um yeah so I wrote this after my mental breakdown yesterday so enjoy?

Tw: so many things I don't think I can list them all

Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel.

Peter took a step backwards, hitting the wall. Tears streamed down his face, his mouth open in a silent scream. He slid down against the wall, tilting his head back and letting out a quiet sob. Peter felt like he was floating, leaving his body, barely even able to feel his nails digging into his palm.

Peter gasped for breath, tears dripping from his chin and staining his hoodie. There was nothing stopping him from breathing. Why couldn't he breathe? The brunette quickly sucked in air, expelling it just as fast. He lifted his head, only to slam it back against the fall.

gotta feel, can't feel, I need to exist, I have to...

Peter let himself sit against the wall, eyes closed. He sat completely still, chest barely moving. After a few minutes, he sighed, slowly standing up. A wave of dizziness overtook him, stumbling into the wall and just leaning against it for a few moments. Peter took a deep breath, opening his eyes and slowly making his way to the bathroom.

Peter stood in the bathroom, staring at the reflection in the mirror. He frowned, squinting. That couldn't be his reflecton... could it? It didn't look like Peter. Or did it? Peter couldn't remember what he looked like, but that image staring back at him didn't look right.

Peter sighed, splashing water on his face. He didn't even bother to dry his face, instead choosing to sit down on the carpet. Peter stared at his shower intently. The brunette hadn't showered in four days, but that wasn't what he was looking at. He was eyeing the razor, blades gleaming with temptation. Peter had never technically cut himself, there was nowhere he could do it where it wouldn't be exposed. So he had found other ways to self harm, just as painful, but extremely difficult to spot. His method barely left a mark, yet would ache for days afterward.

keep going, i deserve the pain...

Peter lay down on the bathroom floor, staring up at the ceiling. He chewed absentmindedly on his hoodie string, however unsanitary that was (he had been wearing the same clothes for almost a week now). He didn't care. Peter took a hand, bringing it up and grabbing at his throat roughly. Oh, the images going through his head- a body, dangling from the ceiling fan, a noose around the neck- it was so tempting.

Peter closed his eyes, keeping his hand clasped around his throat. It would be so easy... some rope and a step stool was all he needed. Loop it around, jump, snap. Simple as that.

nobody would even miss me...

Peter was startled out of his thoughts by a loud growl coming from his stomach. He sighed, choosing to ignore the pain and keep laying on the bathroom floor. He hadn't eaten yet today, but it didn't really bother him as much as it used to. Peter had gotten used to the dull pain in his stomach, the exhaustion from the lack of nutrition in his body.

It wasn't that Peter wanted to be thinner (although he wouldn't mind it, he hated his little rolls of fat with every fiber of his being), it was more of a lack of motivation. He just couldn't bring himself to care enough to eat consistently. Not to say he didn't eat, no, if he was handed food, Peter ate. But when it came to preparing good for himself, even something as simple as cereal, he wouldn't do it. It made him lethargic, even more so than he already was.


Peter sighed, yawning. He was exhausted, struggling with falling asleep. He averaged about four hours of sleep each night, usually more on the weekends and less on weekdays. It certainly didn't help that Peter was taking five AP classes; when he had signed up for them he had been in a much different head space. But a part of him always knew he wouldn't be able to do it.

Peter had definitely had his rough patches in life (for example, when he nearly attempted suicide at age 12, or the beginning of freshman year when he went days without eating), but he had always overcome them. Sure, maybe he had the pills in his hand, and yes he passed out a few times, but he had still been able to fight more.

But this time? This time felt different.

Peter couldn't exactly place how it was different from his other rough patches, but he could feel it, in his gut. Something was different this time, it felt more... final. Like maybe, just maybe, he would actually die this time, or maybe someone would at least pretend to care enough to help him heal... but the first one felt more likely.

Peter sighed, taking his hand away from his throat and resting it on his chest. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. An involuntary shiver ran through his body, moving from his head to his toes. The shiver was violent, his neck cracking from the sharp movement. Peter groaned, rolling over onto his side and curling into a ball. A few silent tears seeped from his eyes, lulling the boy to sleep.

yeah so uh lmk if I should continue this and I'll remember that during my next mental breakdown haha