*This was spawned from a panic attack/ suicidal episode I had two years ago while figuring out my sexuality. This piece can either be considered a johnlock fic or an original story. Please note that there is mention of drug abuse and suicide in this piece, so please read with caution. This is probably the most emotionally draining piece I have ever written, and I hope it can possibly relate to people going through similar situations out there. You’re not alone. Regardless of the form of discrimination you’re facing.
It started in a city. It ended in a town. It ended for him. But not for me. It burned in our anger and hid as I fell- as I was pushed. It cowered in remembrance and clicked a torch in the back of my skull, searching for a way out. Buried alive, it stayed in rest until the dirt became too cold, the silence too loud.
As hands dug out of its grave, I took outreached hands that pulled me up from the ground. Got my trousers dusted off, my shirt straightened, and hair combed. I put down the needle and turned away from the mirror. Finally learned to ignore the numbers, and become painfully aware of the hands ready to shove me down again. I see them everywhere now. All with flesh-colored gloves. It could be anyone. Piles of mud pulled aside as it resurfaced and crawled as I sat alone and read. My body is wrapped in a jacket, I am a turtle. Please stay away from me, don’t come close. I don’t want contact. Years of lies revealed are enough, no surprises please. Please stay away from me. Please. Please. Please.