You (YouTube One-Shots)

Glitch Bitch

(You already know who this is.
A nice little masochist Antisepticeye x reader. ♡)

My mind is a complete blank. What am I supposed to be doing with this?

You stare at the paper on your desk in utmost disbelief. Just minutes prior you had all sorts of ideas running through your mind, but now? Now they had vanished, like cotton candy on the tongue. Only this aftertaste wasn't nearly as sweet.

No, no, get a grip on yourself. A little writer's block is nothing to be ashamed over. It happens to the best of us.

Brows furrowed, your grip on the pen began to tighten, but you released it altogether moments before it snapped. The last thing you needed would have been to clean up ink stains from your clothing and skin.

The apartment was in disarray, like it usually was. Your therapist called it "creative chaos", and thoroughly believed that it helped with the writing process. And so your place hadn't seen a clean day in months, mostly because you couldn't really be bothered to even try. Not when your livelihood depended on your creative mind.

The mess was mostly books, but there were random sketches, some paintings, a couple of food containers here and there, all of them empty. The trash was overflowing to the point of bulging. At least the apartment didn't smell.

Yet.

Running hands through your hair first, you swept an arm across the desk, knocking still more books and papers onto the floor in a frustrated motion. The clatter disrupted the silence in an unpleasant way, and you fought down the urge to scream out of sheer annoyance.

Fuck writing longhand! This isn't fucking helping!

It had been weeks since you were able to produce anything. Months, even. You had honestly lost track of the time. Too often were you sat at the computer, fucking around on the internet instead of trying to be productive. But the knowledge of that fact only made the creative block worse.

Sure, you had a job. But you were also trying desperately to be published. You didn't want to work in a restaurant for the rest of your life; food service was it's own special kind of Hell.

Unable to fight the inevitable you winced as you stood up from the clutter-free desk, going to sit at your computer instead. It was an old thing, barely good for anything other than writing and the internet- and the latter was skeptical. Lately it had begun to die, crashing on occasion and otherwise just being unreliable. Putting a foot through it was always an option, but it was the only contact you had with the outside world. You had few friends, and those that you DID consider a friend, well... you used the word loosely. You were fairly certain that you were someone easily replaced.

Sure enough the screen began to glitch out in multicolored lines, and you frowned deeply. As badly as you wanted to throw it out the seventh-story window of your apartment, you had to settle for smacking it on the side, instead. A little percussive maintenance seemed to do the trick, as the glitching stopped.

Hours passed, and you had fallen into a stupor, numb in the mind, unable to crawl your way out of your own thoughts.

Maybe I'm making the wrong decision. Trying to be an author, who am I kidding?

Your frown, which had been ever-present to begin with, only deepened. Soon, surely, the tears would come. But another hour dragged by without so much as a bit of moisture in your eyes.

Everyone always talks about the sadness, the tears and the agony of depression. No one ever talks about the numbness.

It was a depressing thought, but it was also one that you could not seem to stop. You laid your head down on the computer table and closed your eyes, wishing for... something. Anything.