Insane
By Atharaenea Altan

12-14-00

Whoa, I can’t believe I actually finished a fic! Or, it’s sorta a fic. The result of a particularly bad day, I just changed stuff around in all the right places to make it a yaoi GW fic. I finally finished it tonight! YAY! This is my FIRST COMPLETE fic! I’ve written many others... none are complete. Please send me feedback, and don’t worry, scathing comments on my writing WILL NOT cause me to kill myself or something! They’ll just cause me to writing better, and we all agree that’s a good thing, ne? ^_~

Warnings: major angst, self-torture, angst, shounen-ai hints, did I mention angst?
Dedications: Hell, who could I possibly dedicate this to? Oh, I know, everyone out there who views depression as weird, repulsive, and laughable, you insensitive bastards. O.O
Disclaimers: For God’s sake, this really doesn’t need any... any important guy who reads this will be either too stunned or too empathetic to sue. Still, standard disclaimers apply.

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Sometimes the pain is almost too much. Sometimes, if I’ve had an especially shitty day, or he has been worse than usual to me, or so totally and completely ignores me, the pain just takes over. I’ve gotten good at controlling it, most of the time. It’s very rare now that I should ever show pain to any of the others. I’ve gotten excellent at masking this ache, which is constantly eating at my soul. Sometimes I forget the pain even exists, I’m so good at this act, I can almost fool myself. But all it takes is a little soul slashing from the outside world to make me acutely aware of it. He’s often the source of my pain, combined with my natural tendency to blame myself. His absence, his presence... When he speaks to me harshly is just as bad as him not speaking at all. Sometimes I truly believe he cares, that there really IS something there, even something possible between us. I usually live in a fog, believing and hoping and “seeing”, but once in a while that fog clears, and I see things as they really are. Heero doesn’t care for me. But then the hopeful side of me screams, ‘How can he not? How can all the little things he does mean absolutely nothing? There must be something...” but then I think of all the other cruel things he does. Ignores me, screams at me, insults me, hits me, glares at me... the glaring is the worst. Each cruel thing he does kills a little part of me. Things that void any niceness he’s ever shown me, and shows that at most he can tolerate my existence. I’m nothing but a tool for him. I’m sure it’s my fault. Just like everything else in this world is my fault. I caused the death of everyone in Maxwell church, if I hadn’t gone out to steal that mecha... I’m a thorn in everyone’s side. I irritate the hell out of everyone but Quatre, he’s so patient, but he has Trowa, of course. I had to fall in love with I-am-a-machine Heero Yuy. Of course. It makes sense that I’d fall in love with death. I really shouldn’t be too upset about it; it’s only natural for me to love the one thing I can never have. I wonder if this counts as obsession? To live, breathe, and think nothing but Heero. Everything I do is to please him, even though I always fail. I try. Pathetic. That’s me, pathetic. I really don’t know why I try, oh, but I do. I live on Heero. Why is it that my life has become so centered on something that can mean nothing but my demise? I must have a natural instinct to kill myself, maybe a pre-programmed evolutionary safeguard: those that are flawed must die. I certainly have my share of flaws. I’m beyond a doubt insane, probably in more ways than one. Depressed, obsessed, manic, gods know what else. I kill, whether I intend to or not. So many flaws, why don’t I just end it all now? Life is painful, I do more harm than good by existing. I can’t. I’ve seen the consequences of suicide; I couldn’t kill myself, it’d cause the others pain, even though I’m sure it wouldn’t be that intense, and wouldn’t last. I simply can’t cause others pain. And so, I wear my mask, always. It’s perfect, now. It shows nothing. Hides the pain from everyone, filters it for myself. So I can’t feel intense enough to end it anyways. Don’t feel pain intensely, don’t feel happiness or sadness or grief hardly at all. That’s a price worth paying, to stay alive, to please the others. Maybe, hopefully, it’ll finish off my soul so I’ll just die. I haven’t ever heard of anyone dying from emotional pain, though. They die of the side effects. I look in the mirror - with my mask off, it’s so obvious I’m dying from the inside out. My eyes are hollow, the perpetual dark lines under them. I’ve been losing weight, slowly, but losing it all the time. I have old scars, couldn’t do that again, I simply don’t have the strength. I hope someone’ll kill me soon. It hurts to live.

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Notes: Hey, I know a lot of you peoples out there have felt something similar, or somethin’. Hope I didn’t cause any relapses. *sweatdrop* *looks back over fic* I can't believe I wrote this shit... *runs away*


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