it’s all your fault
trigger warning: this post contains themes of depression, anxiety, and brief passive suicidal thoughts. please read at your own discretion and care.
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─────────────── xxx IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT xxx ──────────────── |
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| x | mentions ; @Archer Duncan | 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓯𝓻𝓪𝓰𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓼𝓹𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓱𝓸𝓹𝓮 𝓫𝓾𝓻𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓭𝓲𝓼𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓭. |
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XXXXX𝕭rookline tossed and turned, sweat dripping down stark cheeks. It was early, and so far the young Quinn had only accumulated about an hour or so of sleep. Horrible dreams cursed her mind, and panic pumped in her chest. As dark moths fluttered around in the pit of her stomach, she started to ease her stuttering heart.
This wasn’t the only sleepless night. Brookline had been going to bed late in the dark of night, and not being able to sleep well. Was it her racing anxiety or was it those figures in her night terrors?
And who caused those gruelsome figures?
Brookline shook her head violently. She could not deal with this today. She just couldn’t. Was it her? Was it him? It’s his fault, she thought, as she sat up. Not mine. There was a dead weight on her knee. Her Tigeress. The Welsh Ravenclaw gave her beloved pet a silent rub on the ears before she lifted the tiger-like cat, wrapping her arms around Tigeress. She flopped back onto her pillow, burning tears brimming. Her kitten wriggled, trying to lick away the water that rested on Brookline’s shiny eyelashes.
Normally the girl would have giggled, and patted Tigeress’ ears. Instead, Brookline gently pushed the feline away, and swung out of bed. Silent tears fell as she bent down to pick her wooden brush off the floor. As she combed through her unkempt and dirty hair, Brookline realized that her brunette locks didn’t even seem rather brunette any more. It scared her. How she let herself go from delightful to moody and anxious? It was terrible. Frightening. She had to stop this.
But, how?
How, indeed, was the question, today.
Soon, Brookline found herself roaming around the empty corridors. Dear Hogwarts. She heard portraits muttering under their breath, she heard sleek whispers in the Library, she heard students chattering in vacant classrooms. Even though the outside was warming up to April showers, the castle was still a bit drafty. Brookline wished she brought a cardigan or something. She sighed, as her fingers brushed against the chilly, ancient stone. Her palm on the walls of the hallway grounded her, as thoughts ran on in her skull, akin to a natural disaster.
Finding her way out of the bleak and stony castle, Brookline walked to the Courtyard. God willingly, being outside would help her brain to slow down, give her a peace of mind. She went to the ever flowing fountain and remembered less than a year she had pretended to have a conversation with one of the statues. It was sad thinking how naive she was and even though she was still dealing with trauma then, there was still glimpses of Old Brookline. It was amazing and depressing on how much a person could change in a simple year. Today, it was hard to spot her former self. Her old self was deeply hidden by all the layers of self-loathe and all of her father’s doings she tried to cover up. And she often wondered why everything that happened to her, happened.
Because it was YOUR fault.
Damn it. Not again. Brookline groaned, and bit her lip. She couldn’t respond, no, she couldn’t rile the voices. Nor did she want to make them angry. Thoughts spiraled as she made so many responses to the snarky comment. Why did they blame her so many things? It’s not like she hardly did any of it. She didn’t cause the mess in her family, right? It wasn’t her. Brookline didn’t want her parents to split, she didn’t want any of this! Why did the voices come at the most inconvenient of times? Were they always so peevish and derogatory? And why were they? Was it actually her fault? Did she cause it? Did her family and friends think she had caused it too?
Brookline’s fist went to rub her left eye as a single tear streaked down her face. She didn’t want to cry now. Or ever, for that matter. Why did she cry so often? “Is it really my fault, or was it his?”
My fault. My fault. My fault. My fault. My fault. My fault!
The Quinn scooted herself onto the fountain, and let her back be supported by the sheer gravestone-like statue, despite it being mightily uncomfortable. Brookline pulled her knees to her chest and placed her chin heavily on top of her knees. With the ocean shimmering dangerously in her eyes, she whispered, “It’s my fault. All of it. It’s me.”
Yes. It’s all your fault. All your fault.
allyourfaultallyourfaultallyourfault.
Poison. Brookline was drinking the refreshment that her mind offered her, and what didn’t that it was slowly killing her.
“Always. Now and forever.” Similar to a sacred and binding
pact, Brookline gazed into space as she muttered unintelligible words, her fingers twitching. Perhaps she was mad. Was she mad? Or was she just anxious and obeying the dark thoughts in her head? Her heart the same speed as a race horse sprinting away from the gun.
It’s your fault and everyone hates you for it.
Open gaze and mouth. Brookline could barely believe the voices. Did everyone really hate her? Did they not care? She was broken and fragile. Was her world gone as it is? Should she just do it, putting herself to sleep like a dog owner might do for their pet who has no way out of their unrelenting pain? Would anybody even care?
Shaking and breathing hard, Brookline traced invisible sketches in the stone with her trembling finger. She couldn’t focus, the Courtyard around her a blur, as her chest stirred wildly. She felt like packs of hungry and vile dogs were chasing after her, ready to tear her meat and bones. The Welsh Ravenclaw felt another tear dribble down her cheek and she didn’t bother to wipe it off. Why would she? Even if she did rub the salt off, wouldn’t there be more? If you started crying, wouldn’t there be more sobbing? More sobbing, of course. There was always sobbing. In the morning, in the night. In the afternoon, in the evening, every goddamn hour of the day. And she hated sobbing. You could say it was one of Brookline’s many weaknesses.
Her chest felt constricted, and small. Brookline felt extremely uncomfortable and her stomach was in her dry, tight throat. Shit, stop this. You’re fine. Calm down. Her spinning brain tried to get a hold of herself. Brookline was going to cause a scene! It would be horrible if someone came into the Courtyard and found a girl freaking out. She tried to focus on her breathing but it felt like she couldn’t get air inside her lungs. Did all the oxygen disappear? Was there no more air? What was happening?
Keep it up. A meltdown isn’t going to help you.
“I-it’s not-not a me-meltdown.” Brookline tried forcing out her words, between sharp breaths, she had to show the voices that she was a human being, with genuine feelings. She gripped the sides of the fountain with both hands, and wished she could see the downfall of those foolish voices.
It was all her though. Was it really anyone else? What did she do? Was it really her fault, though? Or whose really was it? Brookline tried searching for a person to blame. It couldn’t be hers. What if was though? What if she was really the one who had caused pain for her mother, her older sister, her family? When she was born, was that what changed her father? It was her, then. My fault.
What is wrong with you?
Clearly, everything.
[ coded by elena clark ]
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