Late Night Confessions

A/N: Hello, I know it's been a while, but it's finally here - the latest and also the last chapter of Late Night Confessions. I want to thank all of you for investing your time into this fic, sharing your personal stories. I never thought this fanfic would help people deal with their problems, but I am very thankful that it's been helpful, I feel even somewhat proud.
Thank you!

Your forehead rests on the hard and cold wooden door. You don’t know how much time has passed, but you’re sure that the room is now empty. Well, except him of course. You haven’t knocked; you’re still waiting for something you don’t understand yourself. Some motivation, the final push, a sense of courage. But what if you just left and never returned? You could pretend that you never figured it out even though you tried (you never did try). Leave, avoid confrontation, avoid conflict, avoid this hurtful situation. But no, lying, running, pretending would not help you get better, it never did. And so, even if you didn’t want to discover this, even if you wanted to ignore it, you need to talk to him about this. You need his help to figure this shit out, besides, you’re sure it’s what he meant the last time you spoke. It’s funny, only after that nightmare you understood what he meant, why he was so terrified for your well-being, concerned for your “progress”. And people say dreams don’t mean anything, what a stupid bunch. Dreams are probably the only signs you ever notice, you’re too inattentive to notice anything else, ever. Another minute is ticking away and you sigh, then gather up your courage (or what’s left of it). You need this, you need to step forward, you need to knock, you need to come clean and hope for the best. It’s just…

When you do knock, it’s as if the sound can be heard throughout the whole building, it’s so loud you think you might have smashed through a wall or something. Or maybe it just seems so rattling because you’re as tense as a bowstring.

   “Come in,” you hear him say calmly. “The door is open,” you inhale sharply, and then push the heavy door open.

   “Lexa?” The psychiatrist looks up at you, genuinely astonished. “Forgive my surprise, it’s good to see you, it’s been a few weeks. How are you feeling? Is something wrong?” He asks immediately after you sit in the armchair and stare at the carpet. You smile sadly at the last question and shake your head a bit, clenching the cuffs of your black hoodie.

   “Not… exactly,” you answer dryly. “I thought about what you said and I finally understand.”

Everything beyond the room disappears into nothing; it’s just you and him.

*****

   “I never tried to get better for myself,” you hear yourself say. You gulp because your throat feels itchy and wrong. “I’ve never even thought of getting better for myself,” if now is not the best time to be honest, you’re not sure when will that time ever be.

He stares at you, ten, twenty, thirty seconds, and then he takes off his glasses and cleans them. Neither of you say a word; you think you hear your blood circulating in your veins, your heart beating in your chest. A shiver runs down your spine and your skin feels clammy from the cold sweat. The black undershirt is stuck to your skin and you feel uncomfortable.

   “That was what I meant the last time we met, Lexa,” he says and sighs shortly. “That is why I told you that you were getting better way too fast for normal development,” he throws a glance at the window and then concentrates on you.

   “You could’ve just told me, you could’ve just outright told me this,” you shake your head. “Because you knew, you knew all too well that my progress was an empty bubble, that it didn’t mean shit,” you try your best to stay calm.

   “No, Lexa,” he steals a glance of you then looks hard at the floor. “You needed to work this out yourself, I only showed you the path,” the psychiatrist takes out the clipboard from the nearest drawer and a pen from his pocket. There’s no doubt he’s going to commemorate this great revelation. The secret is out.

   “How incredibly cliché,” you blurt out as he clicks the pen and starts writing something down. He throws you a look of disapproval, but you just roll your eyes. There’s a long pause before you manage to ask this nagging question that’s been at the back of your mind. “Am I a lost cause?” You ask carefully and turn your head to the wall.

   “Of course not!” He replies almost angrily, agitated, but then calms down. “Don’t ever think that you’re a lost cause. Besides, some people have it worse,” he says casually.

   “And most have it better,” you cross your hands across your chest raising your eyebrows.

   “Point taken, but individuals are unique and have a lot of things that condition their behavior – environment, family, friends, values…” he recites.

You stare through the window, the grey clouds are threatening to spill and you realize that you don’t have an umbrella. You rushed out the minute you woke up – without your cell phone, wallet or umbrella. Well, the walk to the dorm room is going to be fun.

   “I’ve never really cared about myself that much,” you say suddenly. “I mostly ignored everything that came up related to my well-being,” you realize how ridiculous it sounds the second the words leave your mouth.

No, it’s not even ridiculous - it’s outright of pathetic. Why have you never took the time and care about yourself? Oh, right, probably because you always hated yourself, that’s why. For some reason, you always thought that if you started to care about yourself, you’d become a narcissistic asshole who doesn’t give a damn about others. Again, black and white, jumping from one extreme to the other… You need to realize that there are shades of gray, that nothing’s ever that simple. It’s not healthy to hate yourself, just the same as it’s not healthy to worship yourself. God, this is really frustrating. Still, hating and despising yourself won’t change a thing; you’ll still be you no matter what you do, that doesn’t change the facts. You hazily remember how Jake said to accept who you are. But how? You’re just a very, very flawed human who’s not even remotely trying to change anything for the better.

   “How do people get better?” You ask silently. “How do they heal?”

   “They try, a lot, they work to get better. It’s no small task, Lexa,” he smiles a bit. “Healing is no small task. I know that you hate yourself, you’ve said it multiple times, or that you don’t care about yourself. But just think how much energy you’d conserve, if you were more at peace with who you are,” the psychiatrist encourages.

   “Is that even possible?” Your voice gets hard, cold. “To accept yourself? How do you deal with failures when you know that it’s all you all the time?” You ask and lower your gaze so now you’re staring at the red carpet. How do other people work it out? How do they forgive themselves after they fail? Because you never seem to let go. “Hey, remember that time you fucked up four months ago… There’s always that time when…” These thoughts are constantly buzzing in your head, never leaving you alone.

   “You adjust, you accept it, you deem to try and do better, make better choices,” he adjusts in his seat and coughs a bit. “You get stubborn and don’t back down no matter what.”

   “What if I wake up one day and realize that I don’t like my choices?” You counter.

   “Lexa, there are infinite possibilities for things to go wrong. Isn’t it better to concentrate on what is good right now?” The psychiatrist asks honestly. “Isn’t it worth trying at least?”

You sit there, thinking, thinking, wondering. You realize how you’ve never thought of things going the right way, probably because you were always scared that if you think too optimistically, invest yourself too much – you’ll burn. And look at how that turned out to be – your view on everything is laced with cynicism and a constant question of “When will everything go wrong?” haunts your mind. You pretend it doesn’t hurt as much when you’re being pessimistic, because you knew it would happen, you knew it couldn’t have worked out. Truth is, it hurts even more because every time you feel knocked down even lower than the last time. There’s no motivation to think everything will go well this time or that time, it’s a constant ride of disappointment.

Yet people work on themselves to get better, they try. You need to start doing that.

   “Where do I start?” You ask simply.

*****

It’s the end of March and even though it’s warm, the rain doesn’t stop. It never stops; you don’t remember the last time the weather was relevantly ok. It’s always cloudy with no chance in seeing the sunlight. Hands in your pockets, you try your best to walk as fast as you can. Not that it matters, you’re already soaked. You think back to the talk you had, you can’t help but feel lighter, you’re even filled with…hope? But at the same time, you feel terrible, outright gruesome. You’re not sure you’ll get better, you’re not sure everything won’t just crash down and end in pain and sorrow. You know nothing, and it’s the most liberating or the most terrifying revelation (you don’t know which one, yet). You’re not cured, you’re not even better, all of your progress was an illusion, something you could feed others with. Look, I’m feeling decent, look, I’m not hurting myself, look, look, look… You just realize that you got worse and there’s no point to sugarcoat it. You’ve been in this stasis, frozen, pretending to get better, pretending to care about yourself. But you never did. You just thought how you needed to get better for Clarke, for your parents, for your friends. You needed to get better for everyone but yourself. You thought how you needed to stand up on your own two feet and stop weighing them down. The fact is, you weren’t weighing them down, you were just slowly immersing yourself in water, and before you knew it, it was too late. You drowned.

You need to stop ignoring your mistakes; you need to own up to them.

*****

    “Lexa?”  Clarke asks as you open the door to your room. She just stands there, frozen, not knowing what to say for a while. “Oh my god, I was so worried, where were you? I tried calling you multiple times, only to notice that you left your phone,” she runs up to you with eyes wide open and hugs you tightly even though you’re drenched.

   “I…I’m,” you try, your throat suddenly dry, itchy. You cough a bit, but it doesn’t help. “I’m fine, Clarke. Really. I went to see my psychiatrist. Sorry that I didn’t tell you,” you say. Clarke holds your look, blue eyes questioning, searching, but she doesn’t say anything more, just nods.

You carefully take off your black hoodie, feeling lighter as the blonde goes to the bathroom to bring you a dry towel. Clarke then takes a few steps to boil water for tea or coffee, and then just stares silently at you. Your black undershirt sticks to your skin and you have difficulties taking it off. The damn thing just makes you annoyed.

   “Here, let me help you,” Clarke says as she carefully removes the shirt and you step out of your black skinny jeans which are too hard to take off. You almost fall face first on the ground. “Are you cold?” She asks, but you just shake your head. You feel fine.

She makes you black tea while you try to dry your hair, sitting on the chair only in your black underwear. You pat your hair and think about the conversation you had, how you agreed to see your psychiatrist twice a week instead of once. You’re not sure it will help, but when were you ever sure of anything in your life?

   “Are you hungry?” Clarke asks, concern evident in her bright eyes, her hands grip the edges of the counter while she leans her back on it. You feel like an idiot for leaving your phone here, she must’ve been worried sick when she didn’t find you in your room. Especially when she said she would come over. You say that it was an emergency; you needed to see him (it isn’t even a lie).

   “No, I’m good, thanks,” you say as you continue to pat yourself dry with the soft towel. Your skin is covered in goosebumps, but it doesn’t feel clammy anymore.

Clarke turns away to brew herself some coffee. Now’s your chance. You put down the towel silently and tiptoe to her, carefully embracing her waist, putting your chin on her shoulder. You squeeze a bit and hold her as close as you can.

   “You’re cold,” she puts her warm hands on yours, giggling.

   “I know,” you whisper and kiss her shoulder through the white T-shirt. “I’m sorry.”

   “I love you,” Clarke whispers as she turns in your hands. You stare into her eyes for a second before answering.

   “I know,” you repeat as you turn your head a bit to leave a trail of kisses down her neck.

Your tea and her coffee are left forgotten, untouched.

*****

She bites your collarbone as she pushes you forcefully to bed. Every move is desperate, passionate. Your fingers find the hem of her shirt and you get rid of it in one swift motion, throwing it somewhere on the floor, near the table. Your hands go back to her waist and massage the warm skin there, but at the same time pulling her towards you. Clarke undoes her own pants and swiftly takes them off before you both fall onto the unmade bed. She straddles you; her hips bracket your thighs as her hands find your shoulders. You like this, feeling the weight of her, never minding how she’s always on top of you. You smile a bit and stare at her slightly disheveled hair; her blue eyes with the pupils dilated, hunger evident in them. Her gracious neck, her favorite lacy bra, her smooth stomach and ample hips... Clarke smirks, then runs her thumb across your lower lip, then cups your cold cheek. You hungrily place your hands on her hips and squeeze a bit, making Clarke laugh. She stops laughing the minute you hook your fingers in her underwear and start slowly dragging it down.

   “Lexa,” she says breathlessly and you know; you understand the question without words.

   “Clarke,” you say simply as you lick your lips before they latch somewhere slightly above the edge of her bra. Clarke’s eyes close in ecstasy; her left hand tangles in your hair and pulls you closer.

Clarke then suddenly surges forward, seeking your mouth, crashing your lips together. You slip in against her tongue, explore her mouth, meanwhile your fingers go upwards and undo her bra, which she takes off herself. She lunges into you again with so much passion, you feel like you’re burning up from the heat, the love, the beginning and the end. The moment she removes your last garment, you flip the two of you over and land on top of her. The blonde raises an eyebrow before pulling you closer to her, encouraging whatever you had planned. You kiss her skin slowly; it’s as if you’re mapping every crevice, every skin cell. Your fingers trace every curve, every bump, every ridge. You already knew all of them long before; it doesn’t mean you have to stop worshipping her.

   “Lexa…” Clarke is breathless again. It’s not a plead, it’s not a question, it’s a statement.

You make your way down to her stomach, then lower, lower, lower… You eat her out so slowly that her thighs keep quivering long after you’re done.

*****

It’s been a week since you last saw your psychiatrist.

   “You’ll get worse before you get better, Lexa,” he said in a knowing tone. “It’s inevitable.”

You dismissed it, thinking “not me, no way”, but everything did crash down, vanish, disappear. You feel like you need to cry, to let it all out, but it’s the best time right now. You sit in a boring class and wonder what Clarke’s thinking now. You think back to the moment you met, the moment you kissed, the moment you had sex for the first time. Could anything that happened in your life have been different? Would you have chosen differently? You feel trapped and to be honest, a little lost.

You’re probably a bad person, right? Nothing ever feels right, even the things that should. You probably have the highest grades here, so what? You still feel like a stranger every time you attend class, you still feel like a slacker who never does anything. You’re lazy, boring and pretentious. Sometimes, you think that you just lie to yourself, pretend to be happy so that you can trick yourself. Trick yourself into thinking you’re not a lost cause. But you are, it will always be like this, no matter how many times other people will object and deny. You wonder who you truly are, behind all of those masks you wear and are forced to wear. Life is just an act. Put on one mask, act out a scene. A pause. Then you change your mask and pretend again. It goes on and on and on… When are you being yourself? Where is this “you” in all of this uncertainty, in all of these masked disguises? Was there ever a “you”? Or did you always belong to other people, to those who grabbed a piece early on? You feel disassociated, like it’s not your body, like it’s not you. It’s as if you’re standing somewhere nearby and looking at yourself, never being able to understand which one is the real one. Was there ever a real one?

Everyone keeps saying that it gets better, but does it? It all depends on the effort. You feel worse by the hour, by the day. Clarke does her best to cheer you up, and you feel grateful for that, but to be honest, it’s not something that can be fixed with a cheesy pun, sexual reference or a lame joke. Though you do appreciate her efforts.

There’s heavy silence in the room, even though there should be chatter. Suddenly you hear the spring rain outside. You try your best not to cry.

It doesn’t matter anymore.

*****

   “How are you doing?” Your dad asks without the usual coldness in his voice; and you’re thankful at least for that because you can’t deal with anything anymore.

   “I’m doing fine, dad,” you say automatically. Something says that he did not buy it, because he sighs into the phone and you brace yourself for a never ending tirade of doom.

   “Lexa, you don’t have to lie,” he sighs again. “We all want you to get better,” he whispers into the phone. Really? Does he really mean that?

   “How convenient,” you counter coldly. It comes naturally; you’ve always talked with your parents like that. Though you do feel a pang of guilt because your dad’s questions seem genuine. You curse yourself for being like this and swear to at least try to be more sociable.

   “I know mom and I haven’t been the best parents. We haven’t been around that much and you managed to do everything on your own, become an outstanding individual, but please do not forget that we still love you,” he tries, and your heart just sinks.

You bring up your left hand to your forehead, shielding your face, shaking your head. People give you a second chance without a backward look, even if you keep fucking up. You need to do the same; it’s not fair for you to judge others for something like this, never even giving them a second chance if they screw up. You pace around the room a bit, feeling as if your heart is going to jump out of your chest any second. You swallow roughly. Your hands are shaking. Your dad waits patiently, even though it takes you minute to reply.

   “I’m sorry,” you want to cry; you choke on your words. “I’m sorry,” the tears spill and roll down your cheeks. You choke out another sob.

   “We might not understand everything that is going on, but we love you no matter what,” he says sadly, and you just breakdown completely.

You cry into the phone, clutching it to your ear, and keep apologizing until there are no tears left, until you’re not even sure if blood is still running through your veins.

   “Lexa, darling,” you hear your mom’s voice on the phone. “Don’t cry, it’s ok.”

   “No, it’s not,” you wipe your face with your free hand. “I’m not sure anything can help me, I feel trapped and I feel like I’ll never get better. And I just keep hurting everyone,” you confess to the person you thought you’d never say these words.

   “You will, of course you will get better,” she says. “You just need time, you can’t get better in an instant, that’s not how it works,” mom explains warmly, and you suddenly calm down.

   “I…I really hope so,” you say, trying to calm your breath.

The rest of the call went ok and for the first time in who knows how long, you didn’t want it to end.

*****

   “Girls, I am so happy that you came to see me,” Jake smiles and you smile right back. “Clarke, I do hope you brought what I asked?” You look at Jake, then you look at her confused, but Clarke just rolls her eyes and searches her purse.

   “Here,” she says as she gives him a bar of milk chocolate. When you realize what’s going on, you start laughing hysterically.

   “You’re sneaking him snacks, really? That’s badass, Clarke,” you say and Jake starts laughing too. “You must be really brave to defy Abby. You know, I will never forget you babe,” you hold up your hand and Jake gives you a high-five.

Clarke looks annoyed, but still kisses your cheek. She smiles a bright smile before saying she’s going to go and find Abby so the four of you can spend some time together and have fun.

   “Eat your chocolate, dad,” she warns before going out through the door.

You take the chair near a small window and sit closer to Jake. You’ve been visiting him quite often; he seems a lot happier when you and Clarke come by to see him. Jake is feeling better too; he’s not as pale as he was, and he’s smiling more, eating more as well. Abby once said to you that he’s been taking some new meds that really help him out a lot, and you just feel grateful that he’s doing ok, that he’s not getting worse. That’s your main wish for him – to not get worse, to keep fighting, to keep winning.

   “So, Lexa, what’s new?” He opens the wrapper and starts eating the chocolate slowly. “So good,” he says to himself as he closes his eyes for a bit.

   “Not much, I’ve been seeing my psychiatrist more,” you remember. “I’m also trying to manage all of my classes and etc. But I just, I don’t know. Why do I feel so tired all of the time?” You ask rhetorically and smile sadly.

   “Because the hardest battles are always fought within, Lexa,” Jake nudges you a bit with his free hand. “Because you’re trying to get better and that is never easy,” he takes another bite of the milk chocolate bar.

   “I think I’m not the one to complain,” you say honestly as you look him in the eyes.

   “Why?” He asks. “Because some have it worse? I’ll be brutal, but honest with you, Lexa – does it make a difference in your life that the children of Africa are facing world hunger every day?” You’re so taken aback that you can’t come up with an answer for a few minutes; you feel as if you forgot how to speak.

   “It doesn’t, they have nothing to do with you. Because it’s not immediately related to your life,” He explains and then tries to elaborate more on his thoughts. “It doesn’t mean that you can’t feel sorry for them, help them or donate money, but what I mean is – if we start thinking about how others have it worse than us, we’ll never be happy. I’m not saying to stop caring about others, no, always show empathy, be sympathetic of people’s problems, but don’t let it dictate how you feel,” you’re always amazed how Jake Griffin just spews wisdom in every direction he can. You’re not sure you ever met a person who knew so much about life.

   “That’s… That’s a lot to take in, Jake,” you sit there like you’ve just been hit with a brick.

   “Because if other people have it worse, then a lot of other people have it better, right? So what? We should not be happy because there are people who are happier? Hell no,” Clarke’s dad says seriously. “Your problems, struggles, issues are important to you because they’re yours; you are allowed to be upset. Do not let anyone, anyone, invalidate how you feel,” he concludes.

You’re not sure why, but you just start crying. When did you become such a cry baby? Jake doesn’t say anything, just puts his hand on your shoulder as you cry and cry hard.

   “Are we clear?” He asks gently, shaking you a bit and looking sympathetically into your eyes once you stop crying.

   “Crystal,” you say as you wipe the tears and smile at him.

   “Good,” he puts the wrapper on the counter near the bed.

*****

 Clarke and Abby return a few minutes later, Clarke staring so intently at you that you feel confused and lost.

   “Dad, I swear, if you made my girlfriend cry because you said something insensitive, then I’m going to...” Clarke starts, but you interrupt her.

   “No,” you shake your head. “It’s the opposite, Clarke. Jake gave me a serious pep talk. Probably the best anyone has ever given me,” you smile at her and she kisses your temple gingerly.

   “Lexa,” Abby nods at you and you nod right back. “Why there’s a chocolate bar wrapper here?” She asks and the three of you suddenly freeze, eyes wide, not able to say a word.

   “Oh, sorry, it was me,” you quickly say. “I just forgot to throw it away, I’m sorry,” you blurt out so suddenly, you don’t even realize you’ve said something.

   “Oh, that’s alright, Lexa” Abby says waves her hand dismissively. “I’m going to go and bring some medicine for you, Jake,” she points at him and turns to the door.

   “The ones that taste like shit?” Jake asks and Clarke starts giggling.

   “Yes, those,” she says and disappears behind the door.

   “Wooh,” the three of you relax when Abby leaves. “That was quick thinking, kid,” Jake says.

The three of you start laughing so hard, that when Abby returns, she half-jokingly suggests sedating all of you.

*****

   “Want to grab some coffee?” Octavia asks after she’s grabbed you by the wrist in a university corridor. You got so startled; you didn’t say a word for good 30 seconds.

   “Sure,” you say once your heartbeat goes back to normal. “Grab Raven?” You raise your brow in question.

   “Of course. Clarke?” She asks as she searches her backpack for the needed book.

   “Clarke has two more classes after this one,” you explain as you hold everything she takes out of her backpack and hands to you. “Octavia, why the fuck do you have so much stuff in your bag?” You laugh at her.

   “Because I need all of it,” Octavia explains, still not able to find the book for her next class.

   “Really?” You roll your eyes and she stops and pushes your shoulder playfully. “The recipe book and a pair of mittens I understand, I don’t understand the meat thermometer and a calendar from 4 years ago,” you start laughing so hard, you almost drop all of her stuff on the floor.

   “Oh shush,” Octavia finally takes out the physics book. “Not everyone can be a goody two-shoes like you. Want me to sing you that song?” She mocks you.

   “Don’t you dare,” you threaten her, but she just kisses your cheek and runs off to class.

You laugh some more until you realize you’re late to yours.

*****

   “So, Lexa, how have you been?” Raven asks as she hands you the fresh cup of coffee. You three decided to crash at Octavia’s and Raven’s for a change and have a cozy afternoon there.

   “I’m not sure, Raven,” you take a sip before noticing Octavia is already pouring herself another cup. “Octavia, you’re an addict,” you yell across the room.

   “No, it’s all of you who are not normal,” she replies. “I can’t understand how you can live without this,” she mutters under her breath as she flops down on the small sofa next to you.

   “Lexa?” Raven asks from her armchair.

   “Oh, right,” you take another sip and then stare at the bitter liquid. “I don’t know. Some days I feel better, some days I feel worse,” you slowly say.

   “Well yeah, nothing’s ever perfect, and nothing’s ever too bad,” Raven agrees.

You spend your afternoon drinking hot coffee and reminiscing.

*****

   “It’s not that easy, Clarke,” you roll your eyes at her.

   “Lexa, some things are easy, stop thinking that everything is super complicated and has tons of super secret meanings,” she shakes her head, as if to drive away what you’ve asked.

   “But why?” You don’t give up, asking again.

   “I just do, there are millions of reasons, but you won’t believe any of them,” the blonde says as she sits and puts down the plate in front of you, then she hands you the bread.

   “Why? Why do you love me?” You press as Clarke puts her own plate full of food in front of herself. She takes a generous gulp of red wine before answering.

   “Because…” Clarke chews. “Because you’re incredibly smart, like wow, I feel like a dumbass with you all of the time. Well, not a dumbass, but I am so proud that you’re so smart. You kick ass in all of your classes with no effort,” she laughs as she pours wine into your glass.

   “I do put in some effort, Clarke. You exaggerate,” you put some more salad onto your plate.

   “I also never met a kinder person. You never deny anyone, you always try to help, you always try to be there for everyone,” she takes another bite of the steak. “You’re a goody two-shoes,” she pats your shoulder and you almost choke on the potato you’re eating.

   “What is it with everyone calling me that?” You ask, definitely not amused.

   “Because it’s true,” she points her fork at you. “Moreover, you’re stunning, like breath-taking, beautiful, ethereal,” Clarke makes you blush, so you take another bite of the potato.

   “Stop it,” you turn away from her in embarrassment.

   “No, I’m saying the truth,” she takes a napkin to wipe the corner of her mouth. “I still get extremely excited when I get you naked, because I can’t believe you’re mine. Besides, you’re charming, attentive, a great listener and many other things that would take me too long to list,” the blonde concludes as she sips on her wine some more.

   “I love you too,” you say seriously as you finish eating, wiping your lips from the sauce.

   “Why?” Clarke asks and cocks her head to the side, challenge evident in her eyes.

You were never really good with words so instead, you choose to show her.

*****

Things rarely change, and you honestly think that people never change. You sit staring at the world outside, staring at the students with their big and colorful umbrellas. The cup of tea in your hand is almost cold, but you don’t care.

You don’t feel that much better, but you’ve realized that it’s a long road and you need to put in some actual effort to even take a little step down that road. Some days you feel like you can’t breathe, like everything is too much and you’re too tired to deal with anything. Some days you feel like a decent human being. Some days you feel that familiar itch, the one when your skin begs for the razor, but you try your best to ignore it. You just go out and smoke a few cigarettes instead (not a very good solution, but better than the alternative nonetheless). There are days when you hate everything around you, when you want to leave and never turn back. There are days when you want to lash out all of the pent up anger, but you never do because the people around don’t deserve that. There are days when you feel like you never want to leave this place and these people.

Every day is different, every day is a struggle, but you think that every day does not feel like a battle anymore because you’re no longer at war with yourself or the world. It’s all about wanting to improve yourself, to get better, to heal.

Some days are easy, some are not.

*****

It’s 3:43 AM, Saturday night. You are Lexa. Your girlfriend Clarke is sleeping right next to you in your dorm room, in your soft yet a bit narrow bed.

You have no idea what life has in store for you; you don’t know if you’ll get better, you don’t know anything. What you do know is that there will be ups and downs because life is a rollercoaster and nothing ever stays the same. You have lived through every bad day you’ve ever had, even if you didn’t want to sometimes, and that must amount to something.

Some days will be easy, some won’t. 

You are Lexa, and these are your late night confessions.