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#honestly atp I’m not sure where my mental health stands
robiinurheart33 · 2 months
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Johnny as not being able to accept or react to anything normally. (Clicks for Palestine)
He accepts things in breathless gasps, cold sweat tracing his spine, wide eyed and gripping his shirt in a frenzy.
He accepts love like a prayer, reverent and beautiful. Yes, yes, yes, let me see. Let me see all of you. Let me know that I am yours and you are mine. He loves with all his heart, gives his liking out scarcely. It eats him from inside out, the way obsession and possessiveness work. It’s a finniky thing, something soap always had trouble with. One day he could be in complete safety, knowing that he is loved, and he will love more. Others, he sobs in despair for all those who will never love again, for the love that he will receive that will never be enough, not enough, and too much. Two sides of his brain thread their fingers through his mind, grab on his hair and yank. It forces him to bear his throat, open and exposed, as if to say see? I will be vulnerable. Bite on me. Bite down. In hopes of the other trusting him enough to sink their canines into tainted blood.
He accepts joy with excitement, as if an addict returning into the safe embrace of its drug. A childish response, he guesses, but anyone would find themselves yearning to be happy as well. The highs are high, and the lows are real low. He knows when to accept joy on its own, pure form, and not think about anything else. It’s something sacred to him, precious and fragile as glass. But he knows no one needs his excitement. No one needs his explosive emotions and no one needs him. That’s okay. Soap has spent his entire life accepting that fact.
In the meantime, Johnny will wrap his hands around himself in a pathetic attempt at self-comfort, and repeats a mantra in his head. Less is more. Less is more. Less is more.
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