Work Text:
Hi.
My name is Unstable_Day. Or Unstable, I don’t mind what you call me. I never have minded. I’m an operative for the Union. I take pride in my role, my job– but that doesn’t stop people from hating me.
I’ve been hated by people around me my whole life. I never understood why. I’ve heard many rumours about myself, but none of them were true. People never cared to ask me if they were true or not, they would just spend their whole pretty little minds on hating me. Like I was a danger.
My small circle of friends and my boyfriend never understood it either. They thought I was a good person, which I thought was true too. Though lately I’ve been thinking otherwise. Maybe I really was an issue. Maybe I shouldn’t be here anymore. I shouldn’t think that. Nobody should. But lately, I haven’t felt like myself.
I woke up. It’s the average Saturday, I wake up and feel like I shouldn’t have. That’s fine, I need to get up anyway. Once I finally get up after staring at the wall for several minutes, I brush my hair. It doesn’t look good, but it’s alright. I just need something to last me the rest of the day.
I put some clothes on. I don’t quite remember what they were, but they matched colors. It looked nice. I looked nice, I thought. I hoped others thought the same as well, but they never have the same thoughts as me.
My head aches. It’s never ached like this before– what is going on? Urgh-
I remember.
I’m not supposed to remember.
---
Unstable walks outside. The civilians quickly walk around him and avoid him– they’re scared. Because all the headlines have been about him lately. “Unstable is problematic!” “Avoid him at all costs, he could be ████████!”
That name. ████████. It haunted Unstable. Something he didn’t want to remember. An old identity he was before. Someone everyone hated.
Hated for something that wasn’t his fault. He was manipulated and accused– an ex-operative had caused him to defend their horrendous actions. Instead of hating the ex-operative that harmed him, they turned on him instead. Everyone hated ████████. It had been the city's talk for weeks.
Unstable tried to ignore it. He had friends! Friends who liked him, he knew so. They kept him happy– kept him alive. They didn’t care about his scars, didn’t care about his old actions. They forgave him, and he appreciated it.
---
I met up with my friends. They’re happy to see me! They smiled at me. I smiled back.
I wished my boyfriend was here too, to hang out with us– but he was outside of the city. I missed him. He was so sweet to me and understood what happened with my ex. He didn’t judge me for it, either. He was good to me.
I sat down with my friends. Chat with them a little. As they talk– I start to zone out. Gosh– these horrible feelings are back. I don’t understand why I’m so paranoid.
I feel like I’m being watched.
Judged.
Hated.
---
Unstable is forced to leave early. He’s overthinking– it’s a danger. He doesn’t want to upset his friends. Or vent to them, because he knows they don’t like it.
He doesn’t want them to hate him, he wouldn’t like that, no, not at all.
████████ goes home. Unstable goes home.
The blade on top of his bedside drawer stares at him. Unstable stares back.
---
I can’t take it. These feelings are overwhelming. It would only hurt a little to let out a bit of release, I would live.
I grab the blade off the drawer– my hands trembling. My hands shouldn’t be shaking like this, but they’ve always been trembling. Since I was a kid.
The voices inside my head speak to me, telling me I need to release my frustrations. To release these feelings inside me. ████████ would, so why can’t I?
My shaky hands grip the blade harder, and I slash down. Crimson, thick fluid drips down from my arm onto the sheets.
It aches, it really does, but it also feels good. I feel a bit better already.
I mark up my arm– again, again, and again. My ex would like this with his weird fetishes, I think, then I clear the thought quickly so I don’t make myself sick.
He was a sick, sick man. My ex was a twisted, fucked up man. I never understood why people defended him.
I clenched my eyes shut, bringing the blade down on my arm one last time.
Ghhkk– I think I cut too deep this time. Not stitches level, but… it’s bad.
---
Unstable goes to the bathroom, stepping in the shower after he’s ridden of his clothes. The water stings, and turns red– then pink– then clear as it washes the blood away.
He doesn’t mind the sting. After so much time doing this again, and again, he’s used to it. The sting is normal to him. Though it shouldn’t be, Unstable.
After Unstable steps out of the shower and dries himself off, he takes vaseline off his sink. He can’t use triple antibiotics. He’s allergic to it– and it causes his skin to itch. And makes him irritate the wound.
After smearing vaseline over every cut, he uses gauze, wrapping it then bandaging it with a full bandage. A little too tight, but it’ll last longer this way. He’ll live with a little bit of stinging for a few hours.
---
I sit on my bed, what have I done? A voice inside tells me I should be used to it by now.
I shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t be doing this to myself.
Something must be wrong with me.
---
Unstable goes outside. It’s a pitiful attempt of comforting himself, but he goes to the park. He likes to watch the birds, though there are barely any that swirl the skies anymore.
████████ was able to see so many more birds than him. He missed when he could see that many. But he wasn’t ████████ anymore. He wouldn’t go back to ████████.
He couldn’t go back to ████████.
Someone sat next to him, he looked up after blinking a few times. Who would sit by him, especially after all these allegations against–
No.
It couldn’t be.
Unstable refused to believe it.
---
I trembled. I knew that face. That fucked up grin.
How did he know where I was? What did he want from me?
A hand was placed onto my bandaged arm. I feel like I’m going to vomit. I don’t want him to touch me. Not at all.
His words sink under my skin, though they would seem innocent to any passerbys. I wish they knew how I felt right now. I wish someone would save me.
“What’s wrong, █████? I know it’s you. You can’t hide forever, ████████.” He says, and I feel my stomach churn.
He grips my arm harder, wanting a reply. I don’t reply. I don’t want to.
I reach over with my other hand, prying his hand off of my arm, shaking my head at him though I want to cry.
I won’t forget what he did to me. What he saw of me. What he caused ████████, me, to do.
I get up and run off as fast as I can. I don’t want to see his sick face again. His eyes haunt me, I didn’t think I’d have to see them ever again.
---
Unstable bumps into one of his friends as he’s running. They ask him if he’s alright, and he explains the situation.
They hug him, and his tense shoulders fall, freezing up. He’s not used to the comfort. He’s used to people saying he’s using his situation for attention.
Unstable trembles, slowly reaching up and hugging his friend back. His hands are shaking, but they slowly calm down. It was rare his hands ever stopped their constant trembling.
They mean everything. His friends mean everything to him.
After they both pull away from the hug, Unstable’s friend walks him home slowly but surely. Unstable is paranoid and keeps looking behind them, but nothing is ever there.
He’s safe, he knows.
But he can’t help but not feel like he is.
---
I’m home. My friend left– it’s okay. They can have their own life.
I go back to my room. The blade looks at me again, but this time, I open my drawer and put it away. I don’t think I want to do that again, not right now. Later.
Maybe I can fix the issue of everyone hating me, if I put my mind to it. Do I have anything in my house? Maybe I can write something. They’ll all forgive me.
…Scratch that, I’ll just make more people hate me instead. People already hate me.
They hate ████████. They hate me. That’s my name– That’s not my name. Not anymore. I don’t act like him anymore. ████████ is dead to me. I shouldn’t think much more about it.
I lay down, I stare up at my ceiling. White. The opposite color of the soul. It seems so lively to me, but at the same time, it seems so… dull. I feel dull. Maybe my soul is white, too.
I smile. Maybe I’d like that. I’d like to be different from everyone else, in a sort of way. Even if it’s a little bad, I can still learn to love myself for who I am. But I don’t love myself, so I don’t understand my vision either.
My smile falls. I think I hate myself.
---
Unstable falls asleep, and he dreams of black, until a vision comes into view.
His dream fades into his view– it seems sweet. It’s rare that he has sweet dreams, so he turns in his bed comfortably. It feels nice. The first nice dream he’s had in a while–
Wrong.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
The dream twists. Turns. All in the wrong ways. He’s there. Unstable wakes up, sweating, panting– everything is wrong. Why is everything wrong?
Why can’t something be right for once?
---
I get up, fast. I go to the bathroom.
I look in the mirror. It doesn’t look right. I look like him. I look like ████████- I don’t want to look like him. I’m nothing like him anymore. I’m not supposed to look like him. I don’t want to be him.
This isn’t me. I’m sorry.
Nobody is supposed to see me like this. I’m Unstable, not–
It’s wrong. I feel fucked up.
---
Unstable finally calms down after splashing water on his face several times. Dysphoria, he’s used to it.
Has flashbacks, and gets reminded he was a horrible person only a few years ago. He still isn’t the best person, he doesn’t understand why he can’t get better.
Unstable knows better. Once a bad person, always a bad person. Unstable knows better than to ever get his hopes up of getting better.
Not even his therapy will save him, he will always be seen as a horrible person. Nobody will forgive him for what he was manipulated into doing.
---
I’m on my bed again. I don’t remember when I got here.
Sitting. Staring at the wall again. The white wall. White. I hate white. Such an ugly, soulless color. When did I even like white, anyway? I never chose white as my wall color, did I?
I hate white. I hate everything.
I hate myself.
I can fix that. I can fix hating myself. I can fix the thoughts of people who hate me. I can make them feel better. I can get myself out of their minds.
---
Rope. Unstable has a rope. He doesn’t remember when he got one, but he had one in his closet.
He struggles– one time, two times, three times, four. He can’t tie this knot right.
Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
…Fourteen. He got it. On his favorite number as well, how ironic. It must be a sign. This is the right choice. Unstable knows what he’s doing is the right choice.
He brings a chair under the rope after he hangs it to the ceiling.
He’s ready. He knows what he’s doing is right for him and others.
---
I step up onto the chair, putting the rope around my neck, tightening the knot around.
I pause.
I don’t want to do this anymore. What would my boyfriend think? My friends? I can’t leave them alone.
I untighten the knot. I step down. I take the rope down. I stare at the chair and the rope, before putting them both away again. I can’t do this to myself. There are people who care.
Many people who don't, many who do. I shouldn’t let the people who hate me get to me. People care. Some love me.
---
Unstable puts everything away, and sits on his bed once more. Staring into the abyss that is his ceiling. He pulls his blanket over him, thinking.
Maybe he’s meant to be here. People care about him.
Unstable smiles, and it actually stays this time.
---
I feel my eyes closing. Sleep is good for me.
I’m ready for tomorrow. I’m ready to be happy tomorrow.
I won’t let these people get to my head, I will try my best. Like always.
---
Unstable drifts asleep– calmly. He’s relaxed for once while sleeping. Comfortable. Safe.
He feels safe.