FicWad

I can't stand seeing you like this, suffering and in pain. If it were something physical you know that I would be doing my utmost to find you a cure, to find you salvation. But the thing is, it's not physical, but emotional, mental. But is it even that? Not even the copious amounts of brightly colored pills they press upon you seem to have any effect on you. No, it's not mental or emotional, it's something much deeper than that, something intangible, something that you can't even put into words.

Do you even want to know how much I just want to hold you and make it all better right now? But you're too far into your own little world, you wouldn't notice if I did, and even if I did, I don't think it would have that much of an effect on you. You're too far gone and it's killing me.

I want to fix you but I know that I can't. They call you unstable, but we both know that it's untrue. How do you define stability anyways? In the ability to do just what you're told? No, that's not stability. That's being a machine. But then again, that's what society insists upon. A life of being a machine.

There's nothing I can do to save you at this point, because the demons inside you have eaten you up thoroughly and spat you back out, in an endless cycle. There's nothing left of who you used to be to save. You used to be stable, now there's not even enough left to be considered unstable. How do you define something that doesn't exist anymore? How do you tell whether or not it's stable or unstable? You can't. But psychologists think they can.

I'd save you from their clutches, their endless diagnoses, their insistence on defining and treating something that no longer exists, their insistence on labeling something that isn't in existence as unstable. But I can't save you, because you've already saved yourself. You couldn't take their shit anymore. You got tired of them insisting that you take all those pills to kill your apathy for living, so you did. All of them. All at once.