Doctor who- 10 X Reader Imagines

Me

I'm sorry for being away for so long. I will use this imagine to tell you why I've been away for so long, I hope you guys will understand that this was hard for me to write but I tried to just to make myself feel better by getting a lot of stuff off of my chest.

The Doctor would leave you on the Tardis during some adventures, he said that some were too much of a danger to your life, however, he didn't know you were more of a danger to yourself than any Dalek or Cyberman.

Darkness had been a constant cycle for years. Your mind was dark, your room was never alight, all colour was drained from your life. Your room had become your safe space, your bed your refuge from the people outside. 

You tended to skip meals or refuse to eat for days, hoping to change the way you look through starving your body of it's basic needs. You were always ill because of this, your body a constant fever, your stomach a pool of nausea. 

You felt numb, your body unfazed as the sting of your torn wrists makes its way through every limb and vein until it reached your mind, screaming for you to stop.

Your friends worried, you never listened to them though, telling them it was better for them to just stay away or for them to not worry because you were fine.

You lied.

More and more people were beginning to notice your scarred arms or red eyes. Their eyes pushing you towards your fourth breakdown that week, the second one that day, all before it had even reached Wednesday.

Talking didn't help. You tried to cover your pain with humour but people were beginning to notice.  All confidence you once had was gone, replaced by anxiety, depression and therapy.  Life was becoming a struggle. Breathing felt like a chore. Stopping yourself from taking one too many pills became a battle.

You had no time to care for yourself, you put everyone of your friends first. Each one suffering from their own battles and daily struggles, you were there for them every single time shit hit the fan despite not all of them being there for you when you could use a shoulder to cry on.

The Doctor was becoming aware of you and your mental health that was becoming more and more of a struggle. He didn't want to push you into talking to him, not when he knew that would just scare you more than you were already are. Instead he would stay by your side, hiding as many sharp objects as possible, locking every door he could to stop you from running.

He had stopped leaving you behind on adventures, scared to leave you with yourself. He would check your arms in secret, hoping he would find clean skin instead of the alternative.

The Doctor tried as hard as possible to make you happy, trying to force a laugh or two out of you whenever he could but none ever left your broken body, you were bound to a silence that you didn't understand.

Some days you would feel completely broken, blades would never leave your wrists and pills would never be too far away. On other days you would feel great, every troubling thought you had not even registering in your mind. Occasionally it would be a bit of both, sad one minute and happy the other. You could go weeks without feeling remotely suicidal but then every emotion you had escaped for a while came bursting out in a cascade of tears.

The Doctor would sometimes catch you staring at yourself in a mirror, your eyes brimming with tears as they scan over anything and everything you deemed an imperfection. Other times he would watch your eyes refuse to meet any reflective surface, too afraid to see the disgusting thing that looked back. He tried so hard to help you but you refused and kindness, deeming that extra attention made you feel worse.

All of this emotion led you to where you were now. Darkness, silence suffocating you, too scared to leave your room incase too much communication strangled the air out of your body. Tears slide down your cheeks as your head leans against the wall, your fingers drum the rhythm of your increasingly loud heart beat against your leg. 

Sobs escape your lips as your door is opened, the light from the Tardis' corridors forcing you to hide your head in-between your drawn up legs. Your room is re-immersed into the calm of the dark. The Doctor slumps next you, a frown on his face as he wraps his arms around your shaking frame.

"You deserve the life you live." he whispers, killing the calm you had become accustomed to.

You tremble against his chest, "There is no point in living if you don't like the person you're living it as."