He hates being weak. It’s why he’s always lashing out at the world— because if he’s angry, spitting and raging, no one would ever be able to take advantage of his vulnerability again. He could find comfort in the knowledge that he is safe.
But even he can’t remain violent forever. Keeping up such an act is emotionally draining, which is probably how he’s ended up in this sorry state.
Hands clasped tightly over his ears in an irrational attempt to silence the thoughts racing through his mind, and eyes clamped shut to try to force the images flashing before him to cease.
Neither worked, of course. If it was that easy to shut off his mind he wouldn’t need therapy.
“ No... ” In front of his eyes he can almost-see a body crumpling to the ground. “ I am. ”
In honesty, he isn’t entirely aware of what he’s saying or who he’s saying it to. When he comes back to reality he’ll be furious with himself for this.