my secrets

by Anonymous

Summary:

Ken knows he's a huge liar. However, he's learned recently that sometimes things are just easier to keep to himself.

If lying to his girlfriend and friends every single day meant it could keep them free of worry and concern, he'd gladly keep it up as long as he could. The marks on his skin were his alone, it was his body.

—————————

Okarun has been majorly struggling with self-harm, and he knows that he cant hide it from Momo forever.

Notes:

major trigger warning for descriptions of self-harm !

will contain manga spoilers, set at some point after momo returns to her regular size and they confess!!!

veryyy self-indulgent fic for me... self-harming okarun is one of my comfort headcanons. fyi, this fic is in no way glorifying cutting and whatnot— quite the opposite actually..! 🤧

anyway, okarun is a character i relate to on another level. dandadan is a media that's incredibly dear to my heart. apologies if this seems out of character, this fic is mostly an outlet for me in many ways.

chapters are likely to get more graphic as I continue, so if youre susceptible to recreating scenes involving self-harm or aren't comfortable with that, please don't read and take care of yourself. <3

Chapter 1: why do I lie

For the past few months Ken has felt like a huge liar. 

 

Albeit he is one, technically. Despite how close he and Momo have grown, he still keeps so many secrets.

 

There's still a multitude of things he hasn’t unpacked, he wonders if she'd freak out if she knew the extent. He wonders how much she'd care if she saw the scars and various wounds that littered his skin underneath his clothes.

 

Ken feels like a liar when he intentionally wears long sleeves. She teases him about it sometimes too, calling him a prude for not wanting to show his skin. Ken wishes he could show his skin, nobody would choose to wear what he does in the insufferable Kamigoe heat. Summers are the worst, it's grossly uncomfortable being in layers, his discomfort is only amplified by the shame as to why he's dressed that way.

 

He wonders if anyone knows. It's gotten worse as of recently, he keeps a razor blade in his phone case alongside a blade from a disassembled sharpener in his school pencil case. On numerous occasions, he's scratched his wrist under his desk mid-lecture, just enough to draw blood but nothing permanent. He wonders if the people around him are really that unobservant— or if they do notice and just don't care.

 

It's so incredibly isolating, he hates having to hide himself. Taking a shower is equivalent to a shame ritual. When the hot water that was supposed to wash him clean only traces the irreversible damage he's inflicted on himself. He's never been rinsed of anything. 

 

Ken doesn't hate the people that mock his chosen coping mechanism, in fact one part of him feels inclined to agree. He's singlehandedly ruined his own life, his body, his confidence and his ability to be honest with his lover. He understands the jokes, the mockery, and the shame that people deflect onto those like him. He won't be surprised if Momo's been the voice of comments like that in the past, she'd never do something so stupid and pathetic such as hurting herself.

 

Thinking about her response to all of this too hard puts a pit in his stomach, she's bound to find out one day. Ken likes to think he can read his girlfriend pretty well, she's predictable in a lot of ways. He knows the whole script for when she's angry, when she’s stressed, when she's upset… but this? She's unbelievably enigmatic in this territory, he can't quite place how she'd react.

 

His heart is constantly aching, he feels perpetual shame when he takes bathroom trips during break just to cut open his own skin and feel something. He goes back to meet his friends, acting like nothing happened every single time. That's the liar he is, repeating the same actions nearly daily. He's hooked and there's nothing to alleviate it; he continues to lie. 

 

The lies pile up much like the marks on his body, he feels like his own skin is too ugly to even show.

 

They're having another sleepover, since Momo and him had established a relationship he'd been staying the night at her place much more often. He loves the quality time aspect, but constantly being seen by her? Not so much.

 

He's worried. Momo is going to find out eventually, he can't go the whole relationship covering up his body. He can't show his arms and legs, and that's going to be a problem when she inevitably wants to do more.

 

Telling her is off the table. Opening up only shows he's too weak to handle his own issues, he can't burden the person he loves the most.

 

If he thinks too hard about it, he cries. Ken has been labeled as a crybaby numerous times throughout his life, and now that he's grown, tears still pricking his eyes at any minor negative feeling, he feels inclined to agree.

 

Crying is shameful, it's embarrassing and he wasn't going to cry to his own girlfriend. She has her own problems, the only person's emotions she should care about is her own. She allows Ken to be in the know about her burdens, more often than not, Momo isn't exactly someone who's discreet about showing emotion. Sure, she lacks communication for a reason sometimes, but he knows when she's feeling angry at the world.

 

If it came down to it, Ken would willingly shove down his issues and the tears that came with them for the rest of his life if it meant that Momo didn't have to worry about him. He hates that he has to lie, his guilty conscience screams at him for the liar that he is and always will be, but knowing that Momo wouldn't have to worry makes everything worth it.

 

“Okarun! Snap out of your daze, man, c'mon are we watching this or not?” Momo's voice derails his train of thought. She's sitting beside him on the bed, but she's leaning to face him and waving her palm in front of his face in an effort to stop him from zoning out.

 

Wait, were they watching something?

 

Oh. Oh, yeah! She wanted him to see a Ken Takakura classic, ‘Station’. He'd obviously agreed, she listens to his info dumps about conspiracies every single day. It's only fair that he tries to get interested in her thing.

 

Momo has been trying to get him to watch all of the movies featuring Ken Takakura by the end of the year, Ken will admit that he's actually come to look forward to their movie marathon nights. The films are rarely ever boring, and the best part is that he gets to see his girlfriend excited and full of passion as she rambles on about niche little facts she's come to memorise over the years.

 

“Y'know if you don't wanna watch then it's cool, we can just—” She trails off for a moment before Ken can get his head back to reality.

 

“No, no! I'm sorry Miss—I mean Momo!— I do want to watch it, I swear.” Ken scrambles for the right words to justify why he would do something so selfish as to zone out when his girlfriend was trying to share one of her passions. “Um, I was just thinking about something, sorry…” His voice gets much smaller as he finishes, he knows it's pathetic and Momo should be offended, but he can't offer anything better.

 

She looks at him for a moment, he can't decipher what she might be thinking from her expression. She looks… confused? Was that the right adjective? Ken hates when he can't quite place how she's feeling. Despite his socially awkwardness, Ken would describe himself as a pretty emotionally intelligent person. He's always been pretty good at reading people, and with the social life he's gained over the past year, that skill has only enhanced.

 

“Ooookay,” Momo drags out her words as her fingers go to hover over the space bar on the laptop, “the best part is about to come up so you can share your conspiracy thoughts with me after it.” She grins before clicking the space bar to resume the movie.

 

Ken’s heart swells when she says that, he wishes that's what he thought about. Years of bullying and emotionally absent parents takes a serious toll on one's mental state. He's incredibly lucky that Momo Ayase is in his life, he wonders if he'd even still be alive if she had never stood up for him that day. 

 

Momo leans on his shoulder as the movie resumes, one of her hands is placed on top of his. She absentmindedly plays with his fingers and they both watch, he's come to realise Momo has an entire separate adoration with his hands. It's not an uncommon occurrence for her to pepper his knuckles with kisses when they cuddle, or softly squeeze around his palm and joints of his fingers under the table during their lunch period. Her lips brush the same knuckles that have betrayed him again and again. These hands are destructive— capable of holding her soft and safe one moment, and carving him open the next. He doesn't know how she can adore them when all he sees is blood on them.

 

Ken loves the gesture, he really does, but he knows that tenderness of hers will eventually wither when she finds out just how bloody and guilty those hands of his are. The same hands that have destroyed his own skin, hands that belong to a liar.

 

She's going to find out one day, it's unavoidable if they're both committed to this relationship. Ken is terrified, the last time she saw his arms they were clean, pure, not tainted with ugly marks like they are now.

 

He can only imagine what she'd say.

 

 

 

 Why would you do this to yourself?

 

 Is it my fault?

 

Why didn't you tell me? 

 

Why have you been lying to me?

 

 

 

An array of questions, to which Ken won't have one rational answer to. The thought of her being upset and worrying over him is enough to make him throw up, he's full of bottomless shame that he can't shake off. He'll forever be branded by his own self pity, and it's just a matter of time before everyone in his life begins to find out.

 

His chronic overthinking is gnawing at him, but he's still next to his girlfriend, he's supposed to be happy. They're having a fun night together, watching a movie whilst snuggled up in her bed yet all he can think about is the daunting future; he really has gotten selfish.

 

He forces his attention to the movie, he can tell Momo wants him engaged in this part. He'll willingly bottle any negative emotions for as long as he needs to if it means his relationship with his girlfriend can remain stable. They're finally at a point of peace, they rarely have to deal with major spiritual or alien related scandals. They lead somewhat normal lives now, Momo has managed all of this time because she's strong unlike Ken. He was never the one who was shrunken, never had to face the risk of people forgetting him, Momo has faced much worse than him. He'll never let himself ruin her peace, even if it means crying alone every day.

 

She snuggles more up to him as the movie plays, a gesture supposed to warm Ken’s heart but her sweetness just serves to make him sicker. Momo's strength is everything he yearns to possess and more, he loves her but it's nauseating when her soft, gentle palms hold his own, such warm tenderness keeping growing reprehensible contamination at bay. He's glad his hands only strive to inflict harm on himself, he'll spend whatever love and affection they have to give all on her.

 

He's looking at the screen, but he's still half zoned out. Perhaps he can just blame it on tiredness if Momo starts to corner him for being so strange tonight. Ken relaxes slightly into her side that's leaning against him, it's getting late anyway so he's almost certain both of them will sleep after the movie's over.

 

She snakes her arms around one of his arms, her fingers unknowingly gripping fresh wounds which laid hidden beneath his sleeve. It hurts, but Ken’s very much used to pain, his expression remaining unbuttered.

 

It hurts so much, and it's probably going to get worse. Ken knows how terrible he is, he knows it's evil to partake in this when he got so lucky in life. Momo found him, saved him and gave him the luxury of lo e that he'd never had,stuck by him through everything, yet he has the nerve— sheer audacity— to actively tear his skin open and watch himself bleed for the sheer catharsis of it. In many other life times, Ken knows he probably would've killed himself. Before her, nobody cared if he was alive or dead, before she came along all Ken could see of his future was him laying on the floor in a pool in his own blood after finally putting himself at peace.

 

Yet here he was: next to his beautiful girlfriend, in her room, snuggled up in bed together, watching one of her favourite movies. His gut twists as it reminds him that this won't last forever, that she'll probably leave without question when she learns what a shameful, selfish life he leads. It churns his stomach like nothing else, he knows that's what happens with everything too good to be true.

 

The credits are rolling on the screen now and Momo is sitting up. She looks at him for a moment and chuckles quietly, “Okay, we can sleep now. You're so bad at hiding your sleepiness.” She stretches and gets out of bed momentarily to put away her laptop and dim the lights.

 

Ken yawns as he tucks himself under the pink, leopard print covers, setting his glasses aside in the process. “Not my fault,” he mumbles quietly across the room, “I think getting up at 1am to deliver papers has given me infinite sleep debt.”

 

Momo gets under the covers next to him, snaking an arm across his waist easily given the fact he was a side sleeper. “No surprises there.” she murmured into the back of his neck before planting a soft kiss there. “G'night, Okarun.”

 

“I love you, good night.” he whispered back.

 

“Love ya.” Momo still had trouble saying the full phrase ‘I love you’, but Ken never minded. She shows it in a lot of her own different ways and that's enough.

 

Sleeping next to her was always when he felt the safest. There was nothing between their proximity, the darkness concealing all of the imperfections on his skin that she was yet to see. The lull of sleep finally quiets his mind for once, he wishes this was a permanent state sometimes.

 

All he can do is be thankful that things are normal for them now, what Momo doesn't know can't hurt her. Ken knows he needs to savour these times before it all crashes when Momo finds out how truly shameful and morbid his ways of coping are.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2: reflection

Summary:

The temptation to cut is too strong, no matter where Ken is. As long as he can hide it, his friends will be okay.

Notes:

this chapter is a little graphic D:

trigger warning for detailed descriptions of self-harm.

end notes have more context on my rendition of the current time line and his parental situation if anyone cares

It was eerily quiet. Droplets of excess water pattered on the tarnished porcelain sink from the broken faucets, Ken’s heartbeat syncopating with their tempo.

All of his senses are heightened, despite being locked in a stall he knows how much of a freak he is for what he’s about to do.

It’s downright shameful how hooked he’s gotten. He has no reason to be doing this— he has friends now, a place he can really come home to, the most amazing girlfriend he could ever have. Yet, the beauty of his forearm laced in pretty, ordered, red lines diminishes all of that. It’s gotten so easy to hide it since losing his powers, he can cover up as much as he pleases— so, why stop?

When he had first started, it really had just come from a pillar of his own self loathing, complemented by morbid curiosity perhaps. He was very discreet, never cutting too deep and just enough to draw a little bit of blood.

Months passed, his routine never broke. Slicing his open his own skin began to feel cathartic, something just to quiet down other thoughts and have one thing to focus on. The deeper he cut, the more relieving it felt.

Numerous pink scars had bloomed on his arm over the past few months, a few tiny white ones from when he had first begun this guilty pleasure hid around them. Urges to add more had started to become unbearable, hence why he hid a thin razor blade in the case for his glasses nowadays.

The thrill of it all being his big secret was unmatched, nobody knew and nobody had to know. It was superficial anyway, it’s not like Ken would die from his cutting. He just liked how it looked, how it was always there for him to quiet the thoughts when the people around him couldn’t.

There’d been no sign of anyone coming for the past two minutes, lunch break would be over soon and he needed this or else class was going to be an awful hour long period of itchiness and suppressing urges.

Ken quietly reached into his uniform pocket, pulling out his glasses case. He hastily opened it up and took the metal blade out of its storage.

Placing the case down on the toilet seat behind him, he rolled up his sleeve and swiped with the blade. It was clean, a nice white layer beneath the dermis shone through the moment his skin broke, quickly being pooled by red.

He carelessly swiped a few more times, the fresh blade gliding through his skin with surgical precision. There was a light sting to it, but it was easily bearable. Each new cut played out a similar story, a small sound of skin ripping, white peaking through, and (his favourite part) blood flooding in the fresh wound.

He was careful not to cut on already scarred places, he needed to use up all the free space he had. His left arm was bleeding, the contents of it slipping down the curve of his forearm threatening to drop onto the floor beneath him.
It didn’t feel enough.

Ken swiped carelessly a couple of more times, one of the cuts revealing yellow, bean-like textures underneath, rather than white.

“Crap…” Ken muttered under his breath, hissing in pain as blood rushed through the deeper wound.

He scrambled in his bag to find wipes before any of the blood on his arm could begin to get onto the furniture in the bathroom stall. It was a struggle to do it with only one hand, he flimsily sealed open a packet of wipes he had brought to school a couple of days prior for the same reason.

Red seeped into the nonwoven fabric on his arm, Ken gently pressed down where the wounds needed extra pressure to stop the bleeding. He had no bandaids, usually he doesn’t go this deep in school if he doesn’t bring the right aftercare; all he can do is just internally pray that he won’t bleed through his sleeves when he needs to go back to class.

A sound makes his heart drop.

The bathroom door opened loudly, the overused hinges making their presence known in unison.

“Yo, Okarun!”

That’s definitely Jiji’s voice.

“You’ve been in here for like 10 minutes, you takin’ a dump or something, man?” Jiji half-joked. Ken knew he hadn’t fully entered the bathroom given that he hadn’t heard the door close, Jiji probably only came to see where he was since Ken did leave at a pretty bad time.

“N-no.” Ken shouted bashfully inside the stall, “even if I was, you don’t hafta say it…” he paused. “Which I’m not! For your information.”

“Hey, no judgement! We all gotta do our business sometimes.” Jiji reassures, though it makes Ken loudly internally groan. “Might wanna hurry up, though. Lunch is almost over and we still need your input on what the group's gonna do this weekend— there's a few ideas sprawled on the table already.”

With all of the chaos their little found family has been through, bi-weekly hangouts have become a regular thing for them. It's been a great way for them to keep the close bond they have, even with their chaotic lives. Plus, it's helped Jiji and Zuma see more eye to eye given that they got off on quite the wrong foot.

“Okay.” Ken replies, he’d much rather have Jiji believe he was having a rough time using the bathroom than what he was really doing. Though, that’s still a mortifying outcome to someone easily embarrassed like Ken. His gaze shifted down to his wounded arm, if only Jiji really knew what was going on.

“Okies-dokies! I’ll let you have your privacy, man.” Jiji chirps before Ken hears the door closing again with a thud.

Some blood had dripped onto the floor tiles. Ken silently chides himself before rubbing some of the residue into the vinyl flooring with the bottom of his shoe in an attempt to conceal it. He hastily grabbed a couple of more wipes, applying pressure wherever he could.

 

He’d gotten a phone a few weeks ago, a hand-me-down from his father since he’d upgraded. Ken pulled the device out of his pocket, default wallpaper still in place. He opened up the camera to snap a few photos of this session. It's a fucked up thing to do and he knows it.

He's extremely paranoid about people seeing his gallery, he isn’t sure how he’d be able to talk himself out of it if someone saw his entire photo gallery was just him destroying his own body bit by bit.

12:58 — the time read.

He had two minutes to get out of here and cleaned up. Ken dabbed his wounds one last time, pulling his sleeve down before the bleeding could show again, what he couldn’t see cannot bother him. The wetness seeped into his sleeve as he calmed himself, the sensation made his skin crawl but he knew that even if it bled through it still wouldn't show given the layers and colours of his gakuran.

Ken sighed as he shoved his things into his bag and exited the bathroom, rolling his eyes in disdain at the loud blaring of the bell. He made his way to his classroom as quickly as he could, avoiding the gaze of any of his friends who might ask why he disappeared for the last 15 minutes of their lunch period. Maybe he'll make up some dumb lie about getting locked in the stall, he just hopes that Jiji will keep his mouth shut.

He'll give his input on what the hang out should be at some point after. He needed this, nowadays it seems to be the only thing that truly keeps him grounded.

Vamola innocently greets him with a soft smile when he takes his seat next to her desk, Ken’s heart twists in guilt at her purity and friendliness. The alien girl had slowly but surely won over everyone around her with her unchecked dedication to helping despite being slightly clueless to the new world. She's one of the last people Ken would want to know about his problem, so he waves at her and smiles before taking his seat. He's glad that her traumatic past didn't lead her down a similar path, and he'll be sure to keep checking that she's okay as time passes.

He's zoned out for almost the entirety of the lesson, too many thoughts about his life and the unforeseeable future are lingering in his head. He doesn't know how much longer he can keep this up with summer just around the corner.

When it's time to pack up, the blood sticking to the inside of his sleeve pulls apart at the motion of his arm putting his textbook away. Ken hisses, that hurt more than the actual cut itself. He knows that his white undershirt is certainly going to be given another stain when he gets home. He's glad his father doesn't ask about them. Maybe it makes his father a bad parent for not questioning random blood stains around his son's things, but Ken would much rather keep the peace this way.

“Are you okay?” Vamola asks, looking strangely at Ken who's now regretting not being more careful with the open wounds still under his sleeve. He feels her eyes on his arm, paranoia creeping at him in the near impossible case that the blood might have just seeped fully through the black fabric, giving his sleeve a touch of maroon.

He observes the colour of his clothes for a moment. Well, it looks normal.

“Yeah! Just got a muscle cramp, I think I need to be more careful.” He replies sheepishly, rubbing his bicep as if it would make his obvious lie any more believable.

“Yeah, be careful.” Vamola parrots, her tone casual. She doesn't usually say a lot given the language barrier. If she really was concerned, she'd voice it, so Ken is glad about her indifference.

Ken jolts as someone's hand hits his desk, as if on cue Momo's right in front of him. He'd been so caught up in Vamola's query that he hadn’t even noticed the gyaru walking into his classroom.

“Okarun, you walking with us? You missed the group for a bit at lunch but I'm sure you had a good reason.” Momo beams, holding her bag in one hand.

“Yeah, hold on— sorry,” Ken finishes packing the rest of his things, trying to do it as quickly as possible to avoid the awkwardness of her and Vamola watching him.

The three of them walked together, small idle chats about the day took place primarily between Momo and Ken, filling in the silence. Vamola occasionally added to the conversation, but she was content with remaining on the listening side.

“Soooo, we were thinkin’ maybe a beach hang out is due? I mean— I haven't been to the beach in forever and I'm dying to get a whiff of the ocean air. I think granny could probably drive us down in the van if we plead hard enough.” Momo mentions excitedly as they walk along the pavement, if it weren't for the hopeful expression on her face maybe Ken would've been able to formulate a better response.

“The beach sounds fun, though there isn't any particularly near Kamigoe… it would be a long drive.” Ken says, though the potential thought of him being seen wearing nothing but swim shorts twists his gut. If he does decide to go, he'll probably have no way out of it. Wearing a full body swimsuit would probably raise a lot of suspicious questions.

“It might be tight for me to fit in because I won't be free for the entire day, my dad is staying at a friend's house so I need to go pick up an order for him whilst he's gone.” Ken lies. It's the first thing he could think of, and he knows that it's a poorly orchestrated tale.

“It's cool, if you can't do it this week then there's always another time. Granny would probably be willing to make the trip twice if she knows that it's so you don't miss out,” Momo casually replies, not doubting his excuse for a minute. “I swear her soft spot for you only gets more obvious everyday…” she finishes with a mumble.

“Yeah, sorry.” Ken trails off. He looks up and realises he's going to have to bid his farewell in a moment. As much as he'd love to come over to the Ayase residence, there's a more trying issue pestering him beneath his sleeve at the moment.

“I gotta head straight home today, my dad said he doesn’t want me going off for hours when my room needs cleaning.” Another lie, his dad really couldn't care less about the state of his room (or if he's gone for hours).

Momo looks a little disappointed for a moment, but they're already at the part of the street where their routes home diverge. “Oh, okay. It's no big deal, I'll call ya later.”

Ken smiles gently before hugging and pecking her on the cheek, a goodbye gesture they've commonly been practicing ever since their relationship started blossoming into the new normal. “I'll see you tomorrow.” he says, still looking at her.

“See you tomorrow.” Momo replies with a small wave.

“Goodbye, Vamola!” Ken waves before turning to the direction of his home, it would be rude of him to not acknowledge their other friends.

“Bye-bye!” Vamola replies joyfully, before turning to walk home with Momo.

 

 

 

 

 

When Ken arrives home, he goes straight to his bedroom to assess the damage from earlier. He swiftly takes off his uniform shirts, the dried blood unsticking stings painfully once again. There's a dark red stain on his white sleeve shirt, already looking to be turning into a brownish stain.

The deeper cut on his arm is quite irritated, he'll have to clean it properly and get some more appropriate aftercare, a butterfly bandaid might work better for this one.

He has a lot of first aid items stored in his room already, he doesn't know how his father doesn't question it. Once again, Ken internally thanks him for his lack of concern. He suspects that somebody with more alert guardians won't be able to get away with half of the stuff he does.

Ken winces as he runs the open wounds under cold water, before wiping them all down with a medical wipe. The cuts are all red and hot in their freshness. To him, they look almost cute in their own morbid fashion.

He covers the wounds with different bandaids, each varying in size. He carefully wraps a bandage around his arm for extra security, though the bandaids are more for aesthetic than practical purposes.

He looks a complete mess in the reflection of the mucky bathroom mirror, his skin more clammy and pale than ever. He looks sick like this, is this seriously how he looks to his friends? Maybe he should take some pages out of his girlfriend's book and start glamorising his appearance.

He throws on an oversized, long sleeved shirt. The colour is a dull blue, unfortunately fitting for his gloomy mind. Part of him just wants to sleep the rest of the day away, but he knows he can't because Momo has a phone now, which means a phone call is mandatory whenever they can't spend the evening together in person.

Ken flops onto his bed, curling into the covers, he's so tired for no valid reason. He can't fathom that he was so active just a few months ago, he knows he needs to shower right now but he doesn't have the energy. Why doesn't he have the energy? Nothing much has changed— in fact, his life is easier now.

This thinking needs to stop. He needs to stop thinking before he drives himself to pathetic tears again, he should probably call Momo. Probably.

She must be busy eating dinner, though…

It's okay, he'll wait for her call.

Notes:

OKAY SO in my head canon, ken lives with his dad. is there a mother in the picture???? idek?????? maybe??? but anyway, cuz of the one panel in the fan book where it shows the back of his father's neck i just automatically assume ken lives solely with his father

my personal interpretation of his father is that he would be quite emotionally absent, for example I dont think he'd pay much mind if he noticed his child was acting off, given that (other than that panel) ken literally has no sign of parents throughout the manga HELP

so like, I believe theres a parent there— but only in a physical sense. I do love interpretations where people hc him to have nice, and present parents but I fear for the sake of angst and canon compliance to what we've seen, he just has a shitty father in this fic (haha !!!!!! 🤣🤣🤣🤣 🫵🫵🫵)

sorry if this has errors it is currently 4am and I have got to pack things for my trip home, but I am writing this shit instead. im going to make some edits after im rested but pls lmk if theres any major errors!!!

Notes:

hiding self-harm from literally everyone has to be one of the most isolating experiences ever LMAO

anyway I hope this fits someone's niche, pls lmk if theres any writing errors