The Sinking Feeling
The Sinking Feeling
written by dornish queen
Characters: left ambiguous
DO NOT READ UNTIL YOU HAVE READ THE TRIGGER WARNINGS; IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO ANYTHING IN THE WARNINGS, I STRONGLY ADVISE YOU NOT TO READ
Trigger Warnings: implied thoughts of suicide, extreme emotions and grief, person in crisis, depression
Notes: No character models were used; no celebrity featured. I was going to write in Pedro as the boyfriend, but with the topic being dark, I didn’t want to associate this with anyone specific. So, characters are ambiguous. Are these really stories I’m writing? Or are they just moments or snapshots of despair?
You had been feeling better for a few weeks now and feel the worst had subsided, when it hits you like a ton of bricks. It had only been a careless comment from a defensive person directed at you, but that’s all it took. God, you are so fucking weak! You think to yourself. You feel a sense of anger at not being understood, yet begin to wonder if it really is YOU that’s the problem.
Take yourself out of this situation. That’s the best bet. Go for a drive, calm your fucking nerves for a bit. Walk through a bookstore, that usually does the trick. Two hours later and you still feel like you’re about to break, only now you’re in the middle of a bookstore and everyone will see how crazy you really are. Walk through the Self-Help section, browse through at least ten books about depression and suicide. You’re sure there’s at least one book, that might be helpful and put your mind at ease, if only for a little while. Get embarrassed when an employee comes up to you and asks if you are finding what you’re looking for. Oh, and you have a book called “Why People Kill Themselves” in your hand. At the same time, you say to her, “No, I’m doing fine. Thank you for asking.” In your most pleasant voice possible at the moment. God, you feel stupid.
You leave the bookstore without buying anything. That was a waste of time. You think to yourself as you sit in your car, about to drive off. A drive to the beach sounds nice and a walk to the end of the pier. The sound of the ocean sounds nice about now, perhaps that’s the place you want to be. It was only a moment’s thought. A fleeting thought, that’s all it is. That’s what you tell yourself. You don’t act on it and decide to drive home.
The lock clicks and you step through your door. Instantly, you feel his hands on each side of your arms turning you to face him.
“Where did you go? I was worried sick!” He bent over to look into your face and you saw it. That momentary flash of anger, and you look down at your feet.
That sinking feeling digs deep into your chest and you feel yourself beginning to crumble as he pulls you into him.
“I promised I wouldn’t do anything. I promised…I promised.” Your voice muffled against his shirt.
“I know, but babe, you can’t just leave like that.” He breathed heavily; his lips pressed against your head. “Thank you for coming home.”
You felt his arms wrapped around you tight, as your tears began to soak the front of his shirt. All you can think of at the moment is how you’re messing up his nice shirt. How you are always messing up something. The grief takes a firm hold of you and it’s all consuming and exhausting. And all he can do is hold you and rub your back. His touch, reminding you that someone is here and that you’re not alone. Willing you to come back to him.
These moments are draining for the both of you and you begin to wonder how much is too much. How much of this can he handle before he’s had enough and leaves? You look up into his face and see that the anger is gone, and you begin to cry all over again.
I’m sorry. You want to say, but he seems to already know what you’re thinking.
“There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re going to be okay.”