Some Days - Family verse
There were days and there were days.
There were days when he wondered what it would be like to be crippled and confined to bed all the time, so he'd have an excuse. Because someone like him, someone who, in theory, held an illusion of power wasn't supposed to wrestle with depression. He was the family fuck-up, the one who did nothing with his life. Aside from pointing out his flaws, Peter felt like he wasn't good for much else. Arthur had pushed him into pointless jobs in the beginning--supervising the warehouses when he was 16, where the men would do the same work regardless of he was there to see it or not. With a slap on the back and "This job is shit, huh kid?", he only understood his purpose there after two weeks of boredom.
There were days when the swirling and swirling didn't stop even the alcohol left his bloodstream, and he buried his face into the pillow, trying to heave off what it felt like physically to be miserable. He woke up to the same problems, the same thoughts, and on the darkest days, he woke up wondering what it would truly be like to play Russian roulette.
There were days when family secrets threatened to drag him down and grew to be monsters in their own rights. All families had secrets. He really didn't think most of them were like his family. It seemed to be more common lately. Love in the wrong places; things forbidden, and things he couldn't talk about even though they were so wrong. Things he didn't want at all, and those were the ones that hurt. Sometimes he would pick a fight just so he could have an excuse to rub over his bruises.
He felt like a convenience. Arthur had trained him well to never ask for help, and he could only watch other people be concerned in their own affairs. He felt like a nuisance above all, just some loser that hung around and maybe people would acknowledge. Because in the end, it was true, and he really hadn't done anything in his life--he never did do things right. He couldn't show a sting from words or how his defense was so high that he continued to dig himself deeper. He'd become irredeemable.
Staying at home was dangerous territory, but he didn't really have a choice--he didn't have a job or the skills to acquire a real one, and he couldn't move out because he didn't have the money for it. Nathan was at home, and more often than not, the silence was more deafening than any kind of word or action.
Adam persisted, but he started to wonder if it was out of pity. He never wanted to be a pity case. When Adam asked to do something during the coming weekend, Peter's initial urge was to retreat. Inevitably, he'd fuck it all up because he always did, and that would end in a mess. Peter felt like his presence itself was a burden, something that an already burnt out man needed to deal with out of necessity. Maybe it was a projection of self-loathing and there was some fancy psychological bullshit going on.
He was convinced he wasn't meant for this life, and what could-have-been settled down in his thoughts, growing rancid and moldy and infecting the rest of him. No one would believe something like this, no one would care, and if they saw it, they would be convinced that he was overly dramatic or too emotional. He had to be cold and without feeling. But an unhappy teenager punished for being unhappy, grew into a miserable adult with a crippled spirit.
It was dark by the time his head hit the pillow, and it was still swirling and swirling. Sometimes he felt better for a little while. He'd still wake up in darkness in the morning, but it would be too melodramatic to let anyone see. As long as they got what they wanted out of him anyway, they wouldn't care that much.
Too bad Mohinder couldn't give him something to make him feel better.
There were days when he wondered what it would be like to be crippled and confined to bed all the time, so he'd have an excuse. Because someone like him, someone who, in theory, held an illusion of power wasn't supposed to wrestle with depression. He was the family fuck-up, the one who did nothing with his life. Aside from pointing out his flaws, Peter felt like he wasn't good for much else. Arthur had pushed him into pointless jobs in the beginning--supervising the warehouses when he was 16, where the men would do the same work regardless of he was there to see it or not. With a slap on the back and "This job is shit, huh kid?", he only understood his purpose there after two weeks of boredom.
There were days when the swirling and swirling didn't stop even the alcohol left his bloodstream, and he buried his face into the pillow, trying to heave off what it felt like physically to be miserable. He woke up to the same problems, the same thoughts, and on the darkest days, he woke up wondering what it would truly be like to play Russian roulette.
There were days when family secrets threatened to drag him down and grew to be monsters in their own rights. All families had secrets. He really didn't think most of them were like his family. It seemed to be more common lately. Love in the wrong places; things forbidden, and things he couldn't talk about even though they were so wrong. Things he didn't want at all, and those were the ones that hurt. Sometimes he would pick a fight just so he could have an excuse to rub over his bruises.
He felt like a convenience. Arthur had trained him well to never ask for help, and he could only watch other people be concerned in their own affairs. He felt like a nuisance above all, just some loser that hung around and maybe people would acknowledge. Because in the end, it was true, and he really hadn't done anything in his life--he never did do things right. He couldn't show a sting from words or how his defense was so high that he continued to dig himself deeper. He'd become irredeemable.
Staying at home was dangerous territory, but he didn't really have a choice--he didn't have a job or the skills to acquire a real one, and he couldn't move out because he didn't have the money for it. Nathan was at home, and more often than not, the silence was more deafening than any kind of word or action.
Adam persisted, but he started to wonder if it was out of pity. He never wanted to be a pity case. When Adam asked to do something during the coming weekend, Peter's initial urge was to retreat. Inevitably, he'd fuck it all up because he always did, and that would end in a mess. Peter felt like his presence itself was a burden, something that an already burnt out man needed to deal with out of necessity. Maybe it was a projection of self-loathing and there was some fancy psychological bullshit going on.
He was convinced he wasn't meant for this life, and what could-have-been settled down in his thoughts, growing rancid and moldy and infecting the rest of him. No one would believe something like this, no one would care, and if they saw it, they would be convinced that he was overly dramatic or too emotional. He had to be cold and without feeling. But an unhappy teenager punished for being unhappy, grew into a miserable adult with a crippled spirit.
It was dark by the time his head hit the pillow, and it was still swirling and swirling. Sometimes he felt better for a little while. He'd still wake up in darkness in the morning, but it would be too melodramatic to let anyone see. As long as they got what they wanted out of him anyway, they wouldn't care that much.
Too bad Mohinder couldn't give him something to make him feel better.