A Familiar Taste of Poison {River/Xavier}

When it comes to depression, anguish, self-hate and anger, I understand it better than I think that most people should. No one should have to experience such hell that it makes them hate themselves, rather than just the people that put them through said hell. I don't just hate my parents, though. Unfortunately, I've become a victim not just of them, but of my own mind. I hate myself more than I think most people do. I even have the desire to volunteer for the Games, take out my anger on others and then die in the end. I'd want to kill, but not to win. I'd just want to kill to get my anger out, and then let others kill me so I don't have to deal with the guilt of it that I'd certainly experience.

I've never had a good life. That's the reason that I feel as if I'm so messed up in the head, after all. I had a shitty childhood and terrible teen years. My first year as an adult hasn't been all that much better, but at least I'm not abused by my wretched, legal guardians that called themselves my parents anymore like I used to be. Now, I live on my own, and the only abuse I receive is from myself. It's not like I physically harm myself, no. Instead, I punish myself mentally. I call myself an idiot, because I feel sometimes as if I am one. I say things to others that I don't mean to say, and, in the end, I feel like I fuck up other people's lives, too.

---

There was a day I'd decided that I'd actually venture out into the 'real world' that is the public areas of District Nine. I've never been someone who likes to just socialize, but perhaps it'd be good for me. Unfortunately, there aren't many people that I see along the streets that I actually have a true desire to converse with. Some people will approach those they think are attractive in an attempt to flirt with them, but that's not really my cup of tea. I don't flirt, as I'm not really interested in dating anyone. I don't really feel love towards anyone but my closest of friends, and it's not a romantic love. It's a love of friendship.

Some days, I start to think that I could use more friends. It would be good for me, I'd imagine. Friends are supposed to support you and treat you right, after all. Maybe that would make me treat myself right, too, if other people did the same towards me. I just had the right person to talk to and actually be able to make friends with.

While wandering along the streets of the District that I was forced to call home (as I really had no other option on where to live. No one did.), I didn't pay much attention to those around me. That is, until I came across someone that stood out in my mind. My eyes were drawn to him, but not in a way of physical attraction. No, it was just that this boy seemed different. He seemed depressed and separated from the reality of the world. He was like me, from what I could tell. Perhaps that's why I'd decided to approach him.

As I went up to the boy, I saw that he looked a bit younger than me. His head was down, looking at the ground as he sat on the bench, and I sat down next to him. I looked forward, straight in front of me, watching as the people passed by before shifting the direction of my gaze back to this boy. After a moment or two of sitting there, I spoke to him. I wasn't sure if he'd noticed me until I'd spoken, but, regardless, I was sure that, unless he was asleep, he's notice me now.

"What kinda shit ya got goin' on?" I asked him. "Trust me, I understand when life seems like it's going to hell. I feel like that all the time."

678 words | uwu