DYING IN LA | WHY DON'T WE SICKFICS

SPIRALLING pt.1 - jack

warnings !!
mentions of self harm/depression

please don't read if you think you might be sensitive to any of this🥺

—

The days seemed to blur together the longer they went on. Jack felt lost, vision unable to focus on the good he had going for him, blind to the hope for better days.

He couldn't really pinpoint the exact trigger that sent him down this path, the breaking point that shoved him into this dizzying spiral.

One day he's hanging out with his friends and he feels like he's on top of the world. By the end of the night his voice is hoarse from laughter and jaw aching from its wide smile.

And then Jack's finding himself awake the next morning with no other wish than to go back to sleep and stay that way. 

He slept away the night with the heartwarming reminder of his friends voices flooding his brain, jokes from earlier on still bringing a grin to his face. The ability for the light in his life to switch off in the matter of one night scared Jack.

His head pounded as voices whispered to him, reminding him of old habits and feelings he'd hoped he'd repressed.

He felt the familiar feeling of tears welling up, blinking them away desperately. His lips turned down in a permanent frown, unable to hold any other expression for long.

This feeling of hopelessness was sprung on him out of nowhere. Jack hadn't been mentally prepared to suffer the consequences of having too many good days—one bad day was bound to happen.

But when one turned into two, two to three, three to four, and now going on his second week of feeling nothing and everything—Jack felt himself break.

The house was silent save for the rustling upstairs, drawers being opened and closed as Jack searched for something. He moved around clothes in his dressers, supplies in the bathroom cabinets, and nothing.

Jack was desperate at this point, ignoring that part of him that begged him to slow down. He didn't care about how good he had been doing, how long he'd gone without an incident.

His emotions were all over the place. He was sad and he was angry and he was empty and he wanted it to stop. Jack needed it to stop.

He paused as terror swept over him, concerned at the amount of relief that took over when his eyes landed on what he had been looking for. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes as he wondered if this was actually what he wanted, what he needed.

No one knew he felt like this. No one cared enough to call Jack in the past two weeks to ask how he was doing, to check in when he went silent. He was left with nothing to turn to but his thoughts, his own dangerous mind his only hope of feeling something.

Jack didn't stop to think of what would happen after he'd done it. One move and he was gone, he couldn't come back from it. Nine months clean and he was throwing it all out the window, for what?

Ten minutes ago he was sitting in his room, not quite content but not suffocating either.

It was like a tidal wave had came out of nowhere and shoved him under. He was lost to his thoughts as they drowned him in reminder. Every time he thought he was allowed a breath a fresh air, they dragged him under to let him know he could never truly escape their grasp.

That's why he needed to do this. Things couldn't get worse than this, right?

Jack was lost in the moment at that point, not stopping to think anymore as he rolled down the side of his sweatpants, seating himself down on the edge of the toilet seat.

His hand didn't shake as it brought the all too familiar piece of metal down and dragged it across his fair skin. He didn't cry when the pain immediately blossomed, didn't stop despite knowing the damage he was doing.

Why should he stop when he just got started? It was already done. He'd relapsed and there was no one to stop him, no one to save him from this world of negativity he was trapped in.

Time blended together until Jack finally pulled himself into reality. His hip ached as small trails of crimson made their way down his thighs, soaking into the tips of his sweatpants band.

He was almost scarily calm from there. He cleaned himself up and washed his hands, wincing when he realized the sharp edge had cut into the tip of his thumb from where it'd been in his hold.

Jack turned off the water and looked up, palms leaning into the porcelain sink he stood before.

Bags of exhaustion and hollow eyes stared back at him in the mirror. His face was pale and his lip was red was where he'd bitten down earlier as he winced.

The weight of what he'd done hit him hard, falling down on his chest as his heart felt heavy. He didn't feel any better now. Jack only felt more alone, more upset than ever at no one but himself.

He stared until he couldn't bare it anymore, looking away as he choked on a breath of air.

Jack was tired of this cycle. Moments of happiness passing by and making him believe they'll last, only to evaporate and be replaced by torrents of nothing good.

He wanted out of this spiral he seemed to be stuck in. He was dizzy and it made him sick knowing he couldn't get out. He wanted more than this, he needed better if he wanted to make it out alive.

—

um idk i kinda hate this but i haven't updated in so long so hi

if you ever need someone, you can always talk to me 🥺 a reminder that self harm is never the answer. it won't make you feel better, it won't do anything for you but worsen your situation.

please talk to someone if you ever have any bad thoughts !! i love you guys. stay safe.

edit: part two is up !!