Regulus Black needed help.
He was not okay. He knew that to some extent. But he didn't remember -or acknowledge- it getting this bad. He hadn't eaten for 3 days, hadn't left his apartment for a week, and definitely had not been answering anyone's texts. For the better, he thought, no one would want him around, not like this.
He would not be listening to his therapist. It was Sirius's dumb idea, after Regulus got away from home, to have him in therapy. He didn't need it, but Sirius insisted. Regulus hated her. The patronising tone she always talked to him with, the smiles, she seemed so fake, and her name was Sandra; but maybe that was Regulus never could accept help or kindness, right, he was always bad at that.
Regulus rolled out of bed and grabbed his laptop. He still was a student. He still had work to upload.
Fine.
Fine, he felt crazy. When Regulus showered, the emotions didn't go away this time. Fine.
He thought he was going insane. Merlin. What was even happening. Gone, everyone and everything was gone.
Shit.
Regulus picked up his pen. Maybe Sandra was right. He sat down at his desk, and opened this brand new notebook that Sandra had given him.
Entry No.1
This is stupid.
Regulus sighed, then thought, then started writing again.
Entry No.2
Stupid.
Regulus wanted to scream.
Entry No.3
Do I write because I don't feel heard?
Do I draw because I don't feel seen?
Do I play instruments to force people to listen?
Do I listen to so much music to force my thoughts to stop?
Over the coarse of 5 weeks, he had gotten better. Slightly. He was making progress, anyway. Mostly, he wrote at night. That's when most of his inspiration came. How he voiced his feelings. It also helped with his art coursework. And English.
His book of words, as he called it, because he hated the word journal, and diary, looked something like this with his new writing pieces.
Entry No.4
I am drowning.
Oh, feeling, it's not worth it.
Love isn't worth feeling things.
I am fully convinced that I am suffocating.
There is a never ending tightening in my chest.
There is a tube squeezing me.
If I were a bubble, there would be fingers poking at me, and I surely would have popped or bursted by now.
Pop.
The tightening in my binded chest.
Pop.
The tube squeezing my body and organs.
Pop.
Suffocation.
Pop.
I am drowning.
And wasting my time by writing with a glittery pink gel My Melody pen.
Regulus had almost giggled when he wrote the last line. Almost. Some dumb things brought him happiness. In a different way than most people experienced it. More of a.... He couldn't begin to describe it, honestly.
When he started getting more... Sad. Angry. Upset with himself for feeling emotions. His writing started to look like this.
Entry No.5
I am stuck in a forever emotional loop of wanting to kill myself and wanting to kill everyone around me.
Entry No.6
I am quite positive that I may die.
Completely possible.
I am dying.
Goodbye.
Farewell.
Entry No.7
Unfortunately, I am not dead, but completely and brutally alive.
Saddens me, really.
Regulus was getting worse again. He was talking to Sandra, and it was helping, but he was still hurting, and he didn't know why. He had gotten with James, Sirius's best friend and co-worker. After... so much pining. But he still needed help, he wanted to get better, but he didn't know what was wrong with him. What was wrong with him.
He wrote this after an argument. Something about Regulus not... Regulus was embarrassed to admit, but he hadn't been removing his binder enough. That was sure to cause problems, and when James found out, he had tried to persuade Reg, his Reggie, but Regulus just got mad and shut him away.
Entry No. Ha. No. It doesn't matter.
I was thinking about something.
It was.
I was.
Ha.
See, I was going to say it, but it doesn't matter.
Does it?
Does it matter to you?
No?
Good.
It shouldn't.
If you said yes.
I don't know.
But that doesn't matter.
Nothing does.
Are you listening to me?
Have you ever listened at all?
Do you care?
Why don't you listen to what I'm saying, why, please.
Writing, I mean.
Read.
Read these words.
Please, for me.
Read them, understand, listen, I don't care about anything else, read what I'm writing for once in your life, you're useless.
Read.
What.
I'm.
Writing.
Please.
It's all I
Have.
Entry No. 9
The pain in my chest hasn't left.
It's a gaping hole instead.
I think it's like a black hole.
Sucking things away.
Maybe that's where my heart dispatched to.
Never the less, the pain hasn't left.
Spread, really.
In my ribs and stomach.
My organs are gone now.
Ah.
Suppose I deserve that one.
My ribs have departed too.
It's fine, they were getting cracked anyway.
I am only skin, oh, that's gone too.
Ha.
I am nothing.
And yet, the pain in my chest, stomach, hips, waist, thighs, shoulders, arms, hands, and fingers has failed to subside thus far.
Entry No.10
I suppose you don't care that my organs are gone, do you?
Regulus was getting to the point in his therapy sessions where he had to talk about his mother and father. this was the worst part. And he still hadn't answered any of James's texts, and Sirius was getting worried too. Which is why they both showed up to the session.
It was weird. Nice. But weird.
James and Regulus did end up making things okay, they were okay again.
Group therapy.
Entry No.11
I am not her.
I am not like her.
I am not a 'her'.
She isn't me.
I don't want to trip and accidentally become her.
She's mean.
I'm not mean.
These words don't mean anything to you, do they?
Entry No.12
You've always liked hurting me.
Haven't you?
Why am I asking.
It's not a question.
You like it.
Hurting me.
Cutting me.
Burning me.
Yes?
Accept it.
Regulus did in fact get better. He did have to go to a ward. Just for a few months, and it did help.
If anyone cares at all, he did survive.
If anyone cares at all, he married James.
If anyone cares at all, he made things right with Sirius.
If anyone cares at all, he got top surgery.
If anyone cares at all, he got better.
If anyone cares at all, he stopped being so sad.
If anyone cares at all, he's happy.
You can be too.