This was the chapter I was talking about earlier. It's very sad, and very serious, so please, or you don't think you can handle it, or are going to not approach the subject with maturity, it's probably best to skip this chapter. Warning: attempted suicide, anxiety and depression, severe insecurity, self hate, etc.

So this is a topic I hold very close to my heart. I've struggled with mild depression for a while, but thankfully never gotten this far. Please, if anyone ever needs someone to talk to, my dms are always open. I love all of you, even without having met you😘 so read with caution, and be prepared. Also, super long.

I shut my eyes, gripping the countertop. Breathing in loudly, I sank against the cupboards, allowing my back to follow the smooth wood doors to the ground, the empty bottle of liquor falling next to me, the glass shattering into a million little pieces.

A single tear dripped down my cheek, slowly, as my breathing quickened, each intake shakier than the last. I hugged my shins to my chest, digging my fingernails into the area below my kneecap.

I reached up, grabbing the pill box full of sleeping pills that sat on the counter. I recalled the label on the bottle: don't consume more that two tablets in a 24 hour period; don't mix with heavy alcohol consumption. Nodding nervously, I opened the box.

Visions flashed through my eyes, one after another. Snow. Headlights. A crash. My mother's body. The crisp white hospital waiting room. The Father throwing dirt back into the Earth. An empty whiskey bottle. And another one. My father, slurring. Thrashing. Tom. Tom.

Sighing, I shut the pillbox. For all the pain and hardships my life had known, it also knew Tom. The angel who loved me. Cared for me. My arms dropped to my side, lightly grasping the pills.

Standing up, I walked over to the bathroom, and put the pills back in the medicine cabinet. Grabbing a broom, I swept up as much glass as I could, tossing it into the bin. I had barely stumbled over to the bed when I collapsed, feeling the effects of the whiskey hit me hard.

It must've been much later when I felt a gentle shaking on my shoulder. Turning over, I faced my fiancé, who currently had a soft smile on his perfect face.

"Hey love," Tom said quietly, "Tired?"

I didn't answer, instead just cautiously got out of bed. So far, I didn't feel too woozy, but that feeling didn't last for long, as a wave of nausea came over me, sending me running towards the toilet.

"God. Are you alright?" Tom asked after me, reaching to pull my hair back.

"Mhmm," I nodded, keeping my eyes shut. "Just... just feel a bit sick." I said. So the whiskey was still hard in my system. "Let's just-let's just have dinner."

"Okay, yeah, whatever you want."

"So how was your day?" I asked him, trying to distract myself from the shame I felt.

"Fine. Y'know, same ol' same ol'." Tom shrugged, grabbing a plate for himself. "Oh shit!" He cried out suddenly, hand reaching for his foot.

"What?" I asked, resting a hand on his back. My heart raced in anxiety, as he looked up at me with a countenance of pain and hurt.

"I stepped on something. Glass maybe? Fuck. That hurt. Did something break?" I stared down at the spot his foot previously rested on. My eyes glanced up to the familiar cabinet that had just earlier hosted my sobbing body.

Flashbacks from the day overtook me.

I stared at my phone screen, unable to move from the dining table. The date. 08. 08. 2018. Exactly seven years from the day my mother died. Exactly seven years from the day my father changed completely. God. It was my fault. If I hadn't-

Glancing up from my thought, I looked over at the kitchen island. A half empty bottle of whiskey sat there. Tom must've have had a drink last night. Whiskey is the best medication for a broken heart after all, I told myself as I slowly walked over, picking up the bottle. Popping off the cork, I raised it to my lips.

Feeling the bitter buzz of alcohol filling my system kept me going, sip after sip. You're nothing. You don't deserve life. You're what drove your father to alcoholism. Your own fiancé doesn't love you, I just kept repeating those thoughts, playing with the words in my head, drowning each lie with another swig of whiskey. None of it was true of course, but my consciousness, which always seemed to hate me, didn't dare regard that fact.

Before I knew it, I had a pillbox of heavy pain meds in one hand, a drained bottle of liquor in the other. So this was happening. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't played with the thought of self harm since the crash. Today was the day. The anniversary of Mum's death. Maybe I could finally gain some closure. And that's what I thought as the bottle dropped from my hand.

"Uh-I, I think I dropped a glass there," I lied, being brought into the sickness of reality, nervously kneeling down to check his foot. Tom winced as I reached a tentative hand to the skin. After picking the shard out with a pair of tweezers, and wiping the blood clean from his foot, and the floor, I resumed serving my dinner.

"I never got to ask you - how was your day?" Tom asked cheerfully, as we sat down. His caramel curls flopped vigorously on his forehead, foot tapping quickly on the wood floor. It's almost as if he was trying to torment me, by being so happy; awake. Glancing down at my plate, I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to stop the flow of tears that continuously threatened to pour at any given second of any given day it seemed.

I thought about taking my own life. But otherwise fine. Looking up to Tom, I just shrugged. "It was alright."

"Yeah? What did you do?"

"This and that," I said quietly, looking down at my food again. Before it even registered in my mind, I saw salty tears fall onto my plate on spaghetti.

"Hey," Tom hushed, stepping towards me. "What's wrong? Why are you crying darling?"

I couldn't speak, instead just wiped my eyes. God. I didn't deserve to exist. In some ways, it was my fault my mother died. I suggested to turn on the music. I was the one who started singing at the top of my lungs. It should've been the passenger side of the car that was rammed by the lorry. Mum was a pure soul. Always there for support, and a word of kindness. Why did she have to be taken? Why did I have to cause it?

My torso was heaving uncontrollably, as I shed a million drops of water. I didn't feel Tom's hand move to rub my back, nor did I notice the fact that he wrapped me in a warm embrace, pulling me onto his lap like a little child. I just sat. Crying.

"Shhhh, it's alright." Tom hushed in my ear. It must've been minutes when I looked up at him, the area of his shirt covering his shoulder soaked in my own tears. I could feel my eyes were puffy, and my lip quivered as his eyes searched my face, trying to decipher what had happened.

"Love, please, you're scaring me. What's wrong? I-I can't see you like this." He whispered, starting to cry himself.

What would he say? When I told him what I did? Or thought about doing at least. He would break off our engagement. Of course he would. He doesn't want to be with an unstable girl who wanted to kill herself. He deserves someone better. He deserves to love someone who loves them self. Not some insecure person like me.

"It's Mum's anniversary," is all I could manage, hiccuping.

"Oh God. I'm so sorry. I forgot, I shouldn't have. And you went through all this by yourself? I... I feel terrible. Is there anything I can do? Wanna-wanna watch a happy movie or something? I know that's probably the lamest suggestion in existence, but-"

"Yes. Let's just watch something sweet. And nice." I cut him off, sniffling a bit. Standing up from the floor, I followed Tom to the television, easily curling up into the crevice of his arm. His fingers gently caressed my back, occasionally planting a chaste kiss on my forehead. I drifted off to sleep, comforted by his presence.

I jolted awake, looking around confused. I was in our bed, Tom next to me. He must've brought me in after I fell asleep.

Slowly pushing the duvet from over me, I tiptoed to the bathroom, careful not to wake Tom.

Splashing water over my face, my teardrops mixing with the ice cold water from the tap. Looking up at my reflection, I almost didn't recognise myself. Dark purple bruises adorned my under-eyes, signifying my weeks of sleeplessness. My hair hadn't been brushed in two or three days. My frame was bare of any fat, and my skin just hung of my weak bones. Thinking back on my eating habits, I realised that I hadn't had three proper meals a day in a long time.

Dinner with Tom was a constant, and he always made sure I ate a healthy amount. But for my lonely breakfasts and lunches, I hardly ate a thing. A glass of water, maybe wine. Sometimes a banana. But that was it.

Flexing my bicep in the mirror, I patted my arm for any sign of fat or muscle, being at a loss for both. Sighing through my nose, I rinsed off my face again, trying to wash the nightmare from system.

It was the same as it always was. The night of the crash lived heavily in my mind, but around the anniversary, it always got worse.

Usually a cold shower did the trick, so I stripped down, and turned the icy water on. Stepping in, I grimaced at the temperature, but allowing myself to be washed over with the water all the same. Grabbing a towel, I turned the water off again, and dried myself off as best I could.

When I stepped out of the shower, Tom was standing there, in his boxers, scratching his head sleepily.

"Nightmare?" He questioned, as I pulled the towel closer around my thin body. "I've seen you naked before babe, y'know that right?" He almost chuckled, nodding towards my actions.

"I-I know," I looked down, thinking about the skinny little embarrassment that was my body. Maybe he hadn't noticed?

"C'mon. You're beautiful Y/n. And I certainly would love this," he picked at the corner of the towel, "To be on the ground."

"Tom," I protested as he worked to remove the only thing shielding him from my insecurities. "Tom. Tom." I pulled away from him, as his smirk disappeared, replaced with a look of shock, combined with worry.

"Y/n are you alright? You've been acting... off lately."

"It's just my mum that's all."

"Y/n... I say lately, but I don't mean the past few days. I've been noticing it for a while now. A few months. Where has my bright and cheerful fiancée gone to?"

"Tom... I can't... I can't talk to you about this." I muttered, walking away from him to get some clean clothes.

"Y/n it's me. You can talk to me about anything, you know that," Tom looked at me with puppy dog eyes that made my heart melt. It quickly hardened again when I thought about how I was turning away this sweet, caring man. Was I evil? Is that it? Look how I was making him feel! Am I so disgusted in my own life that I need to make others feel bad?

Taking one last look at him I turned away. "I told you Tom. I can't talk about it."

Ignoring his pleas, I lay down on the bed, trying to fall back to sleep.

"Babe, come on, talk to me. Please!" Tom gripped my waist, pulling me closer towards him so my back was against his chest.

I just sobbed quietly to myself, as Tom sighed loudly in my ear, removing his hand, and shifting in the bed.

When I woke the next morning, the bed was empty. A note sat on my bedside table, Tom's recognisable handwriting reading:
"I'm sorry that I forgot your Mum's anniversary. But that doesn't mean you can just shut me out. I'm your fiancé Y/n. If you can't tell me everything, then we need to really talk about our relationship.
-Tom"

Staring at the note, I read and reread his words over and over again. I was a horrible person. Horrible to do this to him. God. What must he be thinking? How was I supposed to live with myself?

I don't deserve him. I don't deserve life. I was a terrible person. I killed my mother. I drove my father to alcoholism. I was an awful fiancée. Life was a luxury that I wasn't worthy off.

Standing up from the bed, I walked over to the bathroom, shaking a bit. I reached up into the medicine cupboard, my fingers wrapping around the wonted bottle of pills. I'd tried this so many times. Today was the day. Popping the cap open, I poured them into my hand, trembling as I did so. Grabbing a little paper cup from the counter, I filled it up with water. Plucking up two at a time, I placed them gingerly on my tongue, taking a large gulp of water. I continued with the rest of the pills, until I felt my head go light. My eyes turned black, as I fell onto the hard, cold, tile floor.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I woke up in a strange room, one I didn't recognise. My mind felt fuzzy, and my first thought... was the walls.

God these are so white. Like white white. Asylum white. Jan Levinson Gould would be disappointed - Wait. No Gould. What happened to Gould?

My thoughts were marred by a nurse rushing towards my side. Without saying a word, she began to take my vitals.

"Wha-where am I?" I asked her, but she didn't connect eye contact, just focused on my pulse. Gently smoothening the sheets on the bed, she turned around and sat back in a chair next to me.

I looked around the room. A vase sat on the table next to me, filled with red roses. A small window gave sight to the slightly grey and overcast sky. In a small, wooden chair in the corner opposite to me, Tom sat, staring at me, eyes widen with fear.

"C-can I?" He asked, and I gave him a confused look, until I saw that his question was directed to the nurse. She gave a small nod, and he came to the bed, kneeling beside me. "I-I was so worried. I thought... I thought," Tom pauses, wiping tears from his eyes. "I thought that you were going to die.

"I came home, a-and you were on the floor. I didn't know how long y-your pulse was faint I saw the pills a-and all I kept thinking about was why?" Tom began rambling, "Why would Y/n do that, why?" He was breathing deeply through his nose, body rocking back and forth, while his voice raised in volume and pitch. The nurse came forward, pressing a light hand to Tom's chest, restraining him. Guiding him back to his chair, she returned to her own.

"I know my words in that letter were harsh." Tom's voice was barely a croak, and it took all I had to hear him. "And I k-know I forgot your mum's anniversary. But that's not it. I know you. I know that you aren't that sensitive, that you wouldn't take it that far." I took a good look at Tom. Those caramel curls. Those caramel curls that I fell in love with.

Why can't we return to those days, those days before everything wrong with the world decided that I was its victim? Before depression and anxiety became a bigger part of my life than the things I loved. Before I dove so deep into my insecurities that they became me. That they infiltrated my bloodstream, and pervaded my mind. Before the losses of my past festered my future? Why can't we go back?

"Darling please," Tom's voice was weak, and he looked up at me, with sorrowful eyes, "What are you not telling me?"

"I wasn't good enough for you," my voice echoed through my brain, as I looked straight ahead of me. "You deserves someone prettier, someone better, someone kinder, smarter, stabler, nicer, prettier, better, kinder, smarter, prettier..." I trailed off, just staring at the wall. Breathing in, I continued. "It was my fault that mum died. I caused the distraction. A-and I don't deserve to live. So I thought that maybe... maybe I should... should..."

"Y/n please don't say that. You are everything for me. And don't you dare blame yourself for your mother's death. It wasn't, your fault," Tom said, voice edged with tenseness, pointing a finger at the ground, in an affirmative manner. "I love you Y/n. And it hurts me so much to think that you... that you tried to to this to yourself."

"Tom I can't be with you." The tears from today, yesterday, everyday, started flowing, their only escape through the lids of my eyes. My voice cracked like a mirror being thrown to the ground, into a million tiny pieces. I remembered a story I'd read. Hand Christian Anderson. The Snow Queen. Where there was an enchanted mirror, that made you only see the bad in things, but it breaks. Into a million pieces. And the boy, Kai, gets a piece in his eye.

Sometimes I feel like that. Like there's a tiny piece stuck in my retina. But instead of making me see the repulsiveness in others, I saw how deplorable I was. It was like a disease. It started out small. Just a little thought, that popped up here and there. "You're such an idiot." "What the hell sort of drugs was Tom on when he asked you out?"

It didn't take long for my conscious to become my worst enemy though. Always nagging. Picking at every mistake I made, calling me out on the littlest things. Telling me what a failure I was, how life was something I wasn't worthy of.

"Y/n... Y/n no. You're not thinking straight. I love you, you love me, we-we're gonna get married, and have babies, and-"

"Tom," I repeated, looking over at him for the first time in the whole conversation. "This- this is a toxic relationship. For the both of us."

"No. No. No it's not." Tom pleaded with me, walking over again. "Please, just, just think baby please, think about it." He brought my hand up to his mouth, placing an open mouth kiss on it. "I need to be there for you. You need- you need to be there for me! I can't live without you, you're my life." He said through gritted teeth.

"Sir, sir, you need to let go of the patient, please," the nurse delicately removed Tom's hand from mine. "I think it's best if you wait in the hallway." When she saw Tom was about to argue, she added, "For the patient's sake sir."

Tom begrudgingly followed the nurse's guide towards the door, before turning to me. "I'll be waiting Y/n. Waiting for you to get out; waiting for us to get married, and start our life together. Waiting for our children, and waiting for us to grow old and die happy, and warm in our beds. Remember: I'll be waiting darling." He shot me one more tearful glance, before shutting the door.

Guuuuuuys, please know what the reader thinks about herself is not true for anyone. You guys are all amazing and worthy and beautiful and loved😘

It's also 5:45 in the morning. Time to play the game 'do I stick it out and pull an all-nighter, or do I try and get a few hours of sleep?'

Knowing me, I'll continue doing what I've been doing alone in my room since 9 last night, and watch movies😂 sometimes I think I'm a cinephile bc I love movies so much, but then I remember that that title's reserved for people who actually watch all the movies, like the classics, and everything. I just watch Marvel movies, Mission Impossible, and romcoms on repeat, the same ones mind you.