❄️Od but not to kill yourself is so fun🎀❄️
❄️Od but not to kill yourself is so fun🎀❄️
there's this poem by Shane Koyczan where he says
we grew up learning to cheer on the underdog because we see ourselves in them
and this made me think about all my favorite characters. some of them with delusional of greatness, most of them with a past filled with trauma and neglect, and so many of them living behind masks
of course I want them to find something to fill the void, of course I'm rooting for them to get revenge, of course I'm standing here hopping they can forgive themselves for past mistakes, of course I cheer them on as they get revenge.
of course it hurts to see them fail. most of all, of course it hurts to watch them give up and kill themselves.
because I see myself in them.
i’ve ruined literally years of progress because i’m a fucking stupid twat… I was over 2 years clean and i fucking ruined it cause i’m literally useless and self sabotage myself for some stupid reason! I hate myself so much right now and i wish i could take it back because it was literally not even for a good reason😭 the worst part is i’ve worked so hard over the last 2 years not to do it and now all that progress is gone and i feel like i’ve let myself down and i can’t even try and talk to anyone because i don’t want to put this on them
Look you're gonna d1e if u keep this up
Bitch you don't understand that i fucking want to d1e
Her words hit a soft spot, and Damiano wondered why it had hurt so bad.
or - Damiano and Victoria fight, and it seemed to be the final straw for him
(title from Numb by Sam Brookes)
Disclaimer!!!!: Firstly. This work is a product of fiction. This isn't in any way something I think Damiano went through, or something he will do. The opposite in fact. Secondly, the work has some dark themes. If any of the warnings are a known trigger to you, I'd advise to proceed with caution (if you want to proceed at all)
Warnings : suicidal ideation (suicidal thoughts), unfulfilled suicide attempt (overdosing), intrusive thoughts, mentions of self harm, fighting/yelling, panic attacks, anxiety attacks.
“Many performers point out how mentally draining a tour can be, with all the stress that goes in the planning, and the shows. How are you all coping?”
Damiano fidgets with his words. “Well, for us, the preparation for the tour, endless practicing and meetings with venue owners is the worst part. Actually performing is like a reward, where we also let out a lot of pent up energy” he explains, making various hand movements along his words to support his reasoning.
“It helps that we don't have a fear of the crowd. We see the hundreds of faces looking up at us and cheering as inspiring, rather than intimidating” Vic adds, sharing a silent high-five with Damiano when out of frame.
“You also are one of the first bands- young bands- to share your mental health with your audience. That is, like, putting yourself so far into the spotlight for so many, yet you seem to cope with it fine” he says next, eyes glued to the four in front of him.
“How do you manage the thought of, let's say, Jason from the States, knowing such personal information?”
“It is one of the things we felt was necessary” It’s Vic’s turn to talk.
“Many people that are young don’t see their illnesses as ‘valid’, ‘cause adults always tell us “Oh, you’re too young to have anxiety”. We wanted to show them that mental illness shouldn’t be something you are ashamed of, but something you can embrace, for yourself, and for others” Victoria replies, readjusting her legs on her seat.
“We all have something that has held us back. We don’t hide it, we embrace it to help others seek the help they need,” she continues, and nudges Damiano with her elbow subtly.
“I, um,” Damiano stutters silently, not expecting the spotlight on him, rubbing at his side where Victoria hit him.
“We feel like talking about it shows that there is no ‘look’ for mental illnesses. No one would look at me and think that I have depression, but I do. And even if it isn’t nice to have, I still try to live my life to the max,” he completes, clearing his throat.
The interviewer seems shocked.
“I really wouldn’t have guessed you have depression, it really seems to not affect you” he comments, and Damiano makes an expression, feeling extremely exposed. Of course it fucking affected him. He was just on a heavy dose of meds 90% of the times it did. Victoria had convinced him this was a subtle way to finally say it, to finally admit it. Not even in the nude photos he’s taken has he felt so exposed. The spotlight was suddenly on him and he really felt weak under the camera-crew's stares. He feels partially guilty for thinking that way, but he tries to shake off the feeling.
“That sounds like a lot to have on your plates, for four twenty-year-olds. I really admire your perseverance,” the interviewer says, sitting back.
Thomas mouths a thank you, leaning on Ethan.
“So, if I may, how do you even cope with everything on hand?” the interviewer asks, abandoning the cards in his hands. He seemed so curious, rightfully so. Even if Damiano hated those types of questions, he had to agree that learning about psychology was interesting.
“What if the day is bad from the start of it, how do you work through it with such a busy schedule? It isn't like you have an assigned therapist following you around”.
Damiano and Victoria share a look.
“Me and Damiano have prescriptions for medication, thoroughly discussed with therapists and psychiatrists. Thomas and Ethan have to rely on more ‘natural’ remedies,” Victoria replies, ruffling Thomas’ hair.
“Do they act as, blockers? Or something,” the interviewer asks and he’s starting to get on Damiano’s nerves. He has begun to get a bit more easily aggravated and he is desperate for this tour to end, for the sake of his, and mostly other people's, sanity.
“Not so much. They are more like regulators. They help to control the hormones in your brain and make you function as you would at a less stressful situation,” Victoria clarifies.
The interviewer nods, and he seems about to ask another question, change the topic maybe. Damiano just sits in his chair, begging whatever god is out there, if there even is one, to get him out of there.
“Dami?” he hears, and he’s broken out of his trance by Thomas’ voice. “You alright? You’ve been quiet this whole time”. Damiano bites the inside of his cheek, looking down at his lap, then the window. The interview had been replaying in his mind the whole trip back. "I blew the whole thing,” he admits, and Ethan seems ready to combat the negativity. Damiano rolls his eyes. “Oh, such a smart idea to get it over with at the start of the interview!” he says, mocking Victoria. “I definitely didn’t want to get the fuck out of there, everyone’s stares were so uncomfortable” he says with a shudder. Vic never comments.
“God everything’s been so shit, this week is a nightmare. I feel like jabbing a knife in my head, maybe that’ll solve my issues”. Ethan is quick to re-butt with ‘It’d actually give you new ones, though’, and Damiano wants to laugh, but he can’t. All that leaves his mouth is a pained exhale that makes his eyes water. His head is hurting, and his energy is on a critical low. Nothing funny about that.
He is near tears, and his palms feel clammy. It doesn’t take much to shut it down, but an overly dramatic sigh leaves his mouth instead.
“Shut up”. Damiano’s head snaps to Vic’s direction. She’s curled up in herself, looking out the window.
His ego is too bruised from the interview to hold himself back. He feels self-destructive. “Come again?”
Thomas looks between the two, and worry is plastered on his features. "I'm afraid I didn't understand you, sweetheart" Damiano continues and Vic lets out an annoyed sigh.
“I said. Shut. Up. It isn’t hard to understand. Basic orders” she snaps back, and Damiano feels angry, confused and hurt. It’s too easy, too natural, to mask that under a cocky grin. He doesn't like being given orders from Vic. Arrogance flows in his bloodstream, apparently.
“Who said I’m taking your orders?” he pushes, and Ethan’s hand on his thigh feels like a warning. Not one he considers, anyway.
“Oh gods, why is it impossible for you to not talk? This whole week, everything has been faulty for you" Victoria explains. She shifts her body to be able to see the older, to look down at him from her seat. Damiano has never felt less intimidated by her. He feels his blood boiling, his mind races for arguments.
"One day, I played off. The other, you felt uninspired. Then Thomas is being juvenile, Ethan is being too careful. Find something that satisfies you for once, you selfish prick!”
Damiano stills, the comeback he planned dead on his lips. Thomas runs a cautious hand on Victoria's shoulder, but she pushes it off harshly.
“Always with a complaint in your mouth. Something is always annoying, tiring, stressful. Something makes you feel like shit, so what do you do? You turn it to us, then move on like nothing ever happened” She pauses to wipe some spit from her chin. “We didn’t become a band to be your personal therapists. At this rate you vent to us, to me, so fucking much and so often, I’m not convinced you’re sorry for ruining our moods”. Thomas whispers a 'calm down' to her and she stops with a huff.
Her words sting, make Damiano feel as if radioactive acid was in his chest instead of air. They hit a soft spot, and he can't understand why tears prick at his eyes. His throat itches, and he swallows it all down, trying to find a comeback before the silence deafens him. “Fuck off,” is all he can manage without his voice breaking.
"Enough," Ethan warns, just before Vic has time to prolong the fight any further. "You both are exhausted and stressed out of your minds. Stop taking it out on each other, we all know you’ll regret it"
Victoria curses under her breath, and Thomas busies her with a video on his phone. Damiano turns to the window with what he hoped delivered as a cocky sigh, shoving Ethan’s hand away from him. He ignores his concerned gaze, jaw clenched and stance stiff against the leather seat. He uses whatever energy he has to not burst into tears, biting at his nails. He wouldn’t allow Vic to see that her words held weight. His whole façade was being the tough one, the oldest, seeming brick wall, that nothing got to him. He held himself to too high of a standard to drop this whole attitude.
His stomach is turning, and he hopes this car ride will be short. He can hear Thomas’ hushed whispers, and Vic’s louder ones, not subtle at all, Ethan can’t be heard, he assumes he put earphones in again. Damiano doesn’t want to look at any of them right there. He feels a pit form in the back of his mind, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. He just wants to go back to the hotel room, where he can be alone. But it unfortunately isn’t that easy on him. It still was only five in the afternoon, he had a long way until he got alone time.
And he was right. Instead of pulling up to the front of the hotel, saying goodbye to the driver and packing their bags, Leo instructed the driver to take them to a reastaurant god knows how fucking away from the hotel. Damiano isn't sure he'll be able to make it the whole early dinner without crying or yelling at someone, maybe both at the same time.
He is pulled to the side before they sit down. "Try not to make too much of a fuss with Vic. The place is busy, and if we get kicked out you two are walking back to Italy," Leo warns, and Damiano wants to cry, right then, right there. He doesn't, he just pretends Leo isn't even there when he completes, walking to the table, choosing to be stuffed in the corner seat.
Damiano doesn't eat. Well, not as much as he wants to, at least. He would have been straight up murdered by Ethan if he didn't get anything in his system. He makes sure to make an innuendo when Ethan gives him the warning, but the giggle he delivers with the joke was more exhausting than the whole day had been. It isn't like he could keep anything down, so it was better not to overwhelm his body with a lot of food. He passes it off as motion sickness.
The table is buzzing with conversation, yet Damiano can't find a single one to join in. He just moves his food around the plate, keeping his mind devoid of any thoughts, in fear he won't be able to control them. Maybe it was a bad idea to not carry his meds around, but then again he didn't want to advertise his depression.
He had tried to text Giorgia, but she was working. She had left him with a promise to call, signed off with a kiss. That's what Damiano focuses on, the kiss Giorgia left him and the hope of calling her afterwards. That, and Leo's promise of their 'dinner' being cut short due to being practically forced out from the busy restaurant once they're done with their meal.
Nothing more than a warm shower and his lover's voice helped him keep it all together.
Once in the car, speedily making way back to the hotel, Damiano tries to relax. It was a reasonable attempt, and something he doesn't manage. Through his mind, the words 'STOP THE THOUGHTS' bounce around, trying to prevent the inevitable. He was currently devoid of all control of any thought, as if his mind wasn't his own anymore. It isn't him sitting in the backseat of the weird minivan-thing, no, it was someone else that Damiano had the pleasure to watch from a first person perspective, whether fortunate or not.
He doesn't know what it is, it scares him to no extent and he feels anxiety bubble at the back of his mind. He can't find an efficient way to keep busy, to stay grounded. It isn't like he can hold a conversation, but not that he wants to either. He reaches into his coat pocket, grabbing the box of cigarettes and pulls two out, one between his lips, the other behind his ear. The ride seemed long, and Damiano knows how to shift attention to and away from him too well.
He looks out the rolled down window, letting the ashes of burnt tobacco fall on the ground they leave behind. The air is refreshing, and for a moment his mind clears. No one notices when he finishes the first one, which if you asked Damiano had to be record speed, even for yours truly who liked nothing more than a quick smoke whenever available. If they turned to look, the second cigarette burning in his hands could easily pass as the first one. They never do, and Damiano feels something in his chest.
Stop being butthurt. You aren't any victim.
Damiano sighs, the smoke spreading all through the car, not a single glance his way. Better this way, he thinks, and finally manages to relax in the leather seat with a satisfied hum, just as they start up again at the green light's sight.
Much to his dismay, eyes are all on him, right at the moment he didn't want them. The attention is too much for his anxious mush of a brain.
"What?" he asks, tone rude and harsh. He hated talking that way, especially with the curious and concerned gaze of Thomas on him. No one replies, turning back to what they were doing beforehand. The street Damiano has grown familiar to this past week comes into sight, and he holds in his sigh of relief, for lack of someone's comments.
He all but runs out of the car when it comes to a stop, being held back by Ethan before he could run through the stupidly fancy doors. "Wait" Ethan instructs, and who is Damiano to not listen to him. He doesn't want to be a further disappointment to any of them, so he obeys, albeit with a reluctance he isn't sure if Ethan picked up on.
The band walks in the hotel all together, and is squished in the same elevator, going up to their floor. The silence hurts Damiano's ears, more loud than a plane taking off next to him. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, he repeats in his mind, squeezing his eyes shut. The elevator stops abruptly with a ding and they all shuffle out quickly. Thomas and Ethan move to one side of the hall, Damiano and Vic on the other. Their doors open as if in sync, and Damiano slams his shut without second thought.
He doesn't hear, or care, if the others got in their own rooms, he is in desperate need of getting in the shower now. It wouldn't be the cure to his problems, it isn't like he could drown the black pit in the back of his mind in hot water and honey-milk soap, but it didn't hurt to try.
The hot water on his skin is an instant relief, and Damiano makes sure to relish this small victory, the little comfort he got from it. The shower runs long over the thirty minute mark, and he knows Leo will be on his ass over it tomorrow, but he can't be bothered to care.
He is flushed red all over from the hot water, and his skin is starting to feel prickly. The screen of his phone lights up, and he nearly jumps to it to pick it up.
"Hi baby," she giggles, and Damiano all but collapses. If the shower was relieving, Giorgia's voice was the fucking cure to all his problems. "Hi" he replies in a giddy tone, and he feels a smile crawl on his face.
"How was the day?" she asks, and he isn't sure how to reply. Does he tell her everything? Was Vic talking on her behalf too, about his vents being annoying and hurtful? He isn't willing to risk it, not now.
"It was okay, had this shitty interview," he decides to say, grabbing some underwear from his otherwise packed suitcase. "Jus' came out of the shower," he adds, sliding on the cotton briefs. The moisturiser he had stolen from Giorgia’s stash of, about a million, sits on his bedside table, and he makes an effort to apply some to his irritated skin.
"That's nice- the shower I mean. Why was the interview shitty?" she asks, and concern seems to lace her voice. Damiano isn't sure.
"I took this suggestion Vic had, to talk about my mental health stuff. I didn't really enjoy the delivery, but what can you do," he replies, trying to keep his casual fuck-all tone.
"Fair enough, what can you do?" she repeats with a giggle, and it's instantly infectious. “Talk to me about your day,” Damiano says, in desperate need of a distraction from his own life. Giorgia hums in thought, and he can’t help but imagine her little pout on the other side of the phone as she thought of what to say.
“Well, I didn’t do much, went out to get some food for lunch, gave Bidet her medicine and gave a treat to Lego too because he got jealous,” she narrates, and Damiano's smile is hurting, it's so wide. She really was the only one who managed to change his mood to one-eighty. “We watched a film, the three of us, thinking of how we all miss you,”. Damiano makes a high-pitched ‘Aw’, which probably hurt her ears, judging from her quiet squeal. He doesn’t mention how it seems unbelievable to him, how he doubts there is a chance she misses him, when she had all the freedom in the world, away from Damiano’s complaints and problems. The insult had nestled very deep.
“Never do that again, god that was so loud,” she complains, and Damiano manages a snort. “Anyway, then I had that meeting I told you about, then I gave the kids some food and called you,” she completes. Damiano shrugs, expecting an additional comment of any sort. Anything. Any distraction. The universe doesn’t let it slide.
“Is there really nothing else that happened today? You seem quiet, all okay?” she asks, and he curses mentally. She knows him too well, but Damiano knows her too. It was a matter of a convincing tone.
"Got in this fight with Vic," he replies after some time, finally laying on his bed. “But it's okay, don't worry about it,” he adds, and fuck, that was an open invitation for her to worry, wasn’t it? Damiano curses silently, thinking of ways to change topics, and quick.
"Oof, want to talk about it? Or it isn't that important?" she replies, and Damiano tries to muster as much chill he has left in him to reply. With as little emotion as possible behind it, even if the mere thought of the fight was like salt on fresh wounds, he replies.
“Not really, it was pretty stupid. You know, the normal stuff. Just a bit shaken up, otherwise fine as ever,”. His reply seems believable, and Giorgia seems to fall for it fine. He hates lying to her, lying in general, but he’d hate to ruin her mood more. Suddenly, it seems his excuse is the least believable thing he’s ever said, even if he put any confidence he had left in delivering it.
“Oh, I’m glad” she replies, and the relief is obvious in her tone. Damiano is relieved too. “I was worried for a moment, you know, with your stress, and Victoria’s too. I thought it might end up worse” she admits. He can’t understand if she’s trying to prove a point. “You know, I was worried it was like that fight you two had on the first tour. But thankfully, it’s not”. Damiano furrows his brows. He isn’t sure if he should be trying to retrieve that memory, but he does, gives in to his curiosity.
He tries to remember, back to their first tour, all the fights he had with Vic at the time. They weren’t few, Vic was a teenage girl tired of authority and Damiano was a hotheaded teen, respectfully tired of not being the authority. He thinks of severity, and there’s only one fight that matches, that locks in place.
He cringes. It had been a really bad fight. In a moment of heat, recklessness and his fucking stupidity, he had managed to make Vic back off. She hadn’t really ever been the one to de-escalate fights, but he had been so pissed off over god knows what, and had scared the shit out of her.
“God, remembering that time. Vic called me in tears, saying you two had overdone it, that she had gone back to the hotel with Ethan. Then Thomas, poor kid was probably so concerned, saying you left, holding on the coat you had taken off when he grabbed you. Everyone was scared shitless, leaving while you were that unstable could have been a disaster” she trails off, and Damiano tries to forget. His hands are on his neck, pulling at his hair, trying to stimulate a healthy reaction. It isn’t too successful of an effort, and he can’t hold a pained whine that leaves his lips.
Stop. Stop, stop, stopstopstopstopstopstop. No luck.
“Dam?” Giorgia asks, and he inhales deeply. The flashback runs in the back of his mind. “Shit- still here” he replies, suppresses a sob, pushes the tears back. His voice wavers, slightly, but he’ll think of something.
“What happened? I heard something, did I trigger you? Fuck-” she says, and Damiano’s fight or flight response kicks in. “No, no, baby, you didn’t do anything. I tried to go get something and pulled at my shoulder hard. Don’t worry, please, I’m alright,” he lies, again and again, and his throat burns. Believe me, he screams, his words drip with desperation. Believe me, move on, change the subject. Don’t be sad over me, focus on something else.
“Sorry, I just panicked. If you’re okay, I’m okay too” she replies, and she lets a small laugh out, one of pure relief. Damiano copies it, he tries to feel it in him, but all that looms is the thought of making it all about himself again.
Selfish prick, Vic had called him, and the words are burning on his skin, even more so now.
“Let’s talk about something else, hm? No fights, no stress, no bad memories” he offers, begs to take all attention away from him, because everyone must surely be sick of that.
“Don’t really think we have anything to say, love”
“Do you want to go back to your movie? I can hear Bidet purr behind you” he says, and there's a tinge of guilt painting over his whole face, he’s sure. Maybe jealousy is plastered on his features too, but he is quick to humble himself.
Selfish, you are. She’s probably happier at home alone than if you were there. Maybe let her enjoy that first, hm?
Damiano nods at himself, his thoughts more aggressive by the minute. “Maybe head to bed too,” he offers, seeing the time. He might be a few hours away, but it isn’t hard to know it's late for Italy if it's late for him too.
“I just might,” she replies, and a laugh contours her words perfectly. Damiano’s thoughts seem to soften for a bit. "You sure you're okay?" Giorgia's voice echoes in the hotel room. Damiano makes a face she can't see, like a grimace of amusement. "I'll be fine, don't stress your pretty head over it," he replies, and her giggles make him feel warm. "Alright then, I guess I'll believe you" she comments, and Damiano's brows furrow in surprise. "'I guess'? I'm offended". Giorgia's giggles sound muffled, and Damiano guessed she had made it to bed.
"Alright, go to bed. I'll see you tomorrow at one," he smiles through a yawn, trying to keep the smile as real as possible. Giorgia says goodnight back, sneaking an 'I love you' and hanging up before Damiano gets to say it back. It's a game they have, and it brought an honest laugh out of Damiano as he looked at the balck screen of his phone.
Their light back and forth banter was a sufficient distraction from the thoughts clouding his mind. He refused to tell Giorgia though. His thoughts race, plagued by Victoria’s words.
“At this rate you vent to us, to me, so fucking much and so often, I’m not convinced you’re sorry for ruining our moods”
“We didn’t become a band to be your personal therapists”
He wasn't about to make Giorgia feel terrible too. She wasn't supposed to sit through his vents, it wasn't something she had to worry about. It's Damiano's battle, he didn't have to drag anyone alongside him in it.
Not to mention, he didn't know how to tell her he was near tears from his side of the phone, probably the least happy he's been this past few years. Not when she was smiling (Damiano could understand when she talked, if she smiled or not. It was something he found beautiful in their bond), happy and full of life as she is about to go to bed, dream about happy things that leave her with that tingling feeling in her body which makes her bubbly and sweet. He didn't want to ruin her night, so he said nothing, no comments about the fight he had with Vic, no mentions of his feelings, prioritising her happiness and making sure to maintain it. He didn't care that he was falling apart. Not if that meant Giorgia could be happy.
He lays down on his back with a sigh, palms pressing into his watering eyes. The tears still manage to spill down the sides of his face, and he makes a half-assed attempt at wiping them with his bare forearm. His chest feels heavy and his mouth feels sticky as he tries to fight back sobs.
It's futile, to fight them back, and Damiano knows that. He knows himself more than he likes to admit, and he knows that all the pent up frustration from the afternoon will come and bite him in the ass. His arrogance has come to screw him over for the millionth time in what seems a single week. He drags his palms lower down his face. The moisture from his tears spreads with them.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Over and over again.
He needs something, something. Water, he needs water, he decides. The bathroom is within close range, and even if it seems like a marathon to even get up, he manages fine.
Stop being lazy.
The bathroom feels weirdly small, scary. In the way he’s scared of getting trapped in it. He turns the light on, and his reflection averts him. Red eyes and lines down his face, disheveled hair and his perked shoulders. He makes an effort to relax them, he feels too cocky with them raised like that.
But that’s all you are. A cocky, selfish asshole.
He swallows briefly, takes a deep breath. The water runs cold on his palms, and even colder on his face. Splash after splash, face dripping with freezing water, landing on his collarbone and raising goosebumps to his skin. Nothing. He needs a moment to run through everything, or he’ll never relax. Normally, he’d do this with someone else, but right now, he couldn’t bother anyone. Couldn't bring himself to.
The fight with Vic feels weird to him. Left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. It wasn't the longest fight they've had. Their normal fights, all were meaningless matters that had him and Vic avoid each other like the plague for a few hours, at most days.
This one wasn't like the others. This fight wasn't about Damiano being bossy, or about the lyrics that seemed to be a bit off. It was something that really bothered her, Damiano could tell. It was over a recurring issue that didn't only annoy her but ruined her mood.
He never thought of it that way. Not when he was raised to be open about what's on his mind. He didn't open up to many, and the band were three familiar faces that he trusted with his life. He told them everything, they told him everything. He trusted them to be themselves and stand their ground, it was his whole bravado when the band did their first album. And Vic's words did hold a lot of weight, even if he wouldn't admit it to her. It was exactly like Damiano wanted her to be. Fending for herself, for everyone.
This time, he's hurt. He is the one Victoria needs to stand up to, and it’s a painful realisation, to learn that he is the asshole all along.
Cazzo, che stronzo sei. You've made her feel terrible, always ruining her mood with your stupid thoughts.
He tries to blink the thoughts away. They don't leave, and he doesn't push more. He just lets it happen.
Victoria made it clear she didn't want, she didn't like Damiano talking to her about his life's misfortunes. The greater punch to the gut was her saying "us". She was speaking on behalf of all of them. Everyone.
Stupid. Wrong. Immature. You're supposed to protect them asshole.
Ethan and Thomas were so eager to let Damiano speak. Even on days he was reluctant, he knows they'll persist, stubborn as ever until Damiano said what bothered him.
Damiano doesn't want to talk to them. Gods, he doesn't want to see them. He feels betrayed, his ego is hurt and his trust is shattered. All the times he would ask, "Are you sure I can vent to you?", all the times he tried to shy away from it, but Ethan dragged him out by the pool, or Thomas looked at him with his adorable eyes and assured Damiano he needn't be worried. All those times Ethan was lying. Thomas was lying. They weren't okay with it.
So stupid. You should have known. They are basically kids, and you go on about hating life. What did you think they’d say?
Starting to understand the problem?
"I'm the problem," he whispers, and the familiar lump is back, making Damiano want to claw his throat out. The silence reminds him how alone he is.
"They were lying, they didn't want to hurt me. They didn't know better. I'm the reason they are uncomfortable". The tiles make his words echo around him, setting in the realisation deeper.
Victoria isn't out of the conversation. She's the confusing one. The main cause of conflict. Victoria
Young, sweet Victoria.
She was closest to him. She knew things about Damiano that could destroy his life, and she knew how to make him go from a crying mess to the kick ass rockstar he tries to be, he pretends to be. He knew just as much, but the inner workings of her mind were a mystery to him. Maybe that's why he didn't notice he was being a pest.
Excuses. Always excuses. Maybe if you were a good friend you would have known.
Look, how pathetic. You never bothered to ask her. Not to mention your half-assed apologies. You've probably made her feel terrible on a daily basis. What a fucking hoax. A piece of shit that she has to endure, comfort. So, so stupid.
Victoria had her own stuff to worry over. A full blown anxiety disorder that made her life so difficult. She never seeked Damiano's attention. She never ran to Ethan for comfort, to Thomas for a distraction. She was responsible, unlike he has been.
He claws at his throat, his nails digging at the back of his neck.
Shit. Shit, shit, shitshitshit.
He lets the sobs out, and he feels weak. They hurt, and Damiano is heaving, trying to breathe through the tears. His emotions hit like a truck, and he’s never felt like this before. There is an overwhelming urge to give up, surrender to his thoughts, let them get the best of him. It isn’t the first time he’s been close to abandoning his logic, but it is the first time he really considers it. It’s more like a stormy sea now, rather than a deepless pit as it had been on other days. It’s inviting, and it reeks of destruction. Damiano feels a strange tug, he feels self destructive. So, he allows his thoughts to get the best of him, taking over any logic in his mind. Simply pushing them back isn’t doing anything for anyone.
He looks at his reflection again. Picks at it. The pimple on his temple, the hairs poking through his skin, forming stubble. His messy eyebrows, one eyelid hanging lower than the other. He seeks to create insecurity, to escalate his thoughts. And his thoughts have escalated, but he’s too scared of them. His eyes fall on the pills by the counter. The damned prescription. He forgot to take his dose, fuck.
He throws his head back. The light is too bright, it’s stinging his eyes, but he doesn’t want anyone here. He doesn’t need them by his side, even if his body screams at him. Drop it, drop the act. then, do it, fucking do it, stop being a fucking coward. He’s weak, too weak, and he does it, he grabs the bottle with his prescription in shaky hands, uncapping it. There isn’t any need to count, it’s a new bottle that he opened in the morning. There have to be about forty in there, and he doubts he’d be able to take all of them at once. They’re tiny, they fit into his palms just fine, and the bottle has maybe two or three left in there.
He looks down at his hands, and the feeling is overwhelming. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck.
Damiano is suffocating, a phantom pair of hands wrap around his neck, pressing with no little force onto his throat, thumbs digging into his skin as he tries to breathe. It's too much, it's all too much, please, just please just let him breathe-
He can't. Can't think. Can only feel the ever-present panic shaking incessantly throughout his form and sinking to his stomach, as heavy air presses in all around him and he-
He doesn't know what he's doing, what he’s doing, what's happening, he doesn't know, can't help can't can't can't can't-
He can't. fuck. fuck-
And. and he's really so stupid, so fucking dumb and such a fucking baby that he's acting like this, isn't he, because nothing happened, he just had a fight, just had some thoughts, just, just, just he's overreacting and there's nothing much to it, and-
He's not there. He's not there. Here. Where? Only here, only existence, only the overwhelming sensations clawing at his skin and begging for attention, which he gives them because he's stupid like that, because he gives in, because he's weak, weak, and it's too hot and he's suddenly overcame by the thought that he wants to claw his own skin off his bones.
He knows his breathing is unsteady, and he tries to hide it because he just knows he’s getting more and more overwhelmed, tries to hide his panic, hands both trembling, but it’s just making it worse and, fuck, he’s just making everything worse. The almost empty pill bottle drops to the floor.
He isn’t even twenty and yet here he is, clammy hand shaking as he grips a handful of pills he emptied on his palm and wonders if it would even matter if he took them all right then. He doesn’t know what he is doing, his mind runs blank, he feels light-headed and his right hand grips on the sink for dear life. He looks up again and the light sheen on his paler skin makes him look ill, feel ill.
There’s taste of sick in his mouth, the acid burns his throat, and god, is he about to throw up? Damiano doesn’t want to consider the option even, and his grip on the sink slips when his knees buck forward randomly. It sends his back flat on the tiles across and he just lets himself slide lower and lower, his empty hand over his mouth, trying to muffle the sobs that leave his mouth.
He’s being loud, too loud, so loud. He can’t breathe, the hands around his neck are still there, and someone must be pressing a two-ton plaque on his chest, because even deep breaths aren’t working, not when his torso as a whole is on fire.
His hands shake, incredibly so. His mind is racing, the lack of oxygen makes his thoughts fuzzy and unclear, but one thought hasn’t moved the slightest bit.
The pills are rattling against each other in his palm, and he strains to even raise it to his face. Tet-a-tet. With his thoughts, with the feeling plaguing them, the whole origin to his spiral.
Selfish. It rings in his ears louder than a microphone pitch, and he can’t think of anything, nothing besides one thought. You can’t hurt anyone if you’re dead. Their pain is prolonged by your very existence, it says, it sings, and it’s song seems too appealing to his exhausted brain, even if his body is doing everything in its wake to stop him, before he’s done something stupid, hurtful.
Go it pushes, and he’s about to.
“Damiano? Are you awake?”
And he stills.
“It’s Vic, if you can’t figure,”
Shit. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.
“I just wanted to apologise, if you’ll let me”
God, fuck fuck fuck fuck. Why now, why right now? Fuck off, he wants to say. Don’t pretend you care, he wants to say, but he’s taken all his pent up anger out on himself, so much so he can’t even speak. Victoria’s words just linger in the air, heavy.
“I’ll try to be quick, I promise” she says, and Damiano hears a slight tremble in her words. She had been crying, he made her cry. His brain is already jumping to conclusions, and he opens his palm, looking at the pills only centimetres away.
“I’m sorry, Dam, so fucking sorry. I was so stressed after the interview, ‘cause, fuck, I was also thinking it went bad, and I wasn’t in the mood to hear your complaining. But what I said, I never thought it through, not until we came back and you slammed the door shut, which you wouldn’t do if you weren’t upset. And I was worried, still am. I asked Gio if you talked and she said you two did, and that you were acting weird, but she didn’t push you” Vic pauses to take a breath in, and he knows she’s shaking from her side. And he’s shaking too, and he feels cold against the tiles.
“I, um, I told her about our fight, ‘cause I needed to tell someone or I would explode, and I accidentally worried her more, but I assured her you’re fine, or I thought you were at least. Anyway, uh, I was thinking that I should apologise in the morning, maybe get you some coffee as part of a truce, but I heard you earlier, it sounded like you were crying. And I felt terrible, I tried to come up with a good enough apology for you, because it isn’t often you actually cry, and it’s less often you’re alone when you do, so I wanted to make sure you know I didn’t mean anything from what I said, and I’m fucking sorry if I planted doubts in your head, because they aren’t fucking real,” she says, and takes a deep breath in. “Fuck” she says, and it’s shaky, because she’s trying not to cry. Damiano knows her, knows the signs, and she knows she’s telling the truth.
Fuck. Fuck him.
Is this out of concern perhaps, or maybe pity? Damiano didn’t want her fucking pity, it was pity, Vic wouldn’t be concerned about a waste of space like him. He tries to ignore her words, her apology trying to process in his head, leaning on the bathroom walls. Fuck, he could feel his tears pooling up again. He rubbed his eyes vigorously, hoping that it just disappeared. It felt fucking awful, his eyes blinded by the watery liquid, he could feel the tears streaking down his face, a few drops of it reaching his lips, the faint salty taste lingering in his mouth. How did he even get to this point in his life?
God, he hated how much he felt. How much he bled his emotions onto the page of the world. When he is high, it is great, he can fly, he is on top of the world. The highs are great. But the lows- The lows are excruciating. He’s still shaking, and he’s still cold, frozen in place, when a new thought overwhelms his mind.
I don’t want this.
It’s simple, understandable, and still so fucking much. He tries to breathe, but the adrenaline of his- what even was it, a spiral? Depressive episode? Whatever it was, the adrenaline had worn off, and the realisation of what he was about to do, what he could still do and what he wanted to do is crashing on him, fast and rough and unforgiving.
“You must be asleep; or ignoring me. I wouldn’t blame you for either. God, that’d be weird if you were asleep, I’d be talking to myself for however long” Victoria says, and her voice is grounding, maybe to a certain degree, to the degree where he isn’t heaving anymore, knowing she’s there, and that she can help, and that she wants to help him. A particularly loud sob leaves his throat, and his body is aching all over.
Fuck, fuck fuck fuck. He kicks the tiles across, but it’s to no use, it won’t help him. It only makes it worse, and he stops with a hiss when he manages to cut his shin on a sharp part under the sink.
“Damiano?” he hears, and she knows she heard. The cry, the hiss, the curses dropping out his mouth, the ones he deems silent because his ears are stuffed and his head is hurting, throbbing.
"Are you okay?". The concern thick in her voice makes Damiano's eyes sting with more tears. "Yeah," he starts to say, before he changes his mind. He fucking needs her help, whether his stupid fucking brain likes that fact or not. "No," he admits, and his voice sounds beaten up. "Not really."
"Can I come in?" Victoria asks. Her voice is too careful, too gentle. He can still pick up a tremble, a waver, and Victoria is scared. Damiano winces.
"Yes," he says, although he wants to say no. He wants to refuse entry to her, he wants to hide, hide hide hide. He wants, wants, wants, wants. The thought of being selfish resurfaces, scares him, and he can’t do it.
Victoria swears she’s never run faster around a hotel room before.
Her mind is racing, what else would it do?
Not really, he had replied, and his voice had been shaky, and beat-up. Damiano’s voice had never been like that, ever, as far Vic is concerned.
“Please,” he cries, and it's almost inaudible to Vic. Almost. Thank fucking god for the shitty walls they have. Her room has never felt so fucking big, until she has to look for a very specific and small key.
Not in this drawer.
Maybe in the closet?
Fuck, what if she returned it to the reception?
She takes a drawer holding millions of flyers, from various restaurants around the area, the key falling on the carpet with a small thud. Her hands grab it as soon as she’s thrown the drawer on her bed, running to unlock the door that separates their rooms. It had been a weird detail at first, but now she couldn’t be more thankful for it. She’s shaking, she knows, and she hastily pushes the door into the wall, connecting the two rooms. Her eyes skim around the room, and she spots him curled up on himself, rocking himself back and forth in the bathroom of the room, hands in fists and on his head.
Damiano could only make out a blurry figure entering the room through his peripheral. Maybe the universe didn’t actually have a special hate for him. Her hurried steps provided a sufficient distraction, and a tempo he could try to match his breathing to. His palms are sweaty, and the pills are disintegrating in his hand, sticking to each other.
“Damiano?” she asks, and his eyes are unfocused. He is shaking a lot, and Victoria can spot the sheen on his back, and his skintone paler than what she’s used to seeing. She kneels down to his level, brushing the hairs that are stuck on his forehead, his shoulders, his neck, gathering it in a bun above his head.
“Dami?” she repeats, softer this time, trying to control the concern shining through in her words. She holds her hand out, trying to maybe hold Damiano, pull him out of the bathroom, but she quickly retracts it when he flinches violently. He tries to push himself further in the bathroom, scared out of his mind. Victoria’s sure, she’s witnessed and experienced enough panic attacks to know.
Damiano closes his eyes and swallows hard. He’s shaking, a worrying amount, and he tries to fix his breaths desperately. He can’t even think properly, he’s so fucking underoxygenated. It’s just I DON’T WANT THIS all over his head, and it won’t help anyone anytime soon if he doesn’t manage to respond to Vic. His eyes burn when he manages to open them again, and he tries to make eye contact with Victoria, trying to focus on her features, trying to find something grounding.
He chokes back a sob, and the room seems to close on him. The walls feel closer, and the fact he can’t breathe isn’t helping his panic. Maybe he is dying after all. No need for unnecessary drugs.
Hands are on his waist, pulling hard, and he’s not in the bathroom anymore. The carpet feels warm, and he tries to welcome that feeling as much as possible. He feels a twitch run though him, and there’s an overwhelming urge to go back, hide, hide, hide, fucking hide.
His whimpers are heart wrenching and Victoria is near tears as she tries to help Damiano calm down. It isn’t like she doesn’t know what to do, but she’s so scared she can’t think of what to even start with.
She kneels down by him, and Damiano latches on her like a hurt toddler in need of comfort. She lets him cling on her, running her hand up and down his back in an attempt to soothe him. It’s futile, and she figures just so when a sob so intense runs through her body, when it passes through Damiano, too. He tries to speak, but it’s all failed breaths and pained cries. His balled up hand nudges her back when Damiano claws in further, and she prys it with her own back between them. Damiano buries his head in the crook of her neck, and she attempts to break his grip on whatever has balled in his fist. He opens his hand instantly, and Victoria wouldn't have known what it was if she hadn’t seen the empty bottle just by Damiano’s side, and actually seeing the mass of pills that had morphed to the shape of his palm makes her heart skip a beat.
“I changed my mind,” he whispers in her neck, and Victoria’s breathing stops.
“I changed my mind, I don’t want this” he repeats, voice breaking as he tries to hide further in her embrace. She’s confused, and worried sick. “What does that mean?” she asks, but it comes out too harsh for Damiano, who just sobs in her chests, breathing calmer, yet still uneven. Vic’s panic isn’t letting her think clearly.
Did he take any? Is that why he can’t breathe? God how many are in those fucking bottles?
“Damiano, what do you mean?” she begs, ignoring the tight feeling on her chest. Does she call an ambulance? Will Damiano die in her arms, just because they can’t communicate? Fuck. She has to work it out. Now.
“Damiano, love, I need you to listen to me, okay?”. Damiano doesn’t respond verbally, but the sharp inhale he takes sounds a lot like a ‘yes’.
“Did you take any?” she repeats, voice loud and clear, but running calm. She is surprised at herself. He shakes his head no in her neck, she feels his mouth ‘no’ against her skin. She can finally breathe again, allowing herself to relax in their embrace. His hands claw on her back hard, trying to stop his breathing from picking up again. She can’t tell, but something must be resurfacing in his thoughts, something is still running though his mind, and if he doesn’t manage to take some proper breaths within the next minute she will have to call the ambulance.
She holds on him, palms flat against his back, trying to naturally regulate his breathing. She takes a breath in, and her expanding chest pushes Damiano’s shaking one out. She holds it in for a moment, closing her burning eyes as he convulses in her arms. She lets out the breath, pushing down on his back firmly. The muscle gives away easily under her touch. She repeats the motion, with every breath she takes in, Damiano exhales the previous one.
After he is calm, Victoria lets him breathe alone, running a hand up and down his back for any sort of comfort. She just sits, enjoying his warmth, calming her own racing mind down. The warmth he could have so easily lost. hadn’t she spoken up and apologised.
Damiano takes in a ragged breath and pulls away from Vic, her hands quickly detaching from his back.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice scratchy. His headache is back, and his brain must be throbbing against his skull. His hands lay in his lap.
“You’re- you’re okay,” she replies with an exhale, picking at her nails.
Damiano’s vision focuses for the first time in what must be hours. Victoria’s eyes are red and she looks completely messed up.
Great job Damiano! Way to go! What an amazing friend you are! Fucking asshole.
His eyes start to water again, and he quickly wipes the tears before Vic has time to notice.
“Once again,” she starts, clearing her throat. “I’m really sorry, for- uh- earlier,”
Damiano cringes at the thought, bringing his knees to his chest. He doesn’t reply.
“You should-” he says, taking a deep breath to ground his thoughts. “you should go to bed. It’s, uh, it’s getting really late”. He punches his open palm, closing his burning eyes.
“I’ll be fine. You should go rest first,” she rebutts, and he’s about to protest, but shuts it down before any words make it out his mouth.
“You must be, exhausted after, um, this”
He swallows hard, and she regrets ever mentioning it. He nods, rising to his feet quickly and walking to his bed. Victoria follows short after, walking towards the bathroom. She drops the handful of pills in the toilet, flushing them down. The box on the floor still has two in it, but they’re nowhere near enough. She sets them down on the counter, grabbing a painkiller and some water for the older, closing the door behind her.
Walking back to the main room, he’s sitting on the bed, murmuring to himself, head in his hands. She can’t quite understand him, so she doesn’t bother to intervene. She just nudges him gently, placing the little white pill in his mouth, handing him the bottle of water. He accepts it, swallowing with a grimace, leaving the bottle by the bedside table.
His eyelids hang, and Vic knows he’s fighting back sleep. She helps him lay down on the cotton sheets, pulling the comforter over him and goes to his suitcase to maybe grab a shirt he could wear to bed. Before she’s even turned around, Damiano is already fast asleep, breathing laboured with sleep. Vic can see his legs twitching from under the comforter, and she just kisses his head softly, walking back to her room and closing the door behind her.
“Welcome. You’re only,” Leo checks his watch with a shake of his arm. “Twenty minutes late”. Damiano doesn’t reply to his snarky comment, and Victoria can tell he hasn’t slept well at all. She could hear some cries from his room at some point in the night, but she knew it was better to not be all over him.
“Did you take out your prescription from your suitcase?” Leo asks, and Damiano just pushes his sunglasses up.
“I don’t have any left,” he replies, and Leo seems confused, but doesn’t reply.
“Alright, we have considerably less time to get to the airport, so no coffee for you,”. No one seems to be too affected by Leo’s words, and they all make their way to the car in silence. Victoria itches to go to Damiano and ask him if he’s alright, maybe apologise again. He seems to be colder than he was yesterday after their fight, and she can hear his conflicting thoughts from where she sits.
The ride to the airport isn’t long, considering a lack of traffic and the missing stop for some coffee. There is total silence everywhere they go, and she can’t understand why this silence hurts her ears. Normally, they’re filled with banter, or when they aren’t the atmosphere is pleasant and warm. She felt cold.
Going through the routine checks, no one jokes about Damiano and Vic ‘smuggling drugs’. No one jokes about Ethan having to go through a pat-down because his bulge is ‘suspiciously big’. Nothing about Thomas’ suitcase being heavier than himself. Victoria feels a bit melancholic, but she blames it on everyone being tired out of their mind. Her anxiety is making her thoughts reel, but she has managed to ground herself with common sense.
“Damiano, keep an eye on your phone, if I call you it means we’re boarding” Leo says, and Damiano nods, disappearing from the group's eyes. Victoria curiously follows him, too worried for her own damn good.
Damiano walks, quickly, trying to maneuver around the near empty airport. He feels tears prick at his eyes, and he’s taking his bag in his hands, in desperate need of a smoke. He’s almost outside, but someone pulls him back and-
“Fuck” he yells, dropping his bag. He takes a deep breath, then another, and Vic’s hand against him is the final straw.
“What?” he yells, aware of the guard looking straight at them. “What, Vic? Interested in me all of a sudden?” he continues, and the tears spill hot down his face. Victoria makes a move, but she never reaches to wipe them off.
Fuck. Fuck him, fuck this, Damiano thinks, and he’s boiling, a sob running through his whole body, rather violently. VIctoria watches him, concern blatant on her face.
“We have to talk about last ni-”
“No we fucking don’t” he exclaims, and Victoria tries to reply. “We won’t talk about it, not now, not anytime soon”
“No! Vic! Talking seems so easy to you, you think it’ll solve everything, you think it will erase the fact I almost fucking commited suicide last night?”. Victoria swallows, and Damiano seems amused.
“Oh, please, were you really so oblivious to think it was a random coincidence? I’m sure you’re smart enough to know what’s happening at certain times”. Victoria looks down, coaxing more out of him. She knows he’s mad, and sooner or later, he’ll admit why he’s so pissy and uncooperative.
“What, Vic? Too stunned to speak? Or did I trigger you, somehow? As if you didn’t practically tell me to go fuck off yesterday, bringing the whole band into it, making me believe Giorgia even didn’t fucking like my existence”. Victoria lets him get it out, and her phone vibrates in her pocket.
‘boarding in 10. dont be late, i really need to go home’ from Leo.
“I really hope, really wish, you never drive yourself to such insanity Vic, because I am so close to losing my mind from the things you said to me, because I can’t even look at my fucking reflection without getting flashbacks to last night, when I couldn’t fucking breathe”. Damiano takes a deep breath in, and his hands fidget with the box of cigarettes. Victoria stops his hands with her own.
“I know simply saying sorry won’t fix shit,” she starts, calm and collected against Damiano, who is anything but that. “But you need to know that whatever I said was because of my own anxious spiral. I didn’t know how to approach you after, you seemed so cold and I was worried you were still mad. And I’m so fucking sorry you can’t even fix your hair in the mirror because of something I caused, but cussing me out in the middle of the airport won’t fix shit either”. Damiano nods, sniffling, trying to get his breaths under control again. “I know, I’m sorry, but I feel like I’ll fucking explode,” Damiano explains, and she nods reassuringly.
“I know. And I promise, when we land, we can go look for a specialist. Pick up therapy again, hm?”. He nods, and she brings him in a half hug as their gate comes into sight.
“I love you”. Victoria smiles, really fucking wide. His own face wears a giddy smile, and she just hugs him impossibly tight. “I know, dumbass,” she says, and Damiano picks her up from the waist.
“Say it back, shithead,” he says, and Vic wriggles out of his hold. “Only if you let me ride your back,” she says, and Damiano compromises, leaning forward. Vic jumps on his back with a yelp, and her arms loop around his neck.
With a kiss to his temple, she says “I love you too,”. Damiano spins them around once, and Vic giggles. “I promise, you’ll get better. I will ensure you do,” she says, and Damiano just bites back a smile.
“I know you will, you caused all of it,”
Victoria hits his head with her bag, and they both are a mess of laughter when they’re back at the gate.
Tags : @writingmaneskin , @oro-e-diamanti , @cheese-toastie-11 , @teenyweenynightghost , @idyllicbutterfly , @iosonoarina , @que--sera--sera , @i-cant-remember-my-old-login
I was supposed to go out and eat with my dad but i dont know where is my id (my mom probs took it) so now im just crying in my room because its always my fault,im stupid,and shouldnt l¡ve but maybe i wont have to eat so yay ig¿ anyways i hope you have a great day
Maybe all the agony, abuse, distress, rage and pain would feel worth it one day..
But till today, it still only hurts.
I hate my whole existence.
do u like this outfit??
meu corpo ligou o modo sobrevivência fazendo de tudo para que eu viva, drogas e álcool parecem ser a saída,
minha mente pede descanso
não aguento mais fingir
everything just needs to stop
11/25/21: The reason why I’m going to keep going today is…
Sharing a little Animal Crossing post. TW: Suicide/self harm.
Today was Thanksgiving and it was at best a so-so day. I’ve been going through a lot in my personal life that has been stressful and anxiety inducing on a daily basis. It’s why I made this blog… sometimes the depression and stress gets to be so much I contemplate self harm.
I spent some time with the bit of family I have but it’s not much. I enjoyed it as much as I could with my headspace, but even then my little joy felt like it was a stream fighting a waterfall.
Then I remembered it was Turkey Day in Animal Crossing. I logged in and seeing my smiling villagers happy to see me, dancing around a nice meal that I helped create… it helped me escape for a while. I’m just sad it’ll go away at midnight but for the time being I’m taking pictures and taking some time to enjoy this escapism.
Thank you Animal Crossing for bringing some happiness to my day that I wouldn’t have had otherwise.
TW: suicidal mentions.
11/25/21: The reason why I’m going to keep going today is…
Thanksgiving was honestly more sad than anything. Maybe not sad but… melancholy? But I did have a nice brunch with family and aside from that just tried to be kind to myself.
11/24/21: The reason why I’m going to keep going today is…
It was an okay day. I watched one of my favorite movies at night and stayed up super late to watch another. Fun self care
Ella me agradeció por haberle salvado la vida y ahora que necesito alguien que me salve ella no está ahí.
true love doesnt.