Work Text:
Jase continued to scroll in through the social media he has installed in his computer. He has scrolled so far that he was now bored of what he was seeing. He checked the time in his computer’s clock. 2:57 am.
Fuck .
Jase has been going in a bit of an…episode, to say the least. He has been screwing things up a bit lately, mostly out of clumsiness, yet screw ups none the less. His parents were mad with him, yet Kendra was kind enough to not up to the pile of the disappointment people had in him.
Jase had been feeling worse for almost a week now. His old tablet had decided to go in a bootleg and needed to restore it or update (whatever the fuck it needed) yet no matter how many systems he tried, he couldn’t update his fucking tablet without deleting his entire data.
He knew he could ask for some help (he knows when his genius needs help), yet his anxiety didn’t let him to ask for help. Jase couldn’t care less about his fucking pride, but he had the feeling that he’d will be more of an inconvenience to everyone else around him.
He remembered what he had for food that day to fill with mind with any thoughts: a single apple for breakfast, half of a plate of chinese food (rise with vegetables and other protein, some pork and some orange chicken), a bowl of popcorn he shared with his mom, a bag of Platano Maduro (thanks to a girl from his class bringing some), and a small burger.
Jase remembers that he was feeling that way for almost a year now, thanks to his parents taking him out of the robotics program and the track team, as they were “distracting him” from his academic work. He slipped a bit throughout the year, but he managed to pass nonetheless, without any subject loss.
After his parents let him out of the classes he used to enjoy, Jase began to feel less motivated to do things. He felt more tired and without the need to do anything. His parents were basically forcing him to get out of the house and do more sports.
Jase didn’t mind (most of the time), but he had been doing a bunch of exercises and being “fit” a majority of his life, it didn’t change his weight nor his height. He hated that all his effort was accumulating to nothing. He began to feel less motivated after some time.
His mother has been shouting at him to get new friends, but all the awkwardness, not to mention the sheer panic to talk to a person, and screw everything up made him so nervous and on the verge of a panic attack.
Jase began to muse over his own personal thoughts; thoughts he rather kept under lock and key before admitting it to anybody.
For instance, the fact that he’s not straight. He hadn’t been for years, but he hadn’t been open about it to anyone apart from a few people he trusted (no one in his family knew). Jase has been constantly questioned about his gender and how he represents it, though he was (almost) certain that he’s abrosexual.
Many late night arguments in his head and a quick research through the horrible landscape called the Internet was rather helpful to not stay up, questioning if he was being a fucking fraud or not.
The other thing was if he was depressed and how severe was his anxiety. Now, he didn’t want to go to an expensive doctor just to tell him he was fucked up, so he did what any normal teenager with no money did in this kind of situations; have various “am i depressed quiz” in the span of an hour.
After many quizzes about both things, he concluded that, yeah, his anxiety was high and his depression was also reaching levels for being clinical. He would check back after his episode was finished.
As Jase’s thoughts and memories brought him deeper into his mind, he began to feel like a deadweight to everyone who knew him. People said he was some kind of prodigy, but after all the negative thoughts and talks from his family, he found it so hard to believe. Yet he wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe in that so hard.
He still remembered when he began to (accidentally) isolate himself from his peers, as he was too shy and too uncomfortable to talk to them, that two friends at that time (they stopped talking. He wanted to blame them but he also knew that he was also at fault) asked him not to kill himself. To this day, he doesn’t know if they were being genuine or if they were being sarcastic. But he remembers their smiles, which made it worse, as he didn’t have those kinds of thoughts.
He haven’t consider suicide, yet that didn’t stop at times to rip his skin off, to place a hole in his head or something more disturbing along those lines.
Speaking of disturbing, people underestimated how mature and not innocent he was. It was all an act. People couldn’t know about how fucked up his mind was—how many times he wanted to go feral against various people, how many times he wanted to let the beast lose. But alas, if it did happen, he would either be in prison or in a mental institution.
So, yeah.
Not doing great.
His eyes began to grow heavy as he looked once more at the clock of his computer, to see how much time he was lost in his own head.
3:40 am.
Fucking shit.