aidens death; tw for drug abuse. everything is fictional!!
it started with the dreams. the ones with this weird, distorted version of his deceased brother mocking him, which then shifted into some creepy clown..and some red balloon drifting along with it. at first it was pretty small, but overtime the dreams started to get more and more disturbing. at some point, aiden would stay up all night, because he couldnât bother to shut his eyes and see that hell of a nightmare anymore. he couldnât. of course, his lack of rest seeped into his daily life. he was underperforming in football, all sluggish and low on alert, while in his classes, he was half asleep and not focused on the material. it was weird, and he hated being in a slump. just made him feel worthless, his whole thing was being a winner, an overachiever. if he failed to keep up with that persona, he was convinced heâd make everyone lose interest in him, and blame him for all the things that went wrong in their life. at least thatâs what he did to himself, anyways.
but it didnât stop there. maybe it was his sleep, or maybe it was the stress that had been piling over from the last few months, aiden started seeing that singular little red balloon from his nightmares in places it should not have been. practices, behind the teacher, right by someone he was talking to, the corner of his room. nobody seemed to notice it but him, and it confused him, but also made him almost extremely paranoid. was he going insane? and would this little imaginary balloon soon shift into the clown from his nightmares? he didnât wanna see that. not at all.
eventually, things got so bad, his teacher had to call his dad in for a meeting. he wasnât doing good at all in his classes, and it was odd, coming from someone like him. he was a great student. aidens father never cared much for anything involving his son, at least after the death of nathan, but he seemed to realize that this was a little much. it was this whole weird process, but aiden ended up getting anxiety medication..benzodiazepine, or something. he didnât know how to go about it, since he was pretty sensitive to anything drug related. but, if it meant that those nightmares would stop, heâd just pray things didnât get out of hand between him and the pills, and would take the medication.
for a while, things got quieter. aiden slept better, and his thoughts slowed down. he seemed totally normal to everyone else, and felt a little more normal to himself, too. but it didnât last. the dreams came back way sharper, and that balloon was everywhere now. he found himself restless again, paranoid. so, in some attempt of desperation, he âadjustedâ. he started taking a bit more pills on nights that felt relevantly worse. it didnât seem like a big deal, it was still his prescription. still something to help. it worked way better when he took more. the use started becoming a little more occasional, often before games, after stressful days or simply just for their intended use; when he felt like he was spiralling. it went well for some time, until it started wearing down. taking more each day started feeling the same as taking his usual dose, it didnât have any effect. so, he would find himself rummaging around the medicine cabinet in his bathroom and taking whatever he could find in there. he was starting to grow dependent, but he didnât admit that nor try to realize it. his anxiety felt worse without any sort of medication. he grew more distant around people, more irritable.
eventually, aiden quit the football team. he stopped trying in school, missed days more frequently and wouldnât do much besides sleep in class. he kinda just, stopped caring about the people around him completely. he didnât put any effort into anything. he felt numb.
one night, it all built up without really giving him a chance to catch it. he couldnât focus on anything, couldnât sit still, couldnât even tell where one thought ended and another started. everything felt too loud, too close, like it was pressing in on him. he tried to ignore it at first, told himself it would pass like it always did, but it didnât. it just kept getting worse. the same images, the same feeling, over and over again, until he couldnât tell if it was in his head or right in front of him. and for a second, he realized how bad it had gotten, how far off everything felt, but the thought didnât stay long enough to matter. it was replaced by something sharper, more urgent. he just needed it to stop.
aiden went into the bathroom, scrambling through whatever he could find, barely paying attention to what it was. he found something, and this time, he didnât stop to think about how much he was taking, or why. he just took enough to end it, for good.
