Anxious Thoughts - Tumblr Posts

Chapter 2

'Another day wasted.'

It was the first thought to come to your mind when you had awoken the next day, the sun already high above the horizon and glaring through your windows.

You didn't feel well rested, despite having slept for hours on end. Your mind was tired, your heart still ached, you didn't feel as if you had the strength to open your eyes. You just lay there on your bed, unmoving and unbothered.

You would have stayed there all day, had it not been for your hunger. Clutching at your stomach in pain, you remembered how you had barely eaten anything the previous day, too busy wallowing in self pity to even think about eating.

With a groan, you slowly sat up on the edge of your mattress, blinking away the sudden head rush that came with the movement. The floorboards felt cold beneath your feet, sending shivers up your spine as you placed them flat on the wooden flooring. You rubbed at your eyes as you stood up, stumbling out of your bedroom to go and wash up.

It was unbearably hot in your living room, prompting you to open up the patio doors to allow some air inside, the humidity increasing as a new wave of warm air wafted into the room. The echoing sounds of cicadas that rested on tree trunks beyond your fencing filled the air, buzzing and buzzing until that white noise in your mind was finally cancelled out.

You chewed slowly on your food, maybe to waste more time so that the sun would go down and you could go back to sleep. But it was barely noon and the sun was still hovering high in the sky, scorning you with its intense rays as if to punish you for wishing it to leave. It was going to be a long summer's day, and you were already sick of it.

Sick.

You suddenly placed your half-eaten plate of food down with a clatter as you scrambled to your feet, slapping a hand desperately over your mouth as you felt it rise and boil in your throat, barely making it to the bathroom as your stomach spewed out bile into the sink.

It was happening again, you realised as you continued to gag, fumbling to turn the tap on to wash away the disgusting sight before you, prompting you to choke again. It was all going so well, and now it's happening again. Tears welled in your eyes as you squeezed them shut. Just make it stop. Please make it stop.

Your legs finally collapsed from beneath you and you tumbled to the tiled floor, hands still clutched to the edge of the basin as you crouched down, head low and breaths heavy. A cold sweat had broken out over your skin, leaving you shivering and abnormally feverish.

It wasn't fair, you thought miserably. Nothing had happened. Nothing had gone wrong. But apparently something did go wrong. Things always go wrong. You can never seem to be at peace, no matter what you try. The sudden waves of anxiety that hit you when you least expected it wasn't your fault. And yet it was entirely your fault. Nothing made sense. Nothing ever made sense. You were too stupid to understand. You could never understand.

'If only I didn't go outside yesterday.'

But it still would have happened. This would still have happened. You didn't know why, but it would have. Because that's just how it works. It's not supposed to work that way. But for you, it does. You didn't need to understand. You just needed to let it happen. Even if you didn't want it to. You have no power, no control. Just fall to your knees and cry, as you always do. That's how it always works.

You stood up shakily, hesitantly staring back at the face in the mirror. She looked better than you did. Smiling, happy, glad she was behind the glass and wasn't there with you.

You blinked, and the image changed. That was you. You, with the messy hair and the dark, tired eyes, the sickly skin and pinched cheeks, frail and weak, gaze sullen and dazed. Lost and confused. Sad and pitiful. That was who you were.

Unable to look any longer, you twisted the faucet back on, cupping handfuls of cold water and splashing it over your face multiple times, scrubbing harshly at your eyes and mouth, rinsing it out to get rid of the sickening taste of bile. You didn't dare look back into the mirror as you grabbed your towel, rubbing it over your face and tossing it aside before exiting the bathroom.

Breakfast didn't sound appetising anymore, and you regretfully threw the rest of the food away. You stood in the middle of your living room, glancing around from the couch to the TV, to the console next to it, to the small bookshelf stuffed with a few books you had decided to keep for whatever reason, your fingers furling and unfurling against your palms.

They finally landed on a slim, black, hard-cover book shoved lopsidedly into the bottom shelf, it's ringed binder hanging out over the edge of the dark wood.

You reached for it, gingerly pulling it out of the shelf with the tips of your fingers, holding it at arms length as if it were some kind of wild animal. The first few pages were frayed and withered, but the rest were crisp and clean, untouched and unused.

You stared and stared at the tough cover, running your gaze over the blank darkness, as if you were searching for something. But you knew everything you were searching for was inside the book. The courage to look was dwindling away as time tricked by.

You suddenly grasped the corner of the cover, flipping it open with force and coming to a halt at the sight of the first page. All you saw was coloured blotches, streaking across the otherwise empty paper in messy lines. The blues and greens merged together in a disgusting mesh of hues, the watery disarray of paint unable to form any real structure.

After staring at it for a long while, face stoic, you flipped over to the next page. The paper was stiff and wrinkled, less like paper and more like cardboard, crackling with the slightest amount of pressure applied to it.

It was just the same as the previous one, if not, worse. You couldn't look at it for longer than a couple of minutes before moving on, and that time hastily shortened down to a few seconds until you finally reached a blank page.

With a shaky breath, you grabbed a pencil from one of the pots on your shelf and silently seated yourself down at the low table behind you. You hovered the lead over the white canvas, carefully moving it along with your hand, the sound of the pencil scratching against the paper filling your ears.

Your arm made jerky movements, wrist flicking left and right as you attempted to make an outline of something you had seen before, with the lead eroding away ever so slowly with each stroke. You watched your hand wander to every corner of the paper, pausing with a flinch every now and then when it moved just a little too far off the intended path.

The clock ticked on and on, seconds to minutes to hours, with you sat at the low table in the bright light of the sun in your living room, scratch, scratch, scratching away, even as your pencil became blunt, forcing it to mark out the lines of a seemingly misshapen landscape, thin and delicate lines becoming thick and crooked veins.

It wasn't until the pencil began stabbing the paper with its splintered tip that you finally stopped, moving your hand off the page to look down at the horrible mess you had made. It was the same picture as the others, only much, much more awful, with less colour and less sense of mind.

That same stoic face stared down at the page. Your grip on your pencil was now limp, your hand dropping to the floor by your side and the tool now slipping from your fingers, rolling over the floor and out of your reach.

You can't do anything right, can you?

The sting of tears in your eyes was going to drive you mad. You stood back up, ignoring the needle-like numbness in your lower limbs as you staggered to your bedroom, the urge to get out of the deathly silent house growing stronger.

You changed out of your clothes into an oversized beige hoodie and shorts, thinking that it wouldn't draw attention to yourself, only to realise that it would draw attention because what kind of idiot would wear a hoodie in the middle of summer? So you tossed it aside and pulled on a white vest and a grey dress-shirt on top instead, thankful that the loose fitting clothing would at least cover your curves.

You slipped on the first pair of sneakers you saw and left the house, your keys, purse and phone stuffed into your back pockets. You stood in front of your door for a moment, unsure of where to go, then ultimately decided that it really didn't matter, and you turned left and started walking.

You kept your head low, hands awkwardly swaying by your sides, unsure of where to put them because you had no other pockets. The sun was lower in the sky now, gently stretching your shadow behind you as you walked further and further down the street, following it wherever it took you because who cares where you would end up?

As always, there was no one outside besides you. The gentle patter of your footsteps against the cobbled pathway was the only sound you could hear besides the familiar twitter of birds above you. It was moments like these when you began to miss the sounds of the city, with its constant bustling streets and roads filling that emptiness in the air and somewhat reassuring you that you weren't completely alone in this world.

But here, you were. You were entirely alone.

You always thought you would be okay with that, and yet you were now hating it more than anything. How pathetic.

Glancing upwards, you noticed with a blink that the houses in the village were now far behind you. You paused, turning to look over your shoulder to see the shrunken structures in the distance, and your surroundings were instead replaced with rolling green fields of tall grass, mutely swaying in the breeze. How long had it been since you had started walking?

Despite your confusion, you turned back around and continued onward. You shouldn't think about it too much. You didn't want to think at all anymore.

And so, you walked. You walked and walked and walked. You had no idea where the road was headed towards, you had no idea if you were even in the Akashika District at that point, but that was fine. The unknown was welcomed with open arms. Anything to keep your mind quiet.

Unfortunately for you, though, all good things must come to an end. That end came far too quickly when your legs and feet began to ache. Your body was becoming tired — most likely due to you not having any food in your system — and your shortness of breath under the brutal summer heat was making your head spin. You needed to stop soon, unless you wanted to faint.

With great reluctance, you steered yourself to the side of the road, kneeling down with your knees tucked into your chest and your forearms hanging over them. You pushed your hair away from your face, disliking the sweat accumulating on your temple. Whilst you caught your breath, you looked back again down the road you had walked up, and the town was now a lot smaller than it was before.

You would have to walk back there eventually, you reminded yourself, and you outwardly groaned. You didn't want to do that. But you guessed it was your own fault, anyway. You deserved this. It's the consequence of your actions, isn't it? You acted irrationally, and now you had to suffer further.

The sound of a car horn startled you from your thoughts. You whipped your head over to your right with wide eyes, watching as a white car rolled to a stop a few feet ahead of you, its tires crunching against the dirt. The engine died down into silence as you heard the clutch being pulled into place with a squeak, catching a brief glimpse of a shadowy silhouette through the windscreen as it shuffled to get out of the car.

You were frozen in place as you watched a man step out of the vehicle, brushing his dark hair out of his eyes as he regarded you with a curious look, raising a brow as he stepped closer. His rounded face looked so familiar, as well as those large, half-lidded eyes, but you couldn't quite put your finger on it. He wore a white shirt complete with a deep blue tie, which hung loosely under his unbuttoned collar. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his black slacks, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbow, exposing his forearms.

"Are you okay there?" He asked, sauntering to a stop as he stood over you. You stared up at him, breath caught in your throat, unsure of what to say. No, you were not okay, but you couldn't just tell people that, could you? You had to be okay, you had to be normal.

"Yes, I'm fine, thank you." You attempted to smile, the strain of forcibly stretching your lips across your cheeks paining you greatly, and you would have kept it up if the man hadn't frowned at you. The smile that was more akin to a grimace slowly slipped off of your face, replaced by a nervous pinch to your lower lip instead.

"You don't look 'fine' to me," he stated bluntly, leaning down a little so that his head was mere inches away from your own. "What are you doing all the way out here on the ground?"

You inched yourself back slightly, wobbling under the uneven balance on your limbs. Excuses, you had to come up with excuses, but that was becoming an increasingly difficult task when the man interrogating you seemed to know that you were lying before you even spoke.

Just as you were about to lose your balance in your crouched position, he grabbed onto your upper arm to steady you. The warmth radiating from his palm seeped through your sleeve, your already boiling skin heating up further from the touch. You felt your cheeks heat up, too, the unfamiliar touch of this (admittedly attractive) man leaving you in a slight daze.

"I-I was just out for a walk, and I got tired, that's all," you quickly stammered, unable to look him in the eyes lest you burst into flames. His scrutinising look didn't falter, instead increasing as he squinted at you harshly.

"You look like you're gonna faint. I think you're a little more than tired, lady."

Your heart pounded painfully in your chest at his words. You were fine, totally fine, why couldn't he just accept that?

You gasped as you suddenly felt yourself being lifted off the ground, your arms pulled forward as he forced you to follow behind him. He was leading you to his car, his grip on you firm as if to say that you didn't have a choice.

"Where are you taking me?" You couldn't exactly trust a man you had just met so easily. He stopped in his tracks, turning to look back at you with a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Ah, sorry! I'm gonna look weird if I just start dragging you over here, huh?" He released your arms to bow mockingly, peering up at you through one eye as the other closed in a wink.

"The name's Akashika Ozo. Taxi driver, at your service." He grinned widely, seemingly proud of himself for the little skit he had pulled. Ozo straightened back up, taking a hold of your forearm tenderly this time and gesturing towards his car. "I was just planning on giving you a lift to wherever it is you're going. If you want one, that is."

sometimes i freak out and wonder if a random acquaintance i know who i don’t know that well in person but is online and who doesn’t know i have a tumblr has seen any of my posts

When your favorite artist somehow found your crooked post and liked it, and now your anxious brain is like aaaaaaaaa