Dylan O'Brien Imagines

Seeing Right Through You-Stiles Stilinski

Requested by @dyl_pickle206

Trigger Warning: angst, anxiety attacks, panic attacks, depression, attempted suicide

You never know how much someone is struggling until it's too late. Well, my friends don't know that I've been fighting anxiety and depression since middle school.

It started after a group of girls cornered me in the locker room. After that, they started cornering me a lot more. They'd make fun of my clothes, my hair, and anything about me that didn't fit in with them.

I thought about telling Stiles and Scott but I knew how they'd react. They would threaten to hurt the girls or get Stiles's dad involved. So, I didn't tell them. I didn't tell them about my first anxiety attack in the girls' locker room that day. I didn't tell them about every anxiety attack after. I didn't tell them about the days that I just didn't feel anything and almost did something so I could.

Every time I have an anxiety attack, I excuse myself. I go to the bathroom, sit through my attack on my own, and compose myself before rejoining the group. And they never knew the wiser. So much for all that werewolf senses shit.

We were currently sitting in the library talking about our latest supernatural problem. I wasn't paying attention because I was trying to stop an anxiety attack.

"Y/N?" Stiles whispered as he reached over and touched my arm.

"I'm fine," I barely got out. I could feel his eyes on me, but I ignored it. I took a few breaths but knew I wouldn't be able to shake this one. I stood up and quickly left the library, ignoring my friends' questioning looks.

When I got to the bathroom, I locked myself in a stall and leaned my forehead against the cold stall door. My hands shook as it got harder and harder to breathe. It felt like the walls were closing in on me and then opening back up just in time to close again.

I sucked in a breath, leaned against the stall, and covered my mouth when I heard the bathroom door open.

"Y/N? Sweetie, are you in here?" Lydia called out.

"Yeah," I said, clearing my throat to hopefully sound normal.

"Okay, well, we're heading towards Scott's house. Want us to wait?"

"No," I said quickly. "I'll meet you guys there."

"Okay. Oh! I brought your bag. It's by the sink."

"Thanks."

"See ya."

I let out a shaky breathe when I heard the door closed. I sat on the toilet seat and put my face in my hands as my whole body shook. It took me a few minutes to get my breathing back to normal. Once I could actually breathe, I lifted my head out of my hands and took a few more calming breaths.

I stood up and opened the stall door. I walked over to the sink and turned on the water. Once it was warm, I splashed some onto my face. I grabbed a paper towel and dried off. I threw it away and grabbed my phone from my bag. I opened our pack message and quickly texted them.

To: 🐺 THE Pack 🐺

Me: Hey, guys. I'm not feeling very well so I'm gonna head home instead of coming over and risk getting you all sick. I'll see you tomorrow.

* * * * *

After I sent the text yesterday, I turned off my phone and drove straight home. I spent the entire night in my bed, watching a show I've seen a thousand times on Netflix.

You know what they say; the reason people who suffer from anxiety rewatch tv shows is because they know what's going to happen, and that creates a sense of safety and comfort.