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From the deepest part of his mind, Tim wonders what being normal would feel like. He knows what it is supposed to look like. The vast number of times he’s visited doctors has made him craft a mental picture of how a human should normally behave.
But Tim can’t help but wonder. He wonders what it would be to live without this personal hell; without these strong bursts of emotions or conflicting thoughts, Tim has to go through every day.
To wake up without the drowning feeling of emptiness or knowing there’s something missing and not knowing what. Sometimes the rapid mood swings make him feel like he’s slowly going crazy.
Or maybe he is crazy, after all.
Personally for Tim, if he had to choose, it would be anxiety. That’s the part that troubles him the most. Because one thing is dealing with mood swings or feeling like he’s going crazy and another quite different thing is dissecting every interaction he’s ever had in case he fucked up.
Was my tone too loud? Did I seem too harsh? Has someone noticed there’s something wrong with me?
It’s the anxiety, in the end, that makes him bottle up his emotions and the next thing Tim knows, he explodes. Not literally. Gosh, Tim wished he could—maybe that would make things easier for everyone if he disappeared once and for all— but strangely it’s the little things that manage to tick him off.
And make one trivial discussion turn so much worse. A discussion so insignificant, Tim can’t even remember what they were arguing about in the first place. He only knows he fucked up, badly.
At this moment, Tim wishes he could be normal, because now? No, it feels as if it feels like he’s dying. It hasn’t been a minute since Tim said what he said and his mind has already come up with five scenarios, each worse than the previous one, on how things will break down between Bruce and him.
Another downfall. Another crash. Another person who’s fed up with the way Tim is and who wouldn’t be anyway? Dealing with this shit is exhausting. No, really, it fucking is. It’s difficult to explain the urge to get people to like him. Or explain why he has it without admitting that he doesn't have enough reasons to like himself.
On some days Tim can't stand his reflection in the mirror. On others he straight up hates himself. If he had the chance to flee from the invisible chains of his existence, oh trust him, he already would.
What he has isn’t normal. What was it that they called it again? Disruptive behavior. Emotionally unstable. Obsessive, manipulative, abusive. Damn does Tim hate that fucking word. Because the truth is that’s one of his biggest fears; becoming the exact thing people always tell about his disorder.
They don't understand the gut-wrenching feeling of desperation or the overwhelming sensation of insanity he gets every time Tim feels someone dislikes him. Or that he doesn’t experience sadness but rather grief. Fury instead of annoyance. Desperation instead of frustration.
No wonder people leave. He can’t fault them. Rationally speaking, it’s a logical decision. There’s so much a person can only deal with until they pick up their stuff and leave, no matter how much love there’s between and it’s so unfair.
Way too fucking unfair because Tim never asked for this. He never wanted to be born the way he is; having to deal with the constant paranoia and scrutinizing every facial expression and body mannerism and interaction he’s ever had with everyone because he’s terrified of people hating him.
But it’s not the hate that makes him panic. It’s the thought of being alone that terrifies him. It petrifies him to the bone because being alone solidifies all those fears Tim’s been keeping close.
That there’s, in fact, something wrong with him. Something abnormal. Like he’s some sort of grotesque monster that makes him unable and incapable to be loved. And it hurts. It hurts so freaking much because the truth is that’s all Tim has ever wanted since he was a little boy. It was all he could remember.
Feel love.
He wants to be loved.
I’m sorry, Tim wants to plead, but the words are stuck in the back of his throat. Words that no matter how much Tim tries to, can’t seem to get their way out. It’s fear, deep palpable, and well-rooted fear running through his veins.
The truth is, Tim is terrified. He’s fucking terrified of messing up another relationship again. He’s lost enough people for this stupid shit. The last thing he wants is to make a loved one go away, just… please, Bruce. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.
That’s probably the worst part; knowing you’re being irrational here and not being able to stop it. Too afraid to voice out his concern or opinion in case they’re misinterpreted as being abusive or manipulative. Picking out every single detail of interaction until his brain gives up. More so is the fact of feeling out of control, in knowing your emotions are getting the best of you and you’re too darn stupid to do anything about it.
Until everything spirals and Tim says the first thing on his mind, only to realize what the fuck he just said and Bruce…. Bruce isn’t saying something. He remains quiet. He doesn’t say it, but the horror is clearly written on his face.
What the fuck did you just say.
“Tim,” he hears Bruce say his name, but the words feel almost foreign. Unknown. As if it’s a different language, or maybe it is because Tim sometimes loses the sense of reality to the point he doesn’t know what’s real or fake and fuck.
There’s some faint ringing in his ears, a ringing that doesn’t seem to stop anytime soon and it’s there when Tim realizes he can’t move. He can’t move because he’s trembling and he’s trembling because he’s trying so hard not to cry, because crying is manipulative and Tim doesn’t want to be manipulative.
“Please don’t leave,” he whispers and squeezes his eyes shut. Fuck, it sounds manipulative. Worse, it sounds abusive. He doesn’t, fuck. Bruce, please don’t leave, please, please, please.
I’m sorry. I’m so freaking sorry.
“I’m not angry.”
The worst part is that Bruce doesn’t sound angry which only makes this ten times worse because this isn’t fair. It’s not fair he has to put Bruce and all his loved ones through so much shit.
This shouldn’t happen if only… if only Tim was fucking normal like everyone else.
“I’m sorry,” Tim blurts out, backing away. He doesn’t want to hear the rest of what Bruce will say. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to hear the goodbye and the pain that will come with him leaving or the fact that he’ll be alone.
“I’m sorry. Gosh, Bruce. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’m really sorry”, he says, the words being spit out fast as the hiccups slowly win over. He doesn’t want Bruce to leave. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to live with the thought that he hurt him, again. Just like Alfred and Dick, or Jason.
That’s all he ever does. Hurt people. Stupid, worthless piece of—
Please don’t leave.
“Tim, I’m not angry,” Bruce interrupts him softly, but it’s not enough to stop the spiraling thoughts because Tim wants to stop existing. He wants to stop feeling. He’d rather be numb again because, at this moment, he wants to die.
Die, die, die.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says rapidly, like a mantra because that’s the only thing he can do right now. He’s sorry. He didn’t mean to yell. He didn’t mean to snap and say something mean.
He didn’t mean to snap at Bruce, please understand. Please. Don’t leave.
”Gosh Bruce I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry.”
He didn’t mean to.
“I know Tim, I know.”
The words are meant to be comforting but at this time, it only makes Tim cry.