Title is from the song "Oh Dear" by Brandi Carlile.

TW/CW for self depreciating thoughts, mention of meltdowns.

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Marcy hated herself. Her mannerisms, her nervous tics, the way she spoke. She hated all of it.

She hid when it was too bright, too loud. Under tables, in closets, under blankets. She hid anywhere she could, the outside world too loud and too bright for her to handle. It felt like needles poking her skin, refusing to let up until she hid herself away. Sasha and Anne joked about how she could fit herself into the smallest of spaces with ease.

She was a coward, running to hide at the simplest of things.

Marcy hated the way she experienced emotions. When she was sad, she was miserable. The slightest change in plans or mishap would send her into a downward spiral, unable to rise back up for hours, possibly even days on end. When she was happy, she wasn't just happy. She was ecstatic, jumping and flapping her hands and rambling about whatever she could. She saw the whole world differently, and truly believed she had a place in the world.

Even with the intensity of the emotions she felt, she never had words to describe them. "How are you feeling?", Anne would ask, and Marcy would sit in silence, unable to form a single word. Nothing was strong enough to describe how she felt, and nothing sounded quite right. She knew it burdened people and only made them worry more, but she couldn't help it.

She felt as though all she did was burden others with her constant needs. She went on too many rambles and rants about the things she loved, whether it be an insect she found or a video game. Anne would nod along, but Marcy could see the way her eyes wandered to her phone or the clock, silently waiting for her to stop. She saw the way Sasha would try to listen at first, but interrupt halfway through with something she deemed more fascinating.

Marcy spoke to herself often because nobody else would listen. She muttered out little rambles as she watched her favorite show or played her favorite game. When she wrote papers or essays, or even text messages, she read the words out loud to herself. Perhaps it was because it made her feel just a little less alone.

She eventually stopped rambling altogether. Sasha and Anne took notice and brought it up, but she brushed it off with "I didn't notice I stopped". That seemed believable enough for them.

She was never very good at being social, either.

She fumbled and stuttered with her words, using profound language when it wasn't necessary. Her voice was almost always too loud or too quiet. She would shout and not realize it until someone shushed her, or she would speak so quietly that nobody could understand her. It was a constant back and forth. And when people made jokes, she wouldn't understand. She would be forced to ask what they meant, resulting in a groan or roll of the eyes from the other person. After a while, she started pretending she understood, laughing along awkwardly. People weren't as annoyed that way.

She got bored of almost every conversation. She could only pay attention if it involved one of her interests, which often annoyed others. They assumed she was selfish, when in reality, she just didn't know what else there was to talk about. Her interests took up most of her time, but then again, wasn't that normal?

People were uncomfortable around her, it was clear to see. Even if she had trouble reading body language or tone of voice, it wasn't hard to tell that people didn't particularly enjoy being around her. They looked at her like she was a wild animal. When classmates talked to her, they treated her like am infant. They talked in condescending voices, shooting glances and giggles at one another as they did so. They thought of her as a joke, a child. Nobody realized that she could understand what they were doing. She knew they were teasing her, she just tried not to care.

Marcy came home from school most days exhausted. The first thing she did when she walked through the door was change out of her school uniform and into something less suffocating, less itchy. On a good day, she would shut off the lights, crawl under her blankets, and fall asleep until dinner. On a bad one, she would get to her room and cry. She'd hold in meltdowns until she simply couldn't anymore, collapsing on her floor in a fit of tears. She often ended the night with multiple bruises from hitting herself, an attempt to express how she felt and ground herself.

Nobody understood how much it took for her to go to school five days a week. People found fault in her no matter what she did or how hard she tried.

Why couldn't anyone see how hard she was trying?

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This isn't very long I'm sorry!! And I'm really sorry I haven't updated in a week or two. January always sucks.

This is a vent fic,, my boss said I'm not trying hard enough at work, and she's gonna fire me if I can't do better by the end of the month. Having a job has been the single most exhausting thing I've ever done, and I'm trying my absolute hardest. I've never tried harder on something. I have to be so social, and remember so many things, but I thought I was doing okay, even if it was sucking the energy out of me. Apparently my best isn't even good enough tho lmfao

I'll try to update more often and maybe get some more of those requests done. Thanks for being patient