his chest, his shoulders, waist, hips, thighs. Everything was so wrong.
This couldn't be his body. It was so,,,mutilated. Mutilated and disgusting. Angry jagged lines along the wrists and thighs.
He shudders. Right, clothes. The towel sits a top his head, the steam long gone from the bathroom. Stepping to the pair of boxers, he then puts on his bra.
Securing the clasps, watching his movements closely. It was so robotic and automatic. He slips the shirt on and then his sweatpants. He moves back to his room and the thoughts cycle again.
Disgusting.
You'll never pass.
You're faking it.
Stop lying to everyone.
Lana.
Female.
You'll never be good enough.
Just kill yourself.
Take the blades and run them along your-
He yells, hitting the walls.
"STOP IT!" He screams.
There was no one there. Who was he talking to?
He collapses on the bed. Days passing. Thoughts cycling.
Cut
Come on
You know you want to
Cut
Do it
Relapse.
And he does. His wrists bloody. Thighs bloody. Hips bleeding. A dazed expression on his face as he realizes what he's done.
He made a mess. An annoying mess that he'd have to clean. After he'd sleep though. The warm embrace of darkness creeps into his vision. Passing out from blood loss.
He wakes up.
"Oh. I'm not dead." He mutters.
When was the last time he had ate? He shrugs. Who cares, he didn't deserve it anyways.
"I should clean. There's always guests." He mutters.
What guests? What was he talking about? Who knows.
He cleans. The smell of bleach heavy in his senses. He should drink it. Putting the bottle up to his lips his eyebrows furrow. Not today.
He continues cleaning. Cuts tearing open a few times, but that didn't matter. What mattered was getting the blood off the floor and the sink.
Who knew a person could bleed so much? Another shrug.
"Amazing how I'm still breathing." He mutters, staring at the reflection in the mirror.
Pale and nimble. Body rotting away. Skinny. Ribs poking out from under his skin.
"Who cares. Food isn't something I need anyways."
He didn't deserve it.
He didn't deserve anything.
He was going to take everything away. He didn't need it. Nothing matters anyways when theres no God. Not like a sinner like him would get into heaven anyways.
Who cares anyways.
Not him.
Not anyone.
Okay this was short and confusing and weird.
Sorry.
I wish I could feel okay again.
I'm ready for Tuesday but so nervous. I have a therapist now but I dont know what's going to happen or what to expect. What do I say? What do I do? I dont know anymore. Life is weird.
