Jared Kleinman was angry. Like, really fucking angry. So FUCKING ANGRY that it felt like something was pushing on his skin and the inside of his ribs and his face itched and he was going to explode or die or explode and die and no one was going to notice.
God.
Fuuuuuck.
He wanted to die, kind of. But also not, because he was getting this angry over actual calc homework, not the end of the world, and he could see himself being happy and successful one day, so yeah. Not really suicidal in the long run, but it seemed like a good idea right now.
He stared at his paper, at the fifteen questions with all their little individual parts that took so much effort to focus on, and cried a little bit. He just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t take it anymore. Suddenly, there was this feeling like the calculus paper was this huge, unbreakable wall, stretching into the sky and under the ground, and he was on one side and the rest of the world was on the other and there was no way over or around. He didn’t know how he could ever finish it. He didn’t even know how to start.
Jared was tired.
Jared was going to take a nap.
“Why did I just get a call from your math teacher saying you didn’t turn in your homework yesterday?” His mom is on him as soon as he walks in the door, waving a sheet of notepaper like it was his death row sentencing. “Or the day before, or half of last week?”
“I just…” Jared had no idea. He was completely at a loss for words. Why hadn’t he? Where had the time gone? Was it really Tuesday? “I just didn’t have time. I was tired. It’s fine, I’ll catch up.” He tried to go upstairs, but his mom grabbed his arm.
“Jared, you spend all day up there playing your video games. I know you have enough time.” She’s looking at him with something intense in her eyes and he can’t for the life of him tell if it’s anger or worry or disappointment or some unholy mix of all three. “You have time, why aren’t you doing your work?”
Yeah, Jared, why aren’t you doing your work? What’s wrong with you, Jared? You had so much potential, but you now spend all your time on that computer, rotting your brain. You get headaches all the time now, don’t you think that blue light hurts your eyes? Your grades haven’t slipped but I’m just not seeing the commitment, Jared and oh my God, if you keep going this way you’re going to fail your final exams just like you got rejected from your number one and two schools and no one is ever going to want to talk to you ever again and you’re going to die alone and this is YOUR FAULT YOUR FAULT YOUR FAULT-
“Jared? Honey?”
“I’m fine, mom,” he chokes out. He’s going to start crying soon and he just wants some fucking privacy. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.” She wouldn’t listen to him anyways. None of them do.
“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Yes, he does know that. He also knows that whatever he says will be in one ear and out the other, because that’s just the way adults are, apparently. “I want to sit down and talk about this. I don’t want to keep putting it off. I’m worried about you.”
He doesn’t answer. He can’t answer past the lump in his throat and the burning pain in his chest, and even if he could, there’s nothing to be said in response to being led to the kitchen table like a little kid, or a lamb to slaughter. He sits across from her, at his usual spot, and stares at a stain on the table mat.
“Jared, please talk to me. You’re so quiet lately, and you don’t hang out with your friends anymore-”
“What friends, mom? Evan? He doesn’t really count.” Jared doesn’t have friends right now, and the longer he thinks, the more he realizes that he never actually had any to begin with. Jared’s always been a funny kid, but he’s also been the smart kid and the queer kid and the mean kid and the ugly short fat kid and goody two shoes who’s never even gotten drunk. He hasn’t gotten drunk because he hasn’t yet stooped low enough to do so alone in his room, but that’s not a good enough excuse.
His mom gives him a frustrated look. “I’m sure you have friends, Jared. You’re just being dramatic.”
“No, mom, I really don’t. Swear to God and everything. No one likes me.”
She huffs a sigh and leans forward to look him right in the eyes. “Please tell me what’s going on, then?”
Something in Jared snaps and he thinks fuck it, maybe I do deserve to have someone else to share this with, maybe this time they’ll believe me. Then he starts talking. “Listen, this isn’t something new, it’s just getting worse and I’m too tired to deal with it anymore. I’m sad and angry and so tired all the time, and I don’t even know what my actual personality is because I’ve been dealing with this since as long as I can remember. I feel like I never know what time it is or what’s going on because the world is all fuzzy and I can’t concentrate. Every little minor inconvenience sends me into this awful spiralling place where I just start panicking and then I feel like it’s all my fault and I give up. And it’s better to just not have to deal with all of that, so a lot of times I feel like I’m not even in my own body because that’s easier. And I think it’s all my fault, I just don’t know how.” He’s properly crying by the time he’s done, his vision is all clouded over and his voice is strained.
His mother just looks at him for a moment. Then, she asks, “What do you mean, ‘you give up?’”
What, like that’s an ambiguous statement? “I mean I give up. I’m done trying. I’m too tired. I give up.”
“On what?”
God. “Everything. I give up on everything.”
She’s still just staring at him. She could at least look worried. “But you’re doing so well in school.”
Ah, yes. The school argument. Because good grades are all there is to life and smart kids never have any problems at all. It’s not totally unrealistic and extremely mentally taxing to expect certain kids to maintain a perfect average for twelve years straight! “Yeah, well, I can’t keep doing that. Something has to change.”
“And you think this is all your fault?”
“Yeah, basically. It has to be.” He knows, logically, that it can’t all be his fault. Well, he used to. Since this whole Evan thing, though, the facts are kind of stacking up against him. He doesn’t know what he wants his mom to say, but he thinks he might be looking for proof that he’s still a good person.
“Well, Jared, if you think you can work harder, then maybe you should.”
No. No, that is totally not what he was saying! She missed the point. “No, mom, I mean- I can’t-” He sighs and shoves his chair back, standing up and grabbing his bag. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”
“Jared, wait-”
Nope. He’s gone. Back up the stairs where he belongs. Bye, bitch.
No one is going to listen to him. No one is going to listen to him and his calc homework still isn’t done and his grades are starting to drop and everyone agrees that it’s his fault.
He needs out. He needs a pause button. He meant what he said down there, he can’t keep going like this. He can’t keep dissociating all day and doing the bare minimum of his homework in the middle of the night and then waking up late and trying to do it all again. He can’t keep living in a world where his mind tries to attack him every moment he's still, but keeps him so tired he can't possibly move. His life is unlivable, and no one is listening to him. How can he make them listen to him?
He would bet his fucking computer that trying to kill himself would get peoples’ attention. No one can ignore that, right? But Jared isn’t totally sure he wants to die, and he doesn’t want to find out what that’s like first hand.
There are other things, though. There’s cutting himself. That one sounds good. Self-harm in general sounds good. Purposely failing classes won’t work, it’ll just end in more people blaming him. He’s no good at starving himself, he’s tried it before and he doesn’t last long enough for people to care. But self-harm? He does that already anyway. He just needs to graduate from blunt fingernails to sharp knives and lighters.
He probably won’t, though. He won’t do any of that because he’s too much of a pussy and he’s just going to keep half-living his life and hoping for a miracle. Maybe that’s how the rest of his life will go. He hopes not. For now, though, he can comfort himself with thoughts of nails digging through skin and destroying school property while he tries to finish this goddamn calc sheet before midnight.