A/N: S.A.D. Stands for Seasonal Affective Disorder. Usually coming to the forefront during the winter months, when there is less sun, and less time to be out in it. I know that Mark was fairly happy-seeming during the actual musical, but I think he's simply a good actor. *s* Well, that's my take, you're welcome to disagree. TwistedAngel
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Mark hated winter.
The endless cold that seeped in from every direction until he was sure his bones would simply shatter with it. The dull, monotone grey skies that seemed to never change. Only growing slightly lighter or darker with the dawning and dying of the day. The city full of surly pedestrians, heads down and bundled into themselves, not even seeing one another as they brushed bruisingly past. Walking through sluch to your ankles, slush that never seemed to completely freeze to ice. But was cold enough to bring on searing pain. You'd think eventually your extremities would become blessedly numb, but there is always that throbbing reminder that such temperatures were unnatural.
He hated the snow most of all. Snow that was meant to be white and pure and lovely. Yet turned to ugly brown and grey almost as soon as it hit the dirty City streets. Grey-brown as the sky. As his thoughts and mood each winter. Every year he braced himself for the spiral of depression that inevitably came with the fading of the year. And yet each time he found himself helplessly bogged down in the middle of it, having not even seen it coming.
The others saw it as just another Mark-quirk. Like the too-long scarf and the overdone bundling. They sympathized, thinking that if he was constantly cold in summer, then he had every right to miserable in winter. They sympathized, but didn't truly understand. Didn't see beyond the sad and occasionally angry visage, the dark hopeless eyes. Didn't see how deep the pain ran. Couldn't see beneath the layers of clothing to the curling mass of scars that ran over Mark's skin. As he methodically ran the razor over his flesh in spinning laps, trying in vain to bleed the darkness from inside him.
Mark hated himself.
The weakness he perceived, even though the others seemed ignorant of it. The clawing despair that made him want to shriek at the top of his lungs and claw his eyes, while somehow at the same time wanting to curl up in silence and sob. Hated the spinning out of control, the pain of the razor, the pull of the scars. Growing more and more pale and withdrawn with each passing day. Hated even his friends, at times. Then himself once more for ever feeling that way. It was his fault after all. His own fault that they couldn't see. For living behind the camera, Mark was one hell of an actor. And they had other problems to bear.
There were times when the near constant churning of his mind slowed to a more peaceful beat. When Mimi had returned to them when they'd all thought it was beyond hope. Then, even in the cursed winter, Mark had felt like summer. He'd held the feeling for as long as he could. Wrapping it around his heart like a blanket against the cold. Like everything else that was good and everything else that was warm... Like everything else that mattered, the feeling eventually faded. And the absense of even a flicker of light in the vast darkness made the blackness that much more dense. That much more unbearable.
Near the end of the winter months, when it finally all became close to the breaking point, even with the hope of light around the corner, Mark slept. Collins called it his hibernation period, and Mark didn't refute it. Even laughed with the others. Mouth smiling even as his eyes remained closed to everyone. Not wanting them to know what was happening to him. Not wanting them to worry, to have an additional burden to carry. After months of little sleep, less food, and near nightly bloodletting, sleep was like a drug. Another comfort to shroud himself in just to make it through.
The clouds didn't clear for Mark until they did for the rest of the City as well. He didn't truly wak up until the skies began to show their true colors. Blue, with true sunlight. He would sit outside in the cool morning air and tilt his head back. Eyes closed as he soaked up the sun. His time of despair once more ending its cycle. Never knowing that Roger sat inside and watched him through the grime-streaked window. Fervently glad that Mark, his Mark, the true Mark, was back. Months of carrying on as though all was well and he wasn't worried took its toll on him as well. He didn't know it all, or how deeply it had run. Only that something happened to his friend during the winter months. Something that he was helpless to prevent. All he could do was sit off to the sidelines and pray that once more Mark would make it through.
He's stronger than he lets on. Stronger than he believes.
It was a thought he used to comfort himself with during those long, cold months. But he wondered. Even someone who was strong couldn't hold out indefinately. At the end of winter, it was Mark who looked as though he were dying. Sitting on the table alone, arms wrapped around his own knees, Roger closed his eyes. Blocking out the sight of the wasted form of his best friend outside.
Every year, it was the same. The pattern of depression growing stronger, the period of sleeping, or hibernation, coming on sooner and lasting longer. And he was afraid. If they didn't find out what was going on soon, and do something to change it...
If they didn't help him, they were going to lose him.