My Name

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Okay, so yesterday was an absolute train wreck. My members had seen a side of me no one had ever seen before. They saw me as Yoongi, instead of Suga. Now see that's dangerous, because Suga is happy, hard working, and funny; an idol. Yoongi is sad, anxious, lazy, fucking stupid, annoying, yada yada yada; a mistake. There are similarities, like both are quiet and lacking in confidence. They both worry too much about the people around them, and because of that they do unnecessary things that make no sense to anybody else. Turns out pretending to be something can't change your brain, and the way it works. You can't change yourself, you can only play another person. Only, you still have the same fears, and phobias. You can't get past those no matter who you pretend to be. That's why your little game of pretend, can only last for so long. And I fear mine, may be coming to an end.
When I awake, it's cold. That's to be expected though. It's always cold. My head hurts. I feel dazed, and kind of out of it. Still, I manage to drag myself out of bed, even though things seem hopeless and I can't remember my reason to go on anymore. I dress myself, after studying my body. My ribs that slightly protrude, and my thighs that don't touch. Still, it isn't enough. It will never be enough, not even when there is nothing left of me. Because I'm disgusting, and that's just how it is. Things have become so routine recently. I yearn for that, but somehow I wish for something different. I guess that's because if things were different, I wouldn't be like this. I wouldn't feel disgusting, anxious, sad, or soulless. Maybe I would be happy. But things aren't different. They are always the same. And I just.... I need to sit down. Or lay down. Lay back down, in my comfy bed, left alone, to wither away. And thats what I'll do.
As I lay in my bed, wrapped in blankets, still freezing, staring at the wall, I hear the door open. "Hey hyung, are you almost done, we gotta go." It's Jimin. I don't respond though. I have nothing left in me to do so. I just close my eyes and hope that this all can end. "Hyung? Are you ok? Are you sick?" He touches my shoulder. But I stay silent. I can't respond. There is nothing I will do. Except cry. I might cry. Thats always been a favorite of mine. "Yoongi-hyung, whats going on why won't you answer?" Nothing. Not a word. "I'm getting Joon." Fine. I don't care. He leaves for a brief second, then returns with Namjoon. "He won't say anything." Well no shit.
"Hey, hyung whats going on?" Namjoon puts both hands on me. He should know I hate that. But it's ok I guess. Not like I matter anyway. "Hyung, please say something. Is this about yesterday?" Ugh please shut up. If somebody mentions an 'off day' one more fucking time I'm gonna lose i-
"It was just an 'off day'" Jimin says, "You're okay now." Jimin says. Jimin says, Jimin says, Jimin says. Oh my fucking good can he please just shut the fuck up. I pull the blankets over my head. But it doesn't block them out. "Hyung?" If doesn't block out the thoughts, or their concerns. It's useless. It can't even keep me fucking warm. God I'm so fucking cold! I throw the blankets off and storm to the bathroom. God, does anyone know when to shut the fuck up? I slide down the wall, slamming my head against it. Can everything just shut the actual fuck up?! Jesus fucking christ! My head hurts and their pounding on the door is making it so much worse.
"Can you just fucking stop already?!" I yell. Their pounding immediately halts.
"Hyung-" Jimin tries.
"I swear to fucking god, if you ask me if I'm ok one more fucking time, I will choke slam you!" I sit there for a few moments in silence. It's about 10 minutes before I've calmed down enough to open the door. But when I do, I walk past them. Not sparing them a single glance, I lay back down in bed, and cover myself with my blankets.
No more questions were asked. "We'll say you weren't feeling well today. You can talk to us when you're ready." And with that Namjoon closed the door and left. Off to practice, without me. Because I'm Yoongi today.

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