Depression.

He's not entirely sure when he wakes up or when he's asleep anymore, all he knows is that it's probably a different day. Somewhere between nine-o-clock and noon he becomes aware on a slightly more conscious level. He remembers seeing the clock before that though. He lies in a humid daze drifting in and out of his own thoughts until that becomes tiring enough that he's willing to overcome his physical exhaustion just to ignore it for a while. He stays in his room until the rest of the house is empty. He gets something to eat, anything that's the furthest from nutritional value as possible. He wants to learn how to cook, but he's willing forgo effort and health for the sake of convenience. Then he steps into the bathroom, and there's a stranger staring at him.

“It's me, I'm your conscience asshole. Look at yourself. You got up and ran away, expecting results and nothing's happened. What the Hell are you doing so far away from home?”

“But...” He paused. “This is my home... isn't it?”

“Why the fuck do you need to ask me, you slob? Get in the shower, I'm tired of looking at you for the moment.”

“Just for the moment?”

“Don't you have some important failing to do soon?” He got into the shower and stood there. He contemplated whether or not to shave that day. He didn't. He got out of the shower and dried himself off and put on the same clothes he always wore, just cleaner. He got up and grabbed his phone. He put on his best mask and called the place he applied to.

“Oh, we're not hiring yet. But give me your name and your number, we'll keep you in our thoughts.” His phone number could be known by half the county at this point, but nobody would call. He thought they might because it's a different day of the week, though. He texted his family about his car, expecting that he might actually be able to get it after being broken down for nearly a year. He got no response, but he thought he might get one because it's a different day of the week.

“...so now what?” he asked his conscience.

“No but seriously. What the Hell ARE you doing here? Didn't you just decide to run away?”

“W-well, I had to.” he reasoned. “Being there was killing me.”

“Why?”

“B-because I'm... I'm depressed.”

“Oh Jesus, here we go again.”

“What am I supposed to do?” he asked.

“Listen here,” his conscience began. “Everybody has their problems. Most people handle them like reasonable adults. Are you an adult?”

“I think so.”

“Alright, better question. Do you think others see you as an adult?”

“Um...”

“The answer to that is no. You're not one. What did your dad call you again?”

“Um...”

“You remember right? Say it out loud. Come on.”

“...a fucking loser who should kill himself.”

“Do you think that's accurate?”

“Can we stop talking about this? Please?”

“Now answer me this. How much longer can you keep telling yourself that you're too depressed to do anything before it stops being a reason and that it turns into an excuse? Before you can just concede and accept that this is it for you?”

“B-but I can't now.”

“Why the fuck NOT?”

“Be... because I have responsibilities now.”

“YOU DON'T FUCKING DESERVE THEM.”

“Responsibilities aren't something someone deserves.” there was a bit of resolve in his voice. “People just have them. I have them now, and that's... that's just how it is.”

When the man decided to go to try sleeping, it was well past the time any reasonable person would be up. But despite how exhausted he was, he couldn't bring himself to sleep. He lied in his bed, his whole body trembling for little to no reason and it stirred his blood enough to keep him awake. He could not feel his hand. And he was incapable of doing so for a significant portion of the day.

“I suppose you're going to ignore that because you're a coward.”

“Nothing's wrong. It's going to be fine.”

“Don't show optimism in the stupid places where you should admit when you're actually in trouble.

“Can't I sleep?”

“Clearly not if you can't even stop fucking shaking.” He looked on his bed while he lied down, examining all the empty space.

“Why did I get a full?”

“To remind yourself that you're alone and that you always will be.”

“Well, maybe not always.”

“You'd have to find someone either as stupid, crazy or as much of a fucking loser as you are for her to even believe that you're worth being attached to.”

“...probably. Maybe I might get lucky?”

“If it's you, her definition of 'lucky' would be like Russian Roulette. Being with you is spending time hoping she doesn't get the chamber with the bullet in it that day.”

“Because that's when you'll show up.”

“And I'll remind her of everything she needs to know to understand why this is a mistake. I'll show her those ugly things about yourself that she deserves to know, and she'll rightfully leave.  Just like what happens with everybody else eventually.”

“...would things be easier if I was just dead?”

“You couldn't go through with that shit the first few times you tried, what makes you think it would be able to do it now?”

“You're... you're probably right.”

“Besides, you have 'responsibilities' now, don't you? It's easier to do when you just hate your fucking family. Now you're committed to this shit. There's no way out of here, you're in this for the long run and you're going to drag a bunch of people down with you who don't deserve it.”

“...I think I'll be okay with that eventually. Just like everyone else.” Even his conscience went silent for a bit.

“...right. Shouldn't you be asleep?”

“I don't really know anymore.” He wasn't entirely sure when he woke up or when he was asleep anymore, all he knew is that it's probably a different day.