we'll live to tell the tale (l.s.)

a farewell to who i once was

tw// mentions of self harm , eating disorder , past sexual abuse 

hi, i'm more proud of this chapter, though i had some awwfullll writer's block around the beginning. i'm figuring things out. 

my life is beginning to shift back to normal. still trying to figure out how to write recovery, you know? i'm also trying to rekindle my interest in other things. kinda rough. and stressed. i want to do well in school, as well. feels like the world is leaving me behind. rip social life

thank you for the beautiful comments! especially to the people who never have commented before, it means a lot to me. and thank you to diaryofashydreamer, riyaaa, and ilovelouhaz on ao3 as always! (and maddy, if you're reading this, i love you :)) 

twitter: @louflymehome

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louis considered himself something of a master when it came to tiptoeing around the elephant in the room. it wasn't that he blatantly lied during his sessions, rather, he liked to see it as simply shifting the attention onto other, less personal things. not even a year ago, he wouldn't have been able to imagine himself opening up to anyone, and the fact that he had to harry was nothing short of a miracle. harry made it so easy to want to lay himself out nakedly, to believe that he would be accepted and loved unconditionally. the same just couldn't be said about tom, someone paid to listen to him, with no real power to change anything.

after that first session, he knew that he should have been feeling relief and trust in the system, but all that he could muster was shame. shame that he would even consider getting help (since he was so unworthy), shame that he even briefly thought of his problems as if they were real. it got harder to show, it seemed. each time he would arrive at the intimidating monster of a building, his legs would feel stiffer than the last. the anxiety robbed him not only of his breath, but of his joints as well. like his body was suddenly unnatural and stationary, not made for life as much as for decoration. and a shitty decoration, he was.

tom had told him in his third or fourth session (he'd stopped counting, as it got too tiring and disheartening, feeling like so much time had passed with little to no improvement), to write something that made him smile on a post-it note every day. the sheer absurdity left him almost keeling over with laughter the first time it was mentioned, until he realized that the man was not joking. it was a stupid idea, he thought, something crafty teenage girls would do in their free time. nothing for him.

but when he came home to harry to laugh about the ludicrousness of tom's suggestions, rather than laughing with him, the boy frowned.

"it's a good idea, no?"

"no. are you crazy, haz? i think this was a joke after all. tom is quite funny if he tries, i guess."

"no," harry said carefully, eyes drawn to the ceiling in thought. "i think it would be quite good for you. to identify how many blessings are granted to us, you know. happiness is possible and everything."

"well, whatever. i just don't think writing down stuff like that would help."

harry said nothing, only shook his head defiantly, as if scheming something.

and he was, after all. louis began finding post-it notes everywhere in just days following that first conversation. in his clothes, on his desk, in his cups, on his pillow, in his books, on his phone, on his windows. some of them would have sweet, lengthy messages that conveyed undying love, and others just single words that he knew louis thought to be beautiful, or book quotes, or small drawings. they were endearing, to say the least, and he found himself keeping them in a box tightly sealed away beneath his bed.