angel screamed at night. he was disturbed, imperfect, and tainted. upset everyday. he fell asleep crying, knowing of what was to come.
nowadays, angel preferred a black life, to him everything was black. his thoughts were black, his dreams were black, his reality was black. he learned to love black. he thought of it as his. it was his own state of being that he could manage, he could control, he could alter. but he did not. he loved his depression. he thought of it as his asset.
he knew no different. everywhere around him, on the tv, in the music, on the internet, it seemed like everyone was depressed like him. and it seemed like they loved it, so he loved it. he made friends with them. they were his online friends.
if they cut, he cut. it felt wrong to angel. he asked one of his friends why they cut and they told him it was for control. they cut because they could control what and where they cut. the concept made sense to angel. he could not control his intake for medication because he could not get it. he could not control the way his ‘family’ thought of him. he could not control his dreams. his life was not his own. he was never in control.
he tuned out everyone around him and focused on himself, focused on his problems, dwelled on them. he did not talk to anyone, he could talk to himself. he did not need anyone when he had himself. all he wanted was to be alone. why would he want to be friends with people who only dwelled on their own problems? he hated them. he stopped cutting. he realized how unnecessary and harmful it was. he could control himself and stopped cutting.