[maybe trigger warning for abstract talk of self-injury?]
[If he'd had his way, he wouldn't have signed up for art at all, but he was outnumbered; all of his doctors agreed it would be a good idea for Itachi to be able to keep a close eye on him, so art it was. First period. Of course.
Not that he couldn't draw, but it was never his thing. The fact that he smashed his instrument six months ago and the lack of a music department mean his thing, violin, is no longer an option.
Frustrating.
He sits hunched over in the back of the classroom, playing with the sleeve of his shirt (he bought himself three pairs of armwarmers with Itachi's credit card, but he can't get the shrill voice of the girl at Hot Topic whispering "Look, that boy with the emo-hiders is so cute" out of his head; he had to bite his tongue and choke down a klonopin just to make his legs stop shaking enough to walk, she didn't get it , didn't understand the feeling of choosing between tearing yourself up inside or out, didn't understand the feeling of pain so overwhelming it's imperative to claw open holes in your skin because screaming doesn't let it out fast enough and there's too much for your body to hold and it's rotting you from the inside out--)
and burning a hole in the wall with his gaze, praying his older brother won't decide to publicly humiliate him in the name of affectionate hazing.
Breathe in, breathe out; exhale and inhale.
He wishes he could get away with listening to his MP3 player in class, so he could actually fill his ears and not just his brain with Vienna--it would go a long way to calming him down. But he made the stupid mistake of buying enormous headphones--excellent sound quality, impossible to hide.
This is going to be a long year.
Time for another klonopin.]
Not that he couldn't draw, but it was never his thing. The fact that he smashed his instrument six months ago and the lack of a music department mean his thing, violin, is no longer an option.
Frustrating.
He sits hunched over in the back of the classroom, playing with the sleeve of his shirt (he bought himself three pairs of armwarmers with Itachi's credit card, but he can't get the shrill voice of the girl at Hot Topic whispering "Look, that boy with the emo-hiders is so cute" out of his head; he had to bite his tongue and choke down a klonopin just to make his legs stop shaking enough to walk, she didn't get it , didn't understand the feeling of choosing between tearing yourself up inside or out, didn't understand the feeling of pain so overwhelming it's imperative to claw open holes in your skin because screaming doesn't let it out fast enough and there's too much for your body to hold and it's rotting you from the inside out--)
and burning a hole in the wall with his gaze, praying his older brother won't decide to publicly humiliate him in the name of affectionate hazing.
Breathe in, breathe out; exhale and inhale.
He wishes he could get away with listening to his MP3 player in class, so he could actually fill his ears and not just his brain with Vienna--it would go a long way to calming him down. But he made the stupid mistake of buying enormous headphones--excellent sound quality, impossible to hide.
This is going to be a long year.
Time for another klonopin.]