(no subject)
((OOC note: no, I'm not fixing it the very next day, that last journal was backdated to Friday, lol. :V))
Tubba Blubba was in the exact same position he had been for the last several days; curled up under his blankets. He left to eat, go to the bathroom, and take showers, but otherwise, he stayed in the same spot as much as he could. The blankets were thick and the air was stuffy, but that was probably for the best. He didn't want any light, and he didn't want to see anyone.
Tubba Blubba had no idea how he felt. Hurt, obviously. Somehow, this was worse than everything else that had happened so far. It shouldn't have been. Bow had been tormenting him for most of his life. Mario and his friends had taken away the only thing he'd ever had that let him fight back against the Boos. He wasn't coming out any worse than he'd come in on this situation.
So... why was he so crushed? It just made him not want to speak to anyone. Ever again. And that was pretty serious. Most of his failings in life just amounted to a fog of low-grade depression that weighed down his heart and mind on a daily basis. It sounded sad, but he was more used to it than anything. Crying wasn't an unusual way to get to sleep, self-loathing wasn't too bad a way to pass the time. He'd accepted that nobody liked him, and that was the way things went.
Then came the people who liked him. Makar and Jolteon and Knuckles and Lucas and everyone else. It was something of a shock to the poor boy's system; he was used to being able to deny that people felt anything nicer than a mild contempt, but it got a little harder when people started showing genuine affection. Ironically, it got hardest of all when the affection turned false. But he didn't want to think about that. The most childish part of him wanted to keep it deep down; if he didn't think about it, it would go away. Much like how he was hidden entirely under his blanket. Maybe the world would go away. Or maybe he would.
The only problem with that was that he didn't want either thing to happen anymore. Unfortunately, every single one of the people who'd tried to help him on his journal had been right. He hated to admit it. He should have fought back. He wished he'd turned into his Clubba form. Getting eaten would have taught her a lesson. If anyone deserved it, it was her. He shouldn't let himself focus on what happened in the past, only improving his future. He had friends; real friends, ones that sincerely wanted what was best for him. They'd had their share of hardships. Who was he to make such a big deal out of this one? He owed the Angels. They'd all but rushed to his journal to comfort him, and he'd rejected them...
Of course, he'd been running through all this in his head without rest for days. He knew it all, he could have recited it for a crowd if he'd wanted to. He'd made every connection he could, analyzed every last bit of information he had. And he still came to the same conclusion every time; it was horrible, and he was stupid, but he needed to get over it.
He needed to take a shower and wash his bedding too. He was pretty sure he stank. He slowly drew back the covers, flinching at the light coming from the window; he blinked a few times, allowing his surroundings to come into a greater focus before swinging his legs over the side of the bed, gazing at the glass. Rainbows, huh? He wasn't familiar with the symbolism of promise, but... they weren't the worst thing in the world to come back to.
--
...I'm sorry, everyone. I overreacted. It was stupid. I'll be okay. I hope I didn't worry anyone too much. I said some really dumb things, because something really dumb happened.
...For anyone who didn't already know, "Jynx" was just a cruel joke. She wasn't real, she was just a way to make me feel bad about myself. It... sucks, but I'll get over it eventually. Without shutting myself away from people. I don't know how I could have said that.
If you could all forgive me, that would be great, but I'll understand if you don't. I wasn't very nice on that last journal, and I doubted a lot of you who didn't do anything to deserve it.
Angels, would you take me back? I don't have to be the leader. I just don't want to desert the group. I want to help out somehow.
...Again, I'm so sorry. If there's anything I can do to make it up to anyone, tell me. Please.
Tubba Blubba was in the exact same position he had been for the last several days; curled up under his blankets. He left to eat, go to the bathroom, and take showers, but otherwise, he stayed in the same spot as much as he could. The blankets were thick and the air was stuffy, but that was probably for the best. He didn't want any light, and he didn't want to see anyone.
Tubba Blubba had no idea how he felt. Hurt, obviously. Somehow, this was worse than everything else that had happened so far. It shouldn't have been. Bow had been tormenting him for most of his life. Mario and his friends had taken away the only thing he'd ever had that let him fight back against the Boos. He wasn't coming out any worse than he'd come in on this situation.
So... why was he so crushed? It just made him not want to speak to anyone. Ever again. And that was pretty serious. Most of his failings in life just amounted to a fog of low-grade depression that weighed down his heart and mind on a daily basis. It sounded sad, but he was more used to it than anything. Crying wasn't an unusual way to get to sleep, self-loathing wasn't too bad a way to pass the time. He'd accepted that nobody liked him, and that was the way things went.
Then came the people who liked him. Makar and Jolteon and Knuckles and Lucas and everyone else. It was something of a shock to the poor boy's system; he was used to being able to deny that people felt anything nicer than a mild contempt, but it got a little harder when people started showing genuine affection. Ironically, it got hardest of all when the affection turned false. But he didn't want to think about that. The most childish part of him wanted to keep it deep down; if he didn't think about it, it would go away. Much like how he was hidden entirely under his blanket. Maybe the world would go away. Or maybe he would.
The only problem with that was that he didn't want either thing to happen anymore. Unfortunately, every single one of the people who'd tried to help him on his journal had been right. He hated to admit it. He should have fought back. He wished he'd turned into his Clubba form. Getting eaten would have taught her a lesson. If anyone deserved it, it was her. He shouldn't let himself focus on what happened in the past, only improving his future. He had friends; real friends, ones that sincerely wanted what was best for him. They'd had their share of hardships. Who was he to make such a big deal out of this one? He owed the Angels. They'd all but rushed to his journal to comfort him, and he'd rejected them...
Of course, he'd been running through all this in his head without rest for days. He knew it all, he could have recited it for a crowd if he'd wanted to. He'd made every connection he could, analyzed every last bit of information he had. And he still came to the same conclusion every time; it was horrible, and he was stupid, but he needed to get over it.
He needed to take a shower and wash his bedding too. He was pretty sure he stank. He slowly drew back the covers, flinching at the light coming from the window; he blinked a few times, allowing his surroundings to come into a greater focus before swinging his legs over the side of the bed, gazing at the glass. Rainbows, huh? He wasn't familiar with the symbolism of promise, but... they weren't the worst thing in the world to come back to.
--
...I'm sorry, everyone. I overreacted. It was stupid. I'll be okay. I hope I didn't worry anyone too much. I said some really dumb things, because something really dumb happened.
...For anyone who didn't already know, "Jynx" was just a cruel joke. She wasn't real, she was just a way to make me feel bad about myself. It... sucks, but I'll get over it eventually. Without shutting myself away from people. I don't know how I could have said that.
If you could all forgive me, that would be great, but I'll understand if you don't. I wasn't very nice on that last journal, and I doubted a lot of you who didn't do anything to deserve it.
Angels, would you take me back? I don't have to be the leader. I just don't want to desert the group. I want to help out somehow.
...Again, I'm so sorry. If there's anything I can do to make it up to anyone, tell me. Please.