Tw: anxiety

He was on a tightrope. Not literally, of course, but he was on a tightrope, high up and struggling to balance as others watched.

He doubts they realize, he's gotten used to putting on a show, changing his expression to fit. 

They didn't need to know.

It was better that way.

It wasn't, god, it wasn't. He needed help, he was going to fall eventually. 

He was on a tightrope, blinding lights in his eyes and weights on his shoulders. He felt sick, vision blurring as he stared at the ground, he was so high up, what would happen if he fell? 

There was nowhere to go but forward, that didn't make it easy, but it gave him direction, something else to think about. 

He was on a tightrope, taking it slow, and trying to balance. Trying to balance being unable to express himself and having so many thoughts at once it was hard to speak, he was trying so hard. 

Wasn't that enough? 

He'd gotten pretty far, he was much worse for wear, but he could fake it, put on a smile and act like every little decision didn't shake the rope and leave him with an even bigger pit in his stomach. 

He was on a tightrope, no end in sight as he struggled to ignore insults thrown his way and just how vaguely aware he was of all the eyes on him, he could keep pushing. 

That's all he had to do.