#and he likes to randomly scare my bpd ass by getting all angry

[i-never-grew-up]

When your friend (who's already on thin ice BC he's a terrible person but you can't cut him off because you're terrified) starts going on a rant about therians and how disgusting they are, to you, a closeted therian.

[dr-gloom]

The End

a little vent fic

Fandom: Sanders’ Sides

Pairing: Moxiety

Words: 2,016

Summary:  Patton’s life fell apart in the course of two weeks, and he doesn’t think he wants to try and pick up the pieces. (vent fic, very dark)

Tags/Warnings: suicide attempt, depression, suicidal thoughts, implied abuse, breakup, mentions of self harm, self-hate, Patton is transmasc genderfluid, not a happy ending, character with depression, character with BPD, mentions of an eating disorder

if I missed any tags, sorry

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It had all started about two weeks ago, on a Friday.

Patton was sure they had ADHD, so they'd talked to their therapist about getting screened. Since their depression was doing a lot better, she agreed and had them fill out the papers. On that Friday, Patton got the email that they didn't qualify for screening.

It was a little thing, something that, to a normal person, would be a bummer that they move on from and maybe get a little sad or annoyed about. But Patton was never normal. The depression hit them so fast and so hard that all they could do was stare at their phone as they sat in their car, eyes only seeing two words: not qualified.

Their only thought was that their mother had been right all along. Patton was just making it up, exaggerating their personality and pretending they were symptoms, or something. If she was right about this, what else was she right about? Did they not have depression? Or bpd? Were they tricking themselves into believing they were trans?

But the universe has never been kind to them, and that wasn't all that would happen on what had started as one of the nicest Friday's they'd had in a while.

Patton went to unlock their phone to share the news with their partner, only to see their partner had already sent them a text. A small bubble of happiness grew in their chest, popping just as fast when they read what the text said.

He said Patton had been pushing him away, that they had been keeping him from talking about something that's been bothering him, that he wanted a break.

Two weeks. He wanted to spend two weeks without talking to or seeing each other at all.

Patton felt like their world was falling apart, but they agreed because it was better than him breaking up with them right then and there. It's okay, they told themselves, it'll be okay, he'll miss you and you guys will fix things.

On the way home, all they could think about was speeding right into one of the dozens of trees they saw along the freeway. How fast would they have to go for it to kill them? If they didn't die instantly, how badly would it hurt? Would anyone care? Would anyone tell their online friends?

Whatever sense of self-preservation they had made them climb into bed as soon as they got home, and wouldn't let them leave.

Patton spent the entire weekend like that, in a depressive slump, curled up in bed, barely eating or talking (not that anyone noticed). Part of him was angry, because he knew he had ADHD, he knew the symptoms and he's talked to plenty of people who had a diagnosis, and the similarities were too many to be a coincidence. He was also mad at his partner.

It felt horrible to say, but it was true; they'd both been busy lately, so they haven't had much time to talk. At most, they said hi and asked how the other's day was, and the conversation petered off. So what did he mean when he said Patton had been keeping him from talking? He combed through their old texts, even checking their Tumblr chats, and he still had no clue. He was mad, and confused, and depressed, but he was also terrified. Patton didn't want to lose him. He didn't want to be alone.

Monday night, in his child education class, they were doing a culture assignment where they brought something in and explained how it was important to their culture. A few of the foreign students brought things from their cultures back home, while everyone else typically brought something relating to family. Patton listened to everyone talk about their loving families, their traditions, the happy memories, then he stood up and showed them his pride keychains, and talked about how he's been harrassed, oppressed, disowned, and how ignorance is the basis of cruelty. He talked about how important it was to educate others so that someday, kids don't have to go through what he went through. A couple friends in the class clapped and told him how strong and amazing he was. He didn't believe it.

Tuesday, they couldn't stop thinking about him. They wondered if he was okay, how he was doing, if his rehearsals were going well. They drove home for a couple hours before their next class, and ended up dropping and shattering their phone right outside their house.

It was another one of those little things that should have meant nothing, but felt like everything. Patton picked up the phone gently and pressed the side button to light the screen, but it stayed black. They held it down to turn it on, but nothing happened. Frustrated tears welled in their eyes and they went inside.

As soon as the door was shut, they threw the phone onto the couch and screamed. “Dammit!” They paced the living room, pulling at their hair, breath coming in quick pants. Their mother was going to kill them. They swore again and again, wiping their tears away angrily.

When they had managed to calm down a little, they grabbed the house phone and left their mother a message telling her what happened. She liked to randomly call them to see where they were, and they didn't want to make their punishment worse by making her think they were ignoring her.

Wednesday, he got an email saying the surgeon who'd be conducting his top surgery was leaving Kaiser and couldn't do the surgery. Patton sat on his bed, feeling as if the rug had been pulled from under his feet. He had a consult set up with a new surgeon in a month, but something told him he wouldn't like the results.

Thursday, they went in to see if they could get their stuff off their phone. They'd moved their SIM card into a new phone, but the only thing that copied over was a couple phone numbers they never contacted and their own data like their phone number.

The phone people told them that if the screen didn't work, they couldn't do anything. They thanked them with a forced smile and went back to their car, thinking about all the lost pictures and friends and rubbing their stomach as it growled. They hadn't eaten in three days.

They were fat enough, anyways.

Friday, they tried to kill themselves. They felt so alone, so lonely, so stressed and scared, that they didn't want to even try anymore. Of course, like most things, they fucked up. They woke up on Saturday in tears and laid in bed until their mother yelled at them for being lazy.

Monday, they got an email from their supervisor telling them they haven't been meeting dress code, and they had until Wednesday to get business-casual clothing. She blamed them for their lack of hours, despite the fact that she was the one in charge of their hours. Patton was tired. So, so tired. They'd been angry for a moment, but they didn't have the energy to stay mad.

Tuesday night, Patton went clothes shopping with his mother. He could tell she was angry that she had to spend more money, but she would never complain about him in public, so she stayed quiet. He had to go up a pants size because, in her words, “it looks like your ass is eating your pants”.

He didn't eat anything on Wednesday.

He couldn't sleep Thursday night. He knew the next day his partner would message him and give him the verdict, and he'd been through this enough times to know it was almost certainly going to end badly.

Friday. They went through their day like normal, helping their supervisor with speech therapy and desperately trying to distract themselves. They went home and checked their phone; sure enough, he texted them while they were working.

I don't want it to seem like I'm having the last word or anything, and if you have stuff to say I definitely want to hear it, but I think I'm just gonna go ahead and say my piece. I think it would be better if we broke up. And I mostly think that because over the two weeks we didn't talk, it felt like almost nothing changed for me, except maybe this time I wasn't waiting around for anything. I told you how we didn't talk before and what I was thinking, so I'm not going to repeat that, but if you go without talking to your partner for two weeks and it doesn't feel like there's even any change, there's something wrong. I don't know if this is actually true or not, but it genuinely felt like you had hated me the majority of our relationship and then got tired of pretending. It felt like I was in a relationship with someone who couldn't care less what happened to me. When you told me you were going to cut yourself, and there was nothing I could do about it, I stayed up all night having panic attacks. I burst into tears at rehearsal just thinking about it. I felt like a complete failure. I felt worthless. And when I told you I was suicidal, at most we would have a five minute conversation, at worst you would more or less say you were too tired to deal with it. But I spent hours BEGGING you not to hurt yourself. This is getting way longer than I expected. I'm sorry. I know I fucked up a lot, too. But I tried my hardest to make you happy and to do what you wanted, and towards the last couple weeks it felt like talking to a wall. And I saw your post about how people promise not to leave and then they do it anyway, ((you said "fucking liars")) and I'm not mad, I completely understand that vent, but I did assume it was about me and, Pat, you didn't give me a choice. You practically shoved me away yourself. Okay. I'll shut up now. If I don't answer it's because I'm showering or thinking, I promise I won't ignore you.

Patton sat in their car staring at their phone, much like two weeks ago, feeling empty. They wanted to apologize, to say they love him, have always loved him, that they don't know what they did wrong but they want desperately to fix it. They wanted to say that he deserved so much better than them, and beg him not to leave them, and a hundred other things, but….

But what was the point? They'd done that before, and the person always got angry and it got so much worse. So they just send one word.

Okay

The reply is almost instant.

Do you have anything to say…?

Patton sighs, getting out of their car and heading inside.

What's the point?

Okay, well then I guess that just proves my point. Bye then

Patton lays down. They're so tired. They hate themselves so much. Why are they so fucked up? They thought they'd been getting better…

Actually, I do wanna say one thing I'm sorry, you deserve better Bye, Virgil

They weren't going to sugarcoat it. They fucked up. It was all they thought about as they laid in bed until they fell asleep. They couldn't even cry; a couple tears would fall and then they'd be numb, all the pain and grief pushed down until it became a physical hurt.

They stayed in bed the rest of that day and into Saturday. Whenever they're awake, they think over what they did wrong. Patton doesn't understand how they could have fucked up so badly that he thought they hated him. They don't understand when things got so bad.

But maybe that was the problem. They could never tell what they were doing wrong. Patton picks up their phone.

They're going to write one last story, pick up their blade, and try not to fuck up again.