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hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall · 5 years ago

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Nothings ever what it seems

Bucky Barnes x Reader AU

Summary: Sometimes how we see things by our own eyes are not how things really are. This a journey of how you should never judge people by what you see.

Warnings: Swearing, bullies, parent’s death, mention of death, depression, lots of angst, but a happy ending.

A/N: This is my little entry for @mermaidxatxheart 500 followers challenge, but I’m pretty sure it doubled by now ;) It’s really emotional and kind of triggering stuff so if you do not feel like reading PLEASE DON’T. But I am very happy about this piece as I always wanted to write something about bullies, as it’s a personal thing for me. I hope you will enjoy it <3

oh and let me tag @idjitmonkey, I hope you don’t mind, but you wanted to have a read at that, so here it is <3

Word Count: 4300+ (wow, sorry)

There are people who loved high school. All the sports teams, cheerleading, friendships that would pathetically last forever. First ‘real’ relationships, sex drive and partying. Oh, and the prom, homecoming and all the shitty things all the girl were so happy about. All those people loved High School. But you were not one of them.

You hated it so much. Every memory you had about this time of your life was filled with sadness, anger or anxiety. You hated everything associated with High School. You never went to any sports events, didn’t care about cheerleading or who is dating who. You couldn’t give less of a shit about fashion, make-up or the parties. Those years were a nightmare for you.

As a shy girl that focused her attention on studying, books and all the ‘lame’ clubs (like history and literature) you were one of the first to be bullied. You tried your best not to show that it affected you, hoping that they would give up eventually. Of course, being a poor kid in a school fool of rich assholes wasn’t helping. You weren’t dressing like them, weren’t talking the same language. You never went out, not to mention that you never had a taste of alcohol or went on a date.

All you ever cared about was your education and all those part-time jobs you started to get when you finally turned 16. You needed the money more than all those stupid parties. Despite having a full-paid scholarship for your school there were still expenses that needed to be covered. Like your dad chemotherapy. Despite him trying to hide all the expenses from you, you knew how much money went into that and how little savings he had. All the money went on you, and you decided that as soon as you turn 16 you will work for yourself. And so you did. After the first year of high school, you gave up on all the clubs and took three part-time jobs. You slept around 4 hours with an extra two on Sundays, but you managed somehow.

Your dad was pissed when he found out that you gave up your young, high school life for him, but he was never more proud of you. You cherished those little moments you had with him. You always gave him the stories you wrote and he gave you the best feedback. You told him some made-up stories of your amazing highschool and friends you had. He didn’t need to know how lonely you were. Nor about the bullies, that seemed to love making your life even a more of a living hell.

HYDRA. That’s what they called themselves. Bunch of guys (and girls) that would start their life by taking all the lunch money from the kids. When they found out you had no actual money they made sure to destroy you mentally. During lunches they would always accidentally tipped their drinks on you, leaving you with dirty and soaked clothes until the end of the day.

But this you could survive. From time to time Steve Rogers and his gang would step up and defend the weak. A captain of the football team and the smartest guy in school has never looked down on you. But he was also from a rich family, that should ‘keep their level’ which means he would never even consider being friends with someone like you.

But there was him. James Buchanan ‘call me Bucky’ Barnes. From what the rumours said he was friends with Rumlow - the head of HYDRA gang - since primary school, but before high school they got into a huge fight. And now became the biggest enemies.

“You ok?” He once asked you, those grey-ish eyes that would hunt you till your last breath - gazed at you. He was the first person that treated you like a human being in this school and your stupid teenage heart decided to fall for him. For someone, you could never have. Someone that was from an entire world. A place where he could happily be a high schooler, a playboy and the most charming boy you ever met. All he needed was just a simple smile and all the girls would give themselves to him. The bad boy looks mixed with a kind heart.

If you wouldn’t be so tired and focused on school and work, you would probably be apart of this group of girls secretly hoping he would ask them out. But you weren’t. So despite trying to make things better, you - the world's biggest disaster - just growled, took your backpack and left with no words spoken to anyone.

The Avengers, as HYDRA called them, weren’t too happy about how you treated their kindness. Natasha Romanoff, a daughter of ahead of the police, cornered you in the bathroom once and made very clear that next time someone saves your sorry ass you thank them.

And that’s how you went on with your life. Having two biggest, most influential gangs in high school hating you. Sometimes you would catch Barnes (you would never call him any other than his last name) glancing at you, smirk under his nose.

So your life continued. It was cruel and tiring but a least you had your dad to make it work. It was him to beg you to go to at least your prom if you missed the homecoming. (you told him you weren’t feeling good). He even bought you a dress online. So when the day came you got yourself ready and was about to head to show yourself all fancy looking to your dad, when you got a phone call from a doctor to come to the hospital as your father was feeling worse.

And this was when your life changed completely. There you were in this ridiculously beautiful dress, watching your dad’s heart stop beating before you were able to show yourself to him. Your world ended that day. At the age of 18, you were left alone in this world. With an enormous bill to pay and an acceptance letter for the NY University. On this day, you closed yourself even more. You didn’t even care about all those mean words from Rumlow or the little smirks and looks from Barnes. You focused completely on studying and surviving. You sold the house your dad still had hoped to keep and with the money you had from it you rented a small apartment outside of NY. An hour and a half drive altogether, but at least something you were able to afford.

When you got that acceptance letter, you promised yourself that your life will change. You will be a better person and actually enjoy uni, even if you would have to work twice as much. You wanted to do it for him. Your dad. But now that he was gone, you had no reason. So before the Uni started you were able to find yourself two surprisingly well-paid jobs.

Journalism was always something you wanted to do. A little dream in the back of your head. Something your dad always encouraged you to do. And now that you were finally about to start your year at your dream Uni, there was nothing that would stop you. At least that’s what you thought. Until your first introduction class to WW2 you decided to take, as you always loved history.

“Well isn’t this Mrs Trouble-maker?” You froze hearing the familiar voice of the man who once helped you. You looked up from the book you were reading while waiting for the class to start. “Of course front table.” He chuckled and smirked at you. The same damn smirk that was hunting you since that day. His hair was a bit longer and he seemed to spend a bit of time at the gym during summer. His eyes, however, were as beautiful as they have always been.

“Barnes…” You whispered, closing your book and looking up at him. “I didn’t know you were going to NY.”

“She speaks!” He laughed, turning towards Steve who just walked in. He nodded his head as a way to say hi and sighed at his best friend. “Year of having classes together and you never spoke to me directly.”

“Buck”, Rogers growled, when the room started to fill.

“You ok, if I sit here?” Your frowned, when he showed to the seat next to you. You shrugged and turned towards the front of the class when the professor walked in. You tried to focus on the class, ignoring the little glances Barnes was sending towards you.

You were more than relieved not to see him in any of your journalism classes. Apparently, it was just this one you both shared. Through the whole summer, you hoped you will never see the people from high school ever again. You hoped this part of your life was over. You could move on. As pathetically as you do it, just move on.

“Miss Trouble-maker!” You cursed under your nose, wondering why gods hate you. “I didn’t know you work here.” A small cafe place was paying quite good money as it was normally visited by rich folks that didn’t mind spending 24 dollars on a stupid latte.

“What can I get you?” You asked trying to stay as professional as possible. You even gave him one of your fake smiles.

“Oi, Stevie, Natasha, look who I found!” You felt shivers down your spine hearing her name. Oh, Barnes was annoying, while Romanoff was just frightening. And of course, she looked even more beautiful after summer. Her always short hair grew longer. And not to mention that she has probably lost some kilos as well. If that was even physically possible.

“Y/L/N”, she greeted you with a grin and you welcomed them as they would be every other customer. “I heard you got into NYU…” Oh, how you hated small talk, especially when there was a line of customers started to appear.

“I’m sorry but the line is getting bigger. Can I help you with your choice today?” You really tried to sound as nice and polite as possible.

“It’s not very polite to not answer someone’s question”, she hissed and narrowed her eyes at you.

“Is something wrong.” You froze hearing the voice of your boss. The biggest chauvinistic, rich boy of an asshole you ever met. He was not much older than you, but because he got rich daddy he became a manager of his own coffee place right after uni. “Y/N the line is getting bigger.” He growled at you angrily. Oh, and of course he hated you. Especially after you declined his offer for a date about four times already. He was just waiting for an excuse to hire you.

“You should teach your workers to answer questions, Jack.” Your widened hearing Romanoffs remark.

“Natasha! It’s so good to see you.” He smiled and went there to give her a hug.

“Come on Nat, it’s our fault!” Bucky chimed in, giving you an apologetic look, which you tried to ignore. “Sorry, man. I was trying to catch up with a friend from school.” You did everything you could not roll your eyes at it. A friend from school. That was a good one.

“Doesn’t justify why the line is getting bigger.”

“Maybe if you helped your workers a bit, it wouldn’t be that bad?” Bucky hissed. Apparently, they both didn’t like each other much.

“I’m the manager, Barnes. I hire people to do their damn job and if someone can’t they probably shouldn’t be here…” As you were about to just ignore them and take another customer in, you froze hearing his words. “Sorry guys for the inconvenience your coffee on me.” He then smiled and turned towards you. “Well on her, as she seems not to be able to do her job!” Your eyes widen. No, no, that was not happening. Why did the world hate you so much?

“Sorry doll, I...:”

“Have you decided on your choice of beverage, sir?” You asked, trying to stop the angry tears from flowing. You were sure that when the day is over you will lose that job. And what’s worse getting a job in the middle of the academic year was a nightmare. Almost impossible.

“Come on, Buck…” Steve murmured and ordered three cappuccinos for himself and his friends. “And we’ll pay.” He smiled and took his card from the pocket of his jacket. “Sorry about it, Y/N.” You nodded and turned around, preparing yourself for the end of the day.

It was supposed to be your time. Journalism was what you loved since you were a kid. An idea of telling someone’s story was so appealing to you. So beautiful and romantic. But now when the end of the year came and you got a yearly reminder of how much you own to different institutions you were sick. The bill for your dad’s treatment wasn’t getting any better. not to mention the still growing rates of your student loan and all the postponed bill were growing as well. You were completely broke and after losing the job at the cafe you didn’t get to find another one. Not a part-time, who would expect students or something which was remotely near uni or your flat. Not to mention that your landlord needed to raise the rent, which only made you realise how fucked up you were. You were able to get extra shifts at the shop but it still didn’t pay the expenses. You needed to make life decisions and this one, to end your childhood dream was one of it.

A year of expenses from University was still better than a future 5 years (mixed Master course) and as much as it pained you to send the letter to the dean you needed to do it. You cried the whole week prior to this decision. You felt even worse when the amazing guy tried to make you stay, promising to try and help you with the loan. But even with the extra scholarship, you wouldn’t be able to make it. So with as much spirit and power you had in you, you thanked him and left his office ending your student career.

“Miss Trouble-maker!” You have got to be fucking me! Since the cafe incident, he tried to talk to you. Even invited to a 4th of July (and Steve’s birthday) frill and theirs. But you ignored him. You didn’t care you were impolite but you hated him. And as much as you knew he wasn’t really at fault for your shitty situation but now you really needed to put a blame on someone. “I missed you at the hist…” He got quiet when he noticed the tears that you had enough of hiding. “What happened?” His voice serious, and there some softness in his feature.

“Leave me alone, Barnes!” You hissed, and walked past him, to the end of the building, really not wanting to make a scene at the corridor. “Just once in your life, leave me the fuck alone”, he was taken back by the curse. For all the years he’s been observing you, you never once cursed. Never. You were a goodie girl.

“No. You’re crying. Come on, tell me what’s happening? Did someone hurt you?” The sincerity in his voice was so annoying. Why was he so nice to you. Why did he even care?

“Why would you care heh?” You growled, not caring about making a scene anymore. He wanted to know. Then fuck it. He will know. “Why would someone like you care? Your whole life is nothing but open doors waiting for you to cross. Why would you give a fluffing fuck about someone like me? You never cared about making my high school life a living hell beside that damn Romanoff and Rumflow. The never leaving smirk on your face haunts me till this day. The way you look down at people who weren’t so lucky to be born rich.” You sniffed and pushed him away from you when he tried to take a step closer. “And when I thought I was finally free from this damn school, you and Romanoff happened again. You walked into my life, making it a living hell again. This one time after this damn prom night, I wanted to start living again, but no, you were always there, with this annoying smirk of yours!” You didn't care that there were people watching the two of you. You were sure you heard Rogers and Romanoff from the crowd, but Barnes stopped them with a shove of his hand. “But I didn’t care. I learned to have my life a living hell, but then you had to come to my work and destroy all of it, with your damn friends!” You shouted, showing at surprised Natasha. “You with your high status, rich kids behaviour cost me my job!” His eyes widen and when he was about to open his mouth to speak, you stopped him. “You have no clue about my life. No idea how hard it is for me to survive every passing hour. Not to break down and just fucking give up.” You shook your head, wiped the tears with your sleeve and turned around. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Whatever game you were playing, you won, Bucky. Congratulations.” It was the first time you called him that and it burnt your lips. “Damn it, everyone is watching… At least I will never come back to this place…”

“What are you talking about, Y/N?”

“I quit. Are you happy now? huh? DOES THIS MAKE YOU HAPPY?!” You shouted, turning back to him. “Life isn’t always as happy and under control, as yours is. Life is shit, Barnes. I hope you will never have to find it out!” And with no words left you run towards the exit, pumping at Romanoff, who had the decency to look sad.

“I miss you, daddy!” You whispered, putting a simple sunflower on his grave. “I… I can’t do this any longer. My life is a mess, really. I'm a mess. You know… I left uni…” it was a month after you shouted at Barnes and left NYU and the first time you came to your dad’s grave. “I could not afford it. All the expenses. The bills, the loans… Everything just kept crashing down. But hey I got two jobs back. Damn it, daddy… I don’t blame you don’t get me wrong, it’s just. It’s hard. And I made a fool of myself and blamed a poor guy for all my problems. He didn't deserve my bitchy attitude, but… It was Barnes.” you chuckled remembering the time you told your dad about a guy you had a crush on. “He really didn’t deserve it. Now that I think about it, he was always nice to me. A bit cheeky and annoying but nice. Well, I guess it was harder not to have a crush on him, right?” You chuckled through the tears. “I think I will leave NY. I may go and live in a small town. You would be so disappointed at me, daddy. I really wanted you to see me happy. I was ready to come to the hospital and show you this damn prom dress, but… I’m sorry daddy.” You sat on the ground and hid your face in your knees.

“I’m sorry.” You jumped on your feet hearing a familiar voice behind you. There was Barnes, with tears in his eyes, and a flower bouquet in his hand. “I didn’t know… No one knew…”

“What are you doing here?” You asked, pretending to start cleaning, the already cleaned grave.

“Please don’t hate me for that.” You frowned hearing his defeated voice. “Nat looked you up using her dad’s access.” You froze, but then you shrugged. No, you didn't care anymore. “Jesus, Y/N, did anyone from school knew? Teachers? Anyone?”

“It doesn’t matter, Barnes.” You shook your head and put your small backpack on, and got yourself ready to leave. “Thank you for the flowers. If you wish you can put them next to mine. He would be happy.”

“Y/N, please.” He cried, stopping you by your wrist. “Please… I… I really didn’t know about your situation. I didn’t know your dad was sick, not that he died… Please.”

“What do you wanna know Barnes? What’s more important, why do you need to know? It won’t change anything.”

“I always looked at you.” He smiled softly. “You were this smart, quiet, beautiful girl who caught my eyes. Damn, I was obsessed with you. I was hoping to see you at the prom, I wanted to ask you out. But you never came, now I know why...“ His gaze shifted at the grave behind you. “I cannot even imagine what you went through… But maybe we can start from the start and I can take you out for a coffee or something?” You looked at him and there was something shifting in your heart. This always confident guy was now all shy and nervous, all because of you. You put your hand on his cheek and smiled.

“I will start everything from the beginning. This is why I’m leaving. Have a great life, Bucky.” He wanted to stop you, convince you to not leave but he knew that he was being selfish. So he watched you go. He left the flowers on the grave and promised to come here every year from now on. And maybe he would be able to see you again.

It has been years since you came to this place. Ten years since you moved away and started a new, better life. You moved to Carlisle and worked in the little library there with some extra job in the small coffee shop. You got your degree in teaching and not journalism and you schooled kids in the little military school there, while you found yourself writing books, one after the other and before you were able to blink you were one of the most established writers. Your books were selling quicker than the freshly baked bread and you were finally happy. You were sending flowers to your dads grave unable to come back there. Until this year. After years you decided to move back to NY. A city you found yourself to actually love. You bought an actual flat in Brooklyn and got a small teaching job at the school there. Despite not having to work, thanks to your books, you still loved doing it.

And when the anniversary of his death came, you finally went there, only to be met with a figure cleaning the grave. You frowned, knowing that you have cancelled the yearly grave caring.

“Hello?” You froze when the man turned around. Despite those ten years, he hasn’t changed much. He has cut his hair from what he had in college. He has become a bit bigger, especially around shoulders. His jaw seemed sharper than before. He changed. From a boy, he transformed to even a more handsome man. But his eyes stayed the same. Beautiful greyish once that always melted your heart. You didn’t remember him being so tall, but when he straightened up he was a good head taller than you. “Barnes?”

“Y/N?” His expression softened, hearing your voice. It was visible on his face that he had not recognized you. Of course not. You weren’t this poor kid anymore. You were good clothes and a bit of makeup. Your hair was well done, and not kept in a loose ponytail. Just like he has become a man, you have become a woman. “Wow… You... “ He coughed awkwardly, which made you giggle quietly. “You look great, Y/n.” He finally said, his voice a bit distant, almost unsure what this compliment would make you do.

“You don’t look bad yourself.” You complimented himself, and you swore you could see a faint blush on his cheeks. “What are you doing here?” You asked, softer now. You noticed the already cleaned grave and some fresh flowers.

“I…” He hanged his head and took a deep breath. “Don’t be mad at me, ok?” You frowned and nodded, letting him continue. “I… Since you left I came here every year and took care of your father’s grave. I felt so bad for how I treated you, and everything, and… Well when you left, this was the only reminder of you.” You felt your heartache at this shy, lost man standing opposite you. He was this confident, smirking and annoying kid anymore. You could see it in his eyes. He went through ups and downs in his life, which made him a different man. “I… Can stop if you want. I’m sorry, now that I think about it, it was invasion of your privacy… Shit, I…” You stopped him putting an arm on his forearm, to stop him from mumbling.

“Thank you, Bucky.” His eyes widen, when his nickname sounded so soft. He swallowed and smiled shyly. “It means a lot to me, really. I… I think I should apologise to you as well. I was unfair to put all my failures on you. you were always nice to me, and I… I think it all just was just too much for me. I’m sorry Bucky for being such a bitch.” He chuckled and you couldn’t help but admit that this made him look even more handsome. So you decided to be a bit bolt. “What do you do after this?”

“Nothing planned, why?” He asked, brows raised, when you smirked at him, trying to mimic his smirk from high school.

“How about I go apologise and say hi to my dad and then we can grab that coffee you promised me those ten years ago?” He gaped at you like you were crazy for a second, but then his face lit up and the most beautiful smile appeared on his face.

“I’d love that doll.”

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j0x06ber · 6 years ago

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Stream of Consciousness #1

Thirteen years ago I was ten. At the time I was a seventy five pound, bright eyed little boy. I had big plans for my life. I was going to do well in school, go to college and begin a career writing fiction novels. I looked up to the likes of Stephen King, Edgar Allen Poe, and H.P. Lovecraft. Easily scared, I recall when I was six or seven, I slept in the spare room on the second story of my grandmothers house.

One night, my parents had left for the night and I was in bed. The darkness of the room was overwhelming. It felt as though tendrils were reaching up the bunk bed I slept in from all sides. Waiting for me to fall asleep. A delusion of my young mind to be sure, but it felt real at the time. I could almost see them, swaying back and fourth and snaking their way up the wall. What really scared me though was the fire alarm. It looked like like an evil red eye and it would blink as it watched me. As I stared at it and attempted to slow my breathing I could have sworn I saw teeth forming around the edges of the alarm, slowly creating a distorted and twisted grin around the eye and in a fit of fear, I ran out of the room.

Afraid I would get in trouble with the babysitter, I snuck down to the second landing that lead to the entry way, and curled up on the off-white carpet. I was just out of her sight, but close enough to the light and noise from the living room to bring me at least a bit of comfort. I watched the swinging chair my baby brother was in and listened to the soft clicking as it swayed back and fourth. Eventually I fell asleep and was found on the staircase. My family still has pictures of me huddled up the corner against the rafter and wall. Like a scared puppy.

This was a reoccurring theme throughout my life. I would regularly wake up and see stuff in the night. Even into my early teens, I would wake up and see the figure of a man standing outside of my room, or tapping at the window. I would hear disturbing whistling coming from the streets and manic howls. I was always scared.

This followed me throughout my life. The fear is no longer a result of the figments of my imagination, but rather something tangible. I no longer fear the figures in the night. They’ve long since stopped appearing to me. I fear my life direction at this point. I fear the people around me. I fear failure and the thought of having to live a whole life alone and in perpetual destitute.

When I was ten my brother was hit by a car. I was a bright student and had caught the attention of my teachers that year, and they had extended the offer to send me to The Tech Academy. My parents, ecstatic at the thought of their son attending what amounts to summer school at San Jose University didn’t so much as blink before signing me up, and that summer I began attending a course on robotics and hydroelectric power.

On the last day of summer, I returned home from San Jose to the flashing lights and sirens of an ambulance and police cars. On the grass in the front yard my youngest brothers bike was sat out, mangled. The bike was essentially bent in half; the tires and handlebars twisted. He had been riding his bike without a helmet, and in a dare with the neighbors kid, attempted to ride across a busy street that was at the end of our road. For context, we lived on the outskirts of town near a mushroom farm. Because there weren’t police actively patrolling this area and there was almost never traffic, people would drive down this road faster than they would the freeway. One such woman was doing eighty when my brother attempted to ride across the street. She slammed on the breaks, but it was too little too late, and hit him as he attempted to recross the road.

He would spend the next year in a coma at the hospital. The doctors repeatedly told us it was unlikely he would ever come out of it, and that even if he did, with the damage to his brain he would probably spend the rest of his life in a vegetative state. My parents decided to foot the bill though and hold out hope. In the end it paid off for them. He began to display movement in his fingers, and in the following months he was able to lift his head and move his arms.

He essentially had to start from scratch at 6 years old. He needed to relearn how to walk and talk. It would take years of physical therapy before he was, for the most part, functional again.

My parents weren’t around then. The issues I already had with depression and social anxiety would get worse during this period of time; as I stopped talking to people at school to avoid conversations related to my brothers accident and opted instead to spend most nights alone in my room, working on school projects or reading.

As time went on my feelings of detachment from the people and world around me would continue to worsen. It was no longer a case of just not wanting to talk. Instead it felt as though an impenetrable wall had been constructed between myself and everyone around me. I couldn’t relate to anyone, I didn’t know what to say in casual conversation, and the very act of speaking to others evoked a fight or flight response. If you are familiar with the borderlands series, my response to social interactions was similar, albeit less exaggerated, to that of Patricia Tannis. During this time I also regularly felt like I wasn’t in control of my body or actions. Everything I did felt like it was being done by an outside force, and I was just a spectator to it all. Despite all of this, there were people that refused to give up on me and they would go on to become close friends throughout high school and part of college.

Everything came to a head during my senior year. My friends were all distant and I felt it would be best if I transferred schools. I decided to take online courses to finish my final year. This was when I met Stephanie. She would be my anchor to reality, my best friend, and for a while, my girlfriend. Come graduation I experienced a psychotic break and began hearing/remembering conversations that never happened and people shouting my name. As my mental state deteriorated suicide stopped being a distant thought and became an appealing means of escaping. A permanent exit from what felt like some sort of an extended nightmare sequence straight of a David Lynch film.

June 8th I drove to an abandoned parking lot and parked under a tree illuminated orange by the streetlights just twenty feet away and grabbed out a benchmade knife I kept in the center console of my dingy orange ford. I started slashing everything I could My wrists, my arm, my shoulders, my chest, legs. Everything but my throat. I fully intended to kill myself that night. I sat there, globs of blood dripping off my arm onto cracked pavement and the side of the my seat.

I didn’t die that night. My typing this as proof. The bleeding stopped, at which point I was too light headed, weak, and scared to finish the job. Instead I fell asleep, woke up the next morning, put on my jacket, and drove home. Eventually my family found out what I had attempted to do. It was summer and I couldn’t wear my jacket all the time. Eventually they saw a couple, and demanded to see them all. Most of them weren’t too bad, but the ones on my wrist and chest were deep, with the cut on my sternum going all the way down to the bone. I carry hideous scars now as a reminder and have to be conscious of what I wear so as not to make the people around me uncomfortable. and I was hospitalized for the first time.

Stephanie was a sweetheart and everyday would drive three towns over where I was being kept to visit. Bringing healing stones, snacks, and much needed company. If you’re not familiar with wards, they are lonely and often times scary places. You have a routine of therapy, but outside that, there’s nothing to do but walk the halls, and when the clock hits 8, it’s lights out and you have to go to your shared room. I had been roomed with a violent schizophrenic that never acknowledged me when I tried to speak to him.

During my time there I was diagnosed with Bipolar and agraphobia. For the next three years I would be subjected to a number of heavy duty anti-psychotics, anti-depressants, and mood stabilizers. In tandem they dulled everything. I felt like a zombie. I no longer had emotional range and was tired all the time.

I started college a month after release. It was at this point I found out that the college funds my grandparents had been setting aside to put us through college had been used to pay my brothers hospital and therapy bills all those years ago. No one had told me this, and throughout school my parents discouraged me working, stating that my job was to focus on school and extra-curricular activities. I began working three jobs to pay for my courses, but after two years of this, my car broke down and I ended up shelling out five grand to repair the engine, only to have the transmission break soon after, leaving me no mode of transportation. Stephanie moved away to start her dream job as a forest ranger.

This was probably for the best. She was a sweet girl and I was bad news. I broke up with her shortly after getting the news that she was moving, and ended up reconnecting and getting into a relationship with Leilani. Leilani was also a very nice girl and supported me in more ways than she should have. We had similar issues, and she was able to understand what was going on with me better than most people, but our relationship was short lived. I isolate and cut off contact with everyone when I have a depressive episode. I was under the impression it would be better for everyone if I dissapeared when this happened. That I shouldn’t burden my friends with my own personal shit. It’s what I was taught growing up, to man up and deal with the problem. Don’t make it someone elses. During one of these episodes, she found someone else, and we fell out of contact. I remember the last thing she sent me was “Please don’t cut me out again”.

Shortly afterwards I was hospitalized once more. I had been out of college for a year and was working on paying for a new car and getting the debt I’d been accumulating through medicine costs and therapy when this happened. I was slapped with almost ten thousand dollars worth of debt, and that leads to today.

I will soon be twenty four. My friends and those that supported me for so long are gone. They have been for years. I’m living at my parents and am working a dead-end job as a QA engineer. I wont pretend like none of this is my fault. I’m self aware enough to know my own actions have lead me to this point. I should have dealt with my problems rather than trying to bury them. I should have accepted the help and support my friends had offered. I should have, in general, been a better person. I’m hoping that somehow, typing this all out, I can make peace with everything leading me to this point. If not that, to at least make sense of it.

#stream of conscience #writing

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sending-the-message · 7 years ago

Text

Suicide by Search Engine by M59Gar

I'll admit it, I was suicidal. On a spectacularly bad day in a particularly lonely month during a rather bleak winter, I wasn't really feeling the whole life thing anymore. I'd been unhappy before, and even depressed, but this was different. This felt like a hot knife of pain prodding me to action; where before thoughts of suicide had only ever been hypothetical, now the world seemed filled with the promise of sweet relief at every turn. Sidewalk curbs begged me to trip and smash my head, traffic jovially requested I leap out onto the street, and friendly steel rods in the construction site next to my house were always poking out and waving me over to get impaled.

The only thing that saved me was the helpless and horrified feeling that this urge was coming from outside myself. The little man riding around in my brain—the little man that looked out my eyes and spoke my thoughts to himself—was not trying to sail my body against the reefs of traffic and steel rods. He was trying to brave the storm despite feeling hopeless; it was something else that was trying to crash us against the rocks and destroy us.

Chemicals. It's chemicals in the brain, you see. I looked it up online. Between a thousand different searches for ways to kill myself, I also managed to open a suicide prevention forum. All I managed to post was help, but that was enough. Kind souls contacted moderators, concerned moderators contacted police, tired police contacted doctors, and grim men in white uniforms took me to a special hospital.

For a long time, I was disconnected from the world. It was summer by the time the doctors found the right combination and dosages of medicines to balance the storm in my brain, but the day I finally walked out of that facility, it was beautiful and warm out.

And I wanted to live!

I waved at a passerby. She was very old, but took the effort to wave back and even smile.

Oh my God, could you imagine what I might have done? What I might have missed out on? I bought donuts from a shop with change that had been in my clothes in storage at the facility for six months.

I sat on a bench and broke down in tears while human beings milled left and right around me. Do you know what it is to be alive? You get to talk to other aware beings. You get to have ideas and share them and have those ideas refuted, entertained, or accepted. You get to build things. You get to eat things.

Like donuts.

For fifteen minutes, I sat on that bench near that bus stop crying profusely while eating donuts. When people asked if I was alright, I just told them that these were really good donuts.

I didn't have money for the bus since I'd spent it on treats, but the orderlies had let me charge my phone before departing. I loaded up the Internet for the first time in half a year and mapped the way home. It was a beautiful day! I would walk.

No specific turn was in itself scary. It was too slow a change for that. It was only after two hours of walking that I looked around, saw homeless men, drug addicts, and openly carried pistols that I realized I was in a very bad part of town. I clutched my phone tight and continually checked the mapping program. It insisted that my next turn was down a dark and trash-filled alley, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Rising city heat caused gold waves of evening light to dapple the street; in that back and forth light, I saw unhappy eyes look my way.

Time to move on. Screw that.

I found a rundown gas station and asked for directions inside. The attendant listened to my question from behind his security glass and told me I was way off. The part of town I was looking for was practically in the opposite direction.

Well, maybe the maps program in my phone was six months out of date. Maybe that was it. I got to walking and left the bad part of town before night fell, and I reached my apartment around three in the morning. All my bills had been on automatic payment, and thank God for that. My landlord had probably never even noticed I'd been away, but I did have a massive pile of mail just inside the door.

I left it for later and crashed in bed, my bed, my home. It was good to be alive.

But I had no food!

Getting out my phone, I looked up twenty-four-hour pizza places. There'd been two before I'd gone away. What had they been called?

While beginning to type in my search, I froze. After each of the first three letters in pizza, the autocomplete search had filled in: please kill me, pick the best way to die, pizza poison buried in cheese.

I was very unhappily reminded of all the searches I'd made online... before. I cleared my browser cache and put my phone down. I wasn't hungry anymore.

And I thought that would be the end of it.

The next morning, I had a text.

West Columbus Drug & Food Rx: NATHAN, your Rx is due now. Reply REFILL to fill. HELP for more info & STOP to opt out of Rx Alerts. CANCEL to cancel Rx.

I typed in refill and hit send. I was really hungry, but it was important I took my medication in the right amounts and on time. I got dressed, brushed my teeth, and headed down to the store. I waited in line for twenty minutes only to be told they didn't have my prescription on file. I argued with the pharmacist calmly for a minute until I checked my phone to show them I'd just sent REFILL—and I saw that somehow my reply had autocorrected to CANCEL.

The pharmacist apologized but told me I'd have to have the facility send another prescription. Strict insurance rules, nothing they could do.

I sighed. It was fine, whatever. I stepped outside to call the facility. I'd hoped it would be longer before I contacted them again, but it was important, so I hit the contact number for Sunnybrook and waited with the phone to my ear.

Nothing happened.

After about ten seconds, I lowered my phone and looked at it.

I wasn't even in a call.

I'd somehow accidentally hit 'delete' and the confirmation, removing the contact from my phone. Sighing, I went the phone's browser and began to type in the name of the facility to get their phone number all over again.

The search autocompleted as I typed: Sin to kill yourself?, Sucks to be alive, Sunday the best day of the week to die, Sunny weather increases suicide risk study says.

My finger stopped four letters in. I shivered from some sourceless chill. This wasn't funny anymore—if it had ever been—and I angrily cleared my browser cache again.

Bitter, I waited a tick, and then typed in the letter 'k':

kill yourself

Of course. Online companies had massive profiles that held all the data every one of us had ever put online. I'd made thousands of searches about suicide before losing contact with the Internet completely for six months, and all that data was stored on a server somewhere linked to my particular phone. Shaking with anger and a strange kind of abused-puppy fear, I let the phone slip from my hands before kicking it as hard as I could while it fell. It soared out onto the street and exploded before being run over by seven different cars.

Screw you. Just screw you. A mindless artifact of technology had left residue of my mental issues on the Internet, that was all. I just needed to get a new phone and put it out of my head.

I walked to Sunnybrook and talked to a nurse in person to have my prescription refilled.

I walked back to the drug store in person to get my medicine.

I took my medicine and began to feel better almost immediately.

The next day, I went in person to a tech store and got a new phone. New number, new everything, no connection to the old. I walked out of there happy as could be.

Once I got home, I sighed, stretched, looked around my apartment, and said to myself, "Maybe I should go see a movie." I'd never been one to leave my solitude for any reason, but now life was good, and I was even feeling a little bit outgoing. I got my new phone out to see what was playing.

I typed the letter 'm' and the search autocompleted to movies in my area now that I'm feeling better.

"What the hell?"

Coincidence. It had to be. I began to type again: movies about Hell.

No.

It wasn't possible.

Or—

I moved my phone's listening end up to my mouth and said as if I was talking to someone I'd brought home, "Hey Jessica, I feel like seeing an action movie. What about you?"

Alright, continue typing: movies good action date.

It was listening to me.

It was fucking listening to me!

New technology. It had to be. But was the microphone simply always on? Were people okay with this? When I'd gone in for treatment, there'd been a privacy outrage. Had things shifted back hard the other way in the last six months?

I'd paid cash for the phone. I wondered if it was learning about its new user. Still pretending I was talking to a non-existent Jessica, I said, "Yeah, my friends usually call me that as a nickname, but my real name is Nathan."

I started to type into my phone again, but a severe amount of interface lag seemed to be slowing things down. After a good twenty seconds of frustrated typing that did nothing, the letters I'd hit all appeared again in the search bar.

moviesiesiesaoishdoihoeishkyou are dead Nathan

Nearly dropping my phone like it had turned into a rattlesnake in my hand, I caught it back at the last second. I had to be hallucinating, right? I deleted the search and then typed again.

movie you killed yourself 188 days ago

Shivering, I stared at that message for an interminable period. What the hell was going on here? I didn't feel dead. At long last, I said aloud, "No I didn't!"

movie the data doesn't lie searched for suicide three months followed by zero data you died

"You think I killed myself because I went off the grid," I breathed aloud, not quite believing what I was interacting with. Had neural learning algorithms actually developed a sort of proto-consciousness through analyzing massive amounts of data? One of my acquaintances was a programmer, and he'd been talking about something just like this when—

movie anomaly will be corrected further data for dead profile must be prevented

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

I didn't like what was happening, so I turned off my phone and left it near my sink.

That night, I did not go out.

I did not see a movie.

All I could think about was what might happen if I used my credit card. The online data conglomerates would see that, and whatever it was that thought I was dead would know. If I withdrew cash from an ATM, it would know. I was stuck.

But this was crazy, right?

It had to be a side effect of the medicines. I was imagining things.

The next day, I used my credit card at a Starbucks.

I was so stupid. Oh my God, so stupid...

Two days after that coffee, the mailman died in an explosion that blew my door off its hinges. A mistake in components shipping for a military contractor near Columbus had somehow sent dangerous materials to my address. I found all this out in person from an apologetic military lawyer. They offered to pay for my door; I told him to talk to the landlord.

Because me? I'm running. Big Data thinks I'm dead, and they, or it, have gone from analyzing their information to trying to make it true.

I'm posting this anonymously. My name is not Nathan. But I bet someone or some thing knows what my name really is... and it knows all about you, too. Be careful what information you give out. The things you say around your phone or the things you search online may come back to haunt you.

Literally. Beware the ghost in the machine. It is always watching, always listening—even if you think your phone is off.

+++

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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