Trigger Warning:
•(Verbal) Fighting
•Cursing
•Shouting
•Symptoms of an anxiety attack
•Brief self-harm mention

Stay safe!

"I'm done. I'm leaving."

"That's it young man, you can't leave-"

"Why not Larry?! Because you love me? Because you'll miss your dear boy? Don't lie to me!"

"Connor, sweetie, of course we love you-"

"Well Cynthia, you guys sure don't act like it. You love the idea of a son, not your actual son."

"Connor, you're being irrational. Where would you even go?"

"I just want to take a drive or go for a walk, it doesn't matter how I get away I just want to get away!"

"Don't leave Connor!"

"Why not?"

"Because we love you-"

"NO YOU DON'T! JUST ADMIT IT, YOU DON'T WANT ME AS A SON."

"...Connie-"

"-and I don't want you as parents."

"Fine. Leave. Run away from your problems."

"Larry-"

"Cynthia, no. He needs to know that you need to face your problems. He'll only learn through experience it seems."

"Wow Larry, talking as if I'm not here. Isn't that rude and disrespectful."

"What's rude and disrespectful is your attitude, and don't call us by our names. You're acting like a coward right now by running from your problems, again!"

"That's rich, coming from you! You can't just deal with the fact that I'm not okay, no! You have to shove me in a box with pretty flowers and bright colors to show off to everyone! Oh look, it's our perfectly functioning son, and our perfect family! Well news-fucking-flash, this family is about as scarred as my fuckin' wrist. Zoe isn't even here anymore because of you guys!"

"I don't think the blame is to be put on us, now is it?"

"I'm sorry, but excuse me? Are you being serious right now?!"

"If you just knew how to sit down and have a proper discussion-"

"-we're long past that-"

"-or had some manners-"

"-manners and etiquette are just praised lies in pretty packaging-"

"-then we might be able to change things!"

"Wow! I don't know if you haven't noticed, but here's a little update for you! I ONLY CHANGE FOR THE WORSE! SO TRYING TO FIX ME IS A FUTILE QUEST! JUST LET ME BLEED OUT ON THE GROUD FROM THE BULLET WOUND! TRYING TO PATCH ME UP, WITH A FUCKING BANDAID, IS ONLY CAUSING MORE PAIN! ...i thought you would realize that by now..."

"You can change, Connor. You just never try-"

"BECAUSE I KNOW THAT IT WILL ONLY END IN DISASTER."

Silence.

"Take a walk, a quick drive. I can't help you if you're not willing to take my help. Come back once you're calm so we can actually talk."

"Finally, something I can agree with you on."

"Could you grab some milk? We're out."

"Sure, whatever."

Running upstairs, Connor entered his room. After picking up his phone, his wallet, his cars keys, his journal and a few pens, and shoving it all in his pockets, he pulled him black combat boots on and headed outside to his small jeep.

Stepping outside into the slightly humid autumn air, Connor twirled the keys around his finger. He shoved them into the ignition and sped off towards the super market.

Turning on his playlist handily titled, 'Depression', This Is Home by Cavetown comes on.

Often I am upset, that I cannot fall in love but I guess

this avoids the stress of falling out of it

My walls are high enough to protect me. Yeah, there are times I wish I could open up the gates, but it makes moments like these easier. I'm not attached to Larry and Cynthia so much that it hurts to tell them the truth.

Are you tired of me yet?

Zoe doesn't want me anywhere near her; she moved out for a reason. My so-called 'parents' hate me.

I'm a little sick right now but I swear,

when I'm ready-

Connor takes the phone and tosses it into the backseat, effectively disconnecting the AUX cord.

Sick. That's all they see me as. Mental Illness. That's my name. I'm not a person with feelings, I'm just Mental Illness.

Connor drives. He drives and he drives and he drives and he drives. He doesn't know where to, but he just drives.

***

Connor has been driving for 5 hours straight.

No pit stops.

No breaks.

He is now no longer in the state of New York.

He doesn't know what he is doing.

Auto-pilot and disassociation have taken the wheel, figuratively and literally.

He decides to stop at a hotel, since it's 1:43 in the morning.

He grabs his stuff, and his phone screen automatically flashes on. He sees numerous missed phone calls and unread text messages from his parents.

He shrugs it off.

The receptionist at the hotel gave him the keys to his room, and as he steps into his temporary home for the next who-knows-how-long, he is hit with the overwhelming scent of craft glue.

It was certainly some small child and their parent stayed in the room previous, as there was an empty bottle of glue,

popsicle sticks, and string left in the trash can. A pair of blunt tip scissors lay on the nightstand.

Aww, sweet. Someone had a fun time, a nice bonding moment. Something I've never had and never will have. 

The reality of what he has done hits Connor, giving him whiplash.

Oh my god. I'm in a different state, at two a.m., in a random hotel.

Is this real?

Connor panics as he sits down on the bed. The sheets don't feel soft; they don't have a feeling at all.

There needs to be some feeling somewhere!

He yanked at his hair, he scratched and bit at his skin, he banged his head against the wall, but he could not feel anything.

He ran into the bathroom, searching in the mirror to prove he was there. It didn't look like him. What did he look like? He doesn't look like anything. He's a brain trapped in a flesh prison. This body,

It's isn't him.

The scissors.

He retrieved the scissors, and-

Don't do it. Don't do it.

He didn't do it.

Nothing else has worked in giving me feeling. I'll just have blood to clean up afterward.

He sat on the floor of the bathroom, and started playing whatever song was last on.

-when I'm ready I will fly us out of here

I'm flying out.

I'm not going back.

I'm starting fresh; starting new.

A clean slate.

Quivering and shaking as he stood up, he looked into the mirror.

His hand shaking, he-

Snip.

I'll cut my hair...

"...to make you stare..."

I'll hide my chest, and I'll

"...figure out a way to get us out of here..."

Cutting more and more, his locks of hair fell to the ground.

It was nowhere near a barber shop cut; explaining this one hairdo will be a challenge.

Connor shrank to the ground, curling his body into a ball as he sang along with the song through tears from an unknown emotion, or possibly more than one.

Time is

slowly

Tracing his face

but strangely he feels at home in this place

Where is home?

Word Count-1185

Finished Monday, November 11th