Title: Good-Bye

Author: Mazoku-princess

Fanworks or Original: Original

Rating: mature audiences only. If you can’t handle extreme angst, stay out.

Warnings: extreme angst, schitzophrenia, language, suicide.

Summary: Written for my depression, which refuses to leave me alone.

Comments: For the past week, I’ve been insanely depressed. Over the same reasons that I put up in my LJ (you helped, Liney, Neko, but it’s taking a while for it to sink in). I decided to write something to hopefully speed up this…insane feeling of misery, so this came out of it. About Neko’s experience, but in my POV.

(begin)

“Yo, Teru.”

“What, Mike?”

don’t listen! he only wants to hurt you!

“You wanna come over and hang out for a while?”

he’ll stab! you he’ll stick you a good one!

“Sure.”

“And we’ll drop by Wendy’s, ‘kay?”

NO! don’t go! he’s going to kill you!

listen to us!

we’ll take care of you!

“Mkay. See ya.”

“See ya.”

Mike soon arrived and I piled into his car. We sat in silence, with hardly a word said to each other. After about fifteen minutes, we arrived at the Wendy’s and went inside. We ordered, milled around in silence again, then got our food and sat down. For a few minutes, everything seemed fine…but it wasn’t. I couldn’t stand it any longer, hearing them in my head, telling me they were right and knew what was best.

All it took was for one measly sentence.

he’s going to kill you.

My hands clapped around my ears and I screamed. At the time, I didn’t know what I was saying, but I was told later it was “get the fuck out of my head”.

Then I bolted. Mike and the rest of the patrons of the establishment stared after me in shock as I stormed out the door. After a moment, my dark haired friend ran after me, only to see me at the far end of the hallway that led to the bathrooms. I was huddled in a corner, eyes wide and muttering “get out…get the fuck out…” over and over again.

I don’t know what happened after he got me into the car. He told me that I was fighting him, screaming “Get them out!” at the top of my lungs. He told me he was scared.

He’d had no idea I was schitzophrenic. No one had. I curled into my self tightly, my chin on my knees. I was sitting on a bed, a hospital bed, in a locked, nondescript room. The walls were a dull white, the door a slate gray. I shivered as they began shouting again.

no one loves you!

that’s why you’re here!

that’s why you’re a disgusting monster!

a freak!

“No…please, no…” I moaned, crying.

“Teru?” In walked a nurse. “Here, dear, take your medicine.”

NO! don’t do it!

it’s poison!

they’re trying to kill you!

listen to us!

we can help you.

only we can!

Slowly, I took the offered cup and swallowed the disgusting, puke-green fluid. Luckily, it tasted better than the bile after taste, though I still hacked. Smiling weakly, I handed the nurse back the cup, shuddering as they screamed. I curled into a ball, much to the nurse’s dismay, and whimpered, “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry…”

you should just kill yourself and get it over with!

yeah! a freak like you doesn’t deserve to live!

just die!

I had begun shaking as they berated me and, still, I whimpered, “I’m sorry…”

I cried myself to sleep several times during my stay at the Hospital. I couldn’t call it a Psychiatric Health clinic, nor could I call it a Freak’s prison. I settled for the middle ground.

After I don’t know how many weeks—or was it months?—I was deemed worthy of society again and released back home. But I wasn’t worthy…they told me so…repeatedly… Soon I picked the knife up and cut my arms. It was the only way to get them to shut up. Pain…it told me who was real and who wasn’t. They were real. Mike, Chris, Neko, Line, Sis…they weren’t. I was alone, wanting to die.

I coulnd’t take it anymore. My meds no longer seemed to shut them up, nor did the pain. Finally, I picked up the knife one last time…

“Good-bye.”