Work Text:
Honami thought the feelings had gone away. She thought that she had been getting better, that she didn’t think that way anymore.
…
But those thoughts.. they never really went away, did they? They were just suppressed. Maybe they went away for a while, but they were always there, really. Lingering in the back of your mind. A little voice trying to take you down, waiting for you to become vulnerable again.
Little thoughts that creep in when you don’t want them to. Random pangs of panic that make your chest feel heavy, make you feel like you can’t breathe. You try to use the methods you find on the internet, on whatever self help blog you stumble upon, but they never work. They never work, and you just end up crying, you end up crying and panicking and it’s hard to breathe and you hate everything.
Maybe one day you walk across the street without looking both ways. Once you cross, you realize a car had stopped next to you, a car you didn’t see. And the first thought that came into her head was always-
“What if it didn’t stop?”
“What if I was dead right now?”
And she didn’t want to think that way. Honami didn’t really want to die.
…
She didn’t think she did, at least.
She didn’t know what she wanted. She didn’t know what was wrong with her, but she knew something was.
She wanted to talk to people about it. Try to get help, but she couldn’t. She felt guilty just thinking about talking about it. She’d type out a message, only to delete it after, the voices in her head getting too loud.
“They don’t care.”
“You’re just being annoying.”
“Don’t bother them.”
“They probably hate you.”
She found herself apologizing. Apologizing for everything. She felt bad about that, too. Because if you apologized too much, it didn’t seem genuine anymore. Even if it was, even if it always was- because Honami truly did mean it when she said sorry- she knew people would stop believing her. Maybe they'd even start calling her manipulator behind her back, because only a manipulator would apologize so much, right?
…
There was a lot she didn’t know. About herself. About how to act, about what she wanted.
She felt like she was made out of glass sometimes. And that everytime something bad happened, she got another crack in her skin.
She didn’t want anyone to see the cracks.
She was ashamed of them.
She wanted to hide them. She didn’t want to bother anybody with them, because who cares, really? She was the one who helped others with their cracks, not the other way around.
Never the other way around.
Bury the feelings deep down, keep them inside.
She couldn’t let anyone see her crack. Ever.