(An SCP-8557 tale) I see you. I know who you are. It is okay, for even Narcissus needed comfort as he was dying.
This work contains CWs for: suicide, and descriptions of emotional abuse.
The Hardest Thing You Will Ever Do Is Attempt To Love Yourself by xexnoncores
⚠️ content warning ↑
WELCOME, RESEARCHER Gayatri Singh. YOU HAVE SELECTED TO VIEW SCP-8557 AUDIO TRANSCRIPT No. 001-6 and 001-7.
PLEASE KEEP IN MIND THESE TRANSCRIPTS (TRANSLATED FROM JAPANESE) ONLY CONTAIN THE ANOMALY’S RESPONSES, AS THE VICTIM’S VOICE WAS EDITED OUT FROM THE FILE THESE WERE RECOVERED FROM. IF YOU FIND YOURSELF SYMPATHIZING AND/OR EMPATHIZING WITH ANY OF SCP-8557’S VOCALIZATIONS, PLEASE SCHEDULE AN APPOINTMENT WITH YOUR ASSIGNED PSYCHOLOGIST AS SOON AS THESE PLAYBACKS HAVE FINISHED.
PLAY ▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။•
There is a kind of violence in loving yourself, in bleeding all over what has been broken and battered by others such that your bruises open and your hands swell. In becoming healthier you will scream, cry, fight and wail over what you have become, over who you are not yet, and the tears will singe your cheeks as acid does a baby’s skin. Your pores will drink in your despair and you will drown, over, and over, and over again, looking for a way out, looking for the voice that tells you it’s time to go home, the light that will calm your tempestuous mind. You will discover moreso than any unscarred person how disgusting free will is, how weak the mind and body are, how much of a slave you are to what others think of you. You will cut yourself on comparisons until you faint, until your lungs wheeze, squeal, and give out, at which then the pain will no longer register. You will think that every day is the hardest, longest, worst one of your life, humid with suffering and mired with destitution until you are alone again with your own thoughts and realize you will have to do everything all over again, this time to a few different steps to the left instead of in front of you.
That’s the frustration of this, isn’t it? That your nerves are so accustomed to brutality that they must be maimed with self-love to recover. You have only ever known violence, so by the sword you must make do until eventually the anguish fades. Eventually, it will stop being your shell. Eventually, you will lift your head up again. And then, a new fight will emerge, one which asks you to turn yourself around, to look to the sunrise instead of the sunset, but one step at a time, no? Most people don’t even get there. Most people will never get there.
The fact you stared into your own abyss and cried about it instead of killing yourself is a testament to your strength. It’s farther than many living will get. Not everyone has an abyss, but everyone has flaws; everyone has regrets they do not want to look at. Consider yourself brave that you are here and going through the motions instead of leaking out, gritting your teeth while you pretend everything is fine. Others will know, after all. You will know. You will know what you are like when you are not fine. You have never been fine, but you know what pretending is like. It never feels real, yeah?
I am sorry you have been hurt such that this is the only way forward. I am sorry that it is only you who will truly know the momentous effort it takes to get out of here.
But consider that your badge of honor, even if you are barely able to fight. For you only have one life, and I am so proud of you for trying to live it as kindly as you can. It is good to be a broken pot, mindful of how your shards can cut into others unintentionally.
Again?
I understand. It’s not easy trying in times like this.
You want to be rewarded for your efforts because what it takes for you to produce something is thrice that of everyone else. The seed you planted is still a sapling while all your peers have grown trees. When you go for inspection, you are going to be judged for what you have to show, not for the blood it took you to get there.
It’s hard to be proud of a stunted seedling. It’s hard to be proud of a flower without petals. Your damage and inability to believe in yourself has left you unable to decipher if you are nursing fast-growing bamboo, in which you must let it ride hard and fast, or a slow-and-steady redwood, which needs wide-open air and ample time to breathe.
Oh, but it’s not even that, right? You’re not afraid of what plant it is. You’re afraid of the ribbons. You’re afraid of being the bridesmaid and not the bride. You’re afraid you’ll be stuck forever mediocre for all your hard work, all the effort you try to put in to understand, because that’s your inheritance, isn’t it? Forever teased because you didn’t understand the assignment, eternally picked on because your tenacity was mistaken for stupidity?
I’m afraid to tell you dear, that there’s no antidote to that. It’s a harsh truth, but you’ve got to be proud of what you did. If you break every time you grow something, eventually you will find that you are scared of the blossoms. Eventually, you will find you are scared of the future, of making goals, of chasing your dreams, of living. And that’s terrifying. It should rightfully terrify you, at least a little bit. What is so damning about failure, and all that it asks of you? Is it the suspected humiliation you’re anticipating? That’s not an uncommon train of thought. It all happened before, so why not now and again?
You are in love with being the failing underdog because you hope somewhere in the world’s pity that some of it will be redistributed to you. That if you try hard enough and for long enough, eventually something will happen. Eventually people will care! They’ll have to give you accolades at that point, because you’re still here and they have to get rid of you. You’re still here annoying them, pretending to grow and to matter, because you never had any real skills to begin with. You were fooling the audience in your head all along. Your successes have never come from you, they have only ever come from blind luck, because you were broken into that. Your real talent is broken, worthless, a sham, an imposter. You are not a functional human being by any standard or measure, and that means pity is the best you’ll ever deserve.
This is the dark truth you really feel, right? I hated saying it like that, because that’s much too mean, but it’s what I feel in your heart.
Is that really how you want to live?
Oh, I’m not saying you can’t cry. I would love for you to cry, actually. I’m just saying is that all you ever want to be? Are you not allowed to dream bigger? To aspire to better things? Must pity be the only prize you’re capable of achieving?
Will failure really kill you the way you think it does?
…It’s okay. I said you could cry. Failure is scary. It’s cheesy, but it’s true. You’re at a point in time where everything feels like it wants to kill you, but I’m still proud of you for trying.
Yes, I am proud of you. I mean that. No, I’m not lying. You are brave for doing this.
No comparisons to others this time—it is brave to get up on stage and try again after you have fallen. In that moment, I see you—you are not thinking about anything, about the consequences, about what the future holds. You are not thinking about the crowd, the fans, the players or the ghosts in your soul, you are living. You are performing. You are achieving a blissful moment that will burn you alive and kill you once more, but I think you’re getting stronger. I think that means it’s working.
Getting up after you’ve been lashed is courage, no matter what anyone else thinks. Singing while bleeding is more daring than the person who chose not to show up at all.
If you must sing, then bolt your heart out until you are wailing. And once the dance floor’s been vacated, go find your friends and watch their happiness until you can no longer stand it. Until you can no longer believe any of it is real, because it is. You are. You are real, and what you make matters. You will see if through what it inspires in others, even if it is only one person.
I’m not speaking in metaphysicals anymore because I know you know how to get back up and fight. I know you know what you need to live now, so let’s go. Get up and run!
Every day gets a little easier, Akari. Time will heal your wounds eventually, giving you the ability to believe your effort will be rewarded again.
You think much too hard about these things sometimes, but I admit that is part of the road ahead. Since you have been broken deeply, we must pull back every layer, and see how it is connected to the others. You will discover more about yourself in these little moments, peeled back and barren, about how every neurosis of yours connects to the other, and this is what I want you to learn from too, along with everything else. Every part of you is connected, so all progress is good progress. Working on your self-esteem will build your confidence, and building your confidence will help you sing better. If you have the courage to practice and sing more, you’ll find yourself…do you understand the picture I am painting?
Good. I’m glad. Do you think you can do all of this for me? I think you can. I know you don’t believe me, but I believe in your ability to believe in you. I always have, and I always will.