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timeoutforthee · 5 years

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Like it or Not-Chapter 13

Taglist: @itsausernamenotafobsong, @sea-blue-child, @iaminmultiplefandoms, @princeanxious, @uwillbeefoundtonight, @zaidiashipper, @arandompasserby, @levyredfox3, @falsett0, @error-i-dunno-what-went-wrong, @scrapbookofsketches, @podcastsandcoffee, @helloisthisusernametaken, @amuthefunperson, @michealawithana, @yamihatarou, @heck-im-lost, @unlikelynightmareconnoisseur, @idkaurl

Summary: Logan, Patton, Roman, and Virgil are all struggling in their recovery. Their doctors, Thomas Sanders and Emile Picani think they can help each other out.

Aka Group Therapy AU

Trigger Warnings: self-deprecating thoughts, denial

Read it on AO3!

“Where were you during lunch?” Roman asks Logan as soon as he’s within ear shot, “Virgil said you didn’t talk to him at all during class and you left before any of us could ask what was up.”

Logan doesn’t say anything, just walks up to the bleacher behind him. Roman sighs.

“Logan, you can’t just decide you don’t have an eating disorder, and even if you didn’t, you can’t just leave us like that,” Roman pauses, “Or, at least, we’d really appreciate it if you didn’t. Patton was worried.”

…

“Virgil was, too.”

…

“And maybe I was a little bit, too. You know. Just like, if you don’t want to eat with us anymore, tell us?”

…

“Wait a second, are you giving me the silent treatment?” Roman asks, “That is...really childish. And I thought you were mature.” Roman’s eyes go wide, “How am I supposed to pass time now? At least look at me! Logan!”

But Logan ignores him, instead he gets out a book to start his homework. Roman leans over and taps on the top of it.

“Logan. Logan. Logan. Logan,” he says, “Pay attention to me. We have to talk.”

Logan slams the book shut, and Roman yanks his fingers back before they’re crushed with a yelp. But once they’re out of the way, Logan just opens his book again.

“Fine. I can do the not talking thing too.”

…

“Really? Nothing? No skeptical look? No glare? No frowning at my bad grammar?” No response. “Dammit.”

Logan slips into his desk next to Virgil the following day.

“You know,” he says, eyes on the board, “You can’t keep this up forever.”

Both of them keep their eyes on the board. Logan isn’t going to crack that easy.

“Eventually, you’ll have to talk to me or Roman.”

Except Virgil isn’t so sure he’s right anymore. His anxiety makes it hard for him to convince himself that Logan has to talk to them, much less convince Logan. It doesn’t sound likely, Logan being able to avoid them all for the next year, but he supposes there are kids he’s never talked to, what if Logan just fades into one of them, wait-was he even going to come into therapy? Had it gotten that serious? How? What if-

“Virgil, are you okay?” Mrs. Spencer is suddenly at his side, “Do you need to be excused?”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Logan look over at him, and he looks worried. Virgil takes a deep breath but shakes his head. He’s not trying to guilt him into talking to them again. Logan keeps his eyes on him for a second longer, then looks to the front of the classroom. Mrs. Spencer’s eyes flick over to him, but the bell rings and she has to get class started.

One thing is clear to Logan: Roman was right. This whole thing is childish. But he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t have an eating disorder, and it’s wrong for him to use resources others need, like therapy, like Mrs. Spencer’s room, like this support system-

You don’t deserve it.

But if he told any of his friends-not his friends, you don’t deserve them-if he told his peers that, they clearly wouldn’t believe him. Roman had proven that. Or worse. They would see the truth. That he never deserved any of this. He wasn’t sick enough. He wasn’t sick at all.

These are the thoughts that make it hard to focus in English. That, and the fact that he and Virgil are looking at each other while also pretending not to look at each other. They haven’t made eye contact once, thankfully, because Logan doesn’t know what he would say if they did. Well, that’s not completely true. He’d probably start with “I’m sorry.”

The bell rings, and for a second Logan actually considers staying. He could explain himself, right? They would probably understand. But when he sees Roman and Patton in the doorway, he can’t do it. He jumps from his seat and leaves.

Patton drops his bag into a random seat and turns to Roman and Virgil.

“I’ll be back,” he says, and he follows Logan outside. “Did he talk to you at all?” Roman asks Virgil, pulling up a desk to sit across from him.

“Nope,” Virgil says, “I think he was close at one point, but that was just because I was scaring him.”

“Scaring him?”

“I was panicking, a little,” he says, and he doesn’t know what’s worse, focusing on Roman when he says that, or focusing on his food.

“Ah...is that...better now?”

“Well, I’m not going to cry into your food or pass out because I can’t breathe, if that’s what your thinking.”

“...are those actual things that can happen?”

Virgil glares at Roman, but he’s caught off guard, because Roman seems...sincere. He just seems curious, not malicious.

“I mean, I guess they can. Especially the crying thing. But I’ve never actually passed out, even though sometimes it’s hard to breathe.”

“Okay,” Roman says, slowly, “So you have anxiety, too?”

“I mean, I guess? You know Picani’s method-”

“You are not your disorder,” they both quote their therapist.

“So I’ve never actually asked what I have, but it’s pretty obvious from the panic attacks,” Virgil says, and he finally takes a bite of his lunch, “What about you?”

“I don’t think I have any other problems besides the eating disorder.”

Virgil takes a sip from his water so he doesn’t say anything snarky. They already have one issue right now. They eat in silence for a bit before Roman cracks.

“I think I made it worse.”

“Made what worse?”

Roman gestures towards the door, “The Logan situation. The last time I talked to him...he said he doesn’t think he has an eating disorder.”

“Yeah, he mentioned that during lunch. Did he say more during gym?”

“Nothing new. Just that he thought he ate too much-” Roman pauses when he sees Virgil’s face, “Yeah, I know. And I tried to help? But I think I made it worse.”

“What did you do?”

“You know how he’s like, super smart and factual? I tried to show him the facts. So I googled anorexia and showed him that he was having the same complications as other sufferers. To try and prove it to him,” Roman babbles a bit, then pauses. Virgil doesn’t say anything for a second, so he blurts out, “Do you think I made it worse?”

Virgil looks at him and for a second Roman’s afraid of what he’ll say.

“Do I think it’s your fault that someone with an eating disorder is in denial? No. I don’t,”

Roman lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, but something is still bothering him. Virgil can tell.

“Spit it out, Princey.”

“Did I hurt his feelings, though? He was talking to us, and we were fine, and then I talked to him, and now he hates us?” Does he hate me?

“Yep, must be your fault,” And the sarcasm must not even register, because Roman immediately pales, “Wait, wait, wait! I was being an ass, I’m sorry,” Virgil says quickly. Then he sighs, “We were not okay. He could barely eat during lunch, and he wasn’t talking to us at all, remember? And I don’t think it’s because you talked to him, I think it’s because you showed him we wouldn’t believe his lies about being okay. Of course he’s defensive.”

“...so he doesn’t hate me?”

Virgil bites his tongue. That set up was just too good, but he can’t hurt Roman’s feelings twice in one heart-to-heart moment.

“No, I don’t think he hates you.”

Roman takes a deep breath. Good. He doesn’t know if he could handle more people hating him.

Logan is trying to find the most complicated walking pattern he possibly can, to try and lose Patton.

It’s not working. And now people are thinning out, so it’s easier for him to follow.

“I will follow you around this entire school, Logan,” Patton threatens. Well. As much as Patton can threaten.

But it makes Logan sigh and face his fri-peer.

“I don’t need the room anymore, therefore I’m not using it. That’s all.”

“Really? So you can suddenly eat exactly how you want to? Your last session must have been miraculous,” Something almost imperceptible crosses Logan’s face, but Patton catches it and raises an eyebrow.

“I…,” this is only going to make it worse, Logan knows that, but he might as well get everyone off his case, “I had an appointment with Dr. Sanders yesterday, but I didn’t go.”

Patton frowns. “You know, to get the full benefits of recovery, you have to commit to it, one hundred percent.”

Logan groans, “Now you sound like him. But, it’s just,” Logan sighs, “I don’t have an eating disorder. And it’s wrong for me to keep using the resources that are available, so I need to cease immediately.” Logan turns quickly and starts walking down the hallway.

Logan expects footsteps, either to stop him or to leave him. What he doesn’t expect is possibly the world’s quietest voice asking, “You don’t mean that, do you?”

It would be easy to ignore, but something makes him turn around, “Of course I do. I wouldn’t have said it if it was untrue.”

“Logan…,” Patton walks up to him. He searches for something to say, biting his lip. But he can’t find the words. So instead he leans over and wraps his arms around Logan. He holds his breath to see how he reacts, ready to pull back at a second’s notice.

Logan freezes. He can’t remember the last time someone has hugged him. Slowly, he brings his hands up to wrap around Patton.

“You must be hurting so much.”

“I-I’m not,” Logan says, but his voice his failing him and suddenly he feels tears in his eyes. He holds on to Patton a little tighter. Then slowly he says, “I don’t want to.”

“Don’t want to what?”

“Do this. I don’t want to starve myself, but I-I don’t want to eat either. It’s been years, Patton.”

“I know,” Patton says, and suddenly Logan is overwhelmed with guilt, he almost wants to pull away. Patton thinks back, back to last night, and every night before, “Sometimes I don’t either.”

“But if we don’t…”

The second half of the sentence hangs in the air. Neither one of them has to say it. That’s not an option.

Logan leans his head on Patton’s shoulder, hiding for just a second. “I’m not strong enough to do this. I thought if I could convince myself...if I could convince everyone...why can’t it just be over?”

“I don’t know,” Patton says, “I don’t know why it just won’t stop, but...it will, eventually. If we keep trying, dedicating ourselves, just like Dr. Sanders said. Just try, Logan, please?”

Logan finally drops his hands, wiping at his eyes as fast as he can. He takes a deep breath.

“Okay.”

#sanders sides fic #sanders sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #welp #this happened a lot sooner than I thought #like it or not #my writing

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swampgallows · 6 years

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therapy today went okay but i feel like i talked too much lmfao. i passed out around like 10pm and now im awake again and uhh hmmm ngngngghghhhmhm

also she asked me like “find out what you wanna get out of therapy and then we can set some goals” lmao i wanna GET FIXED

i dunno if i am actually mentally ill or if it’s just my mom/environment or if i’m neurodivergent somehow or if i need medication or whatever the fuck it is, i just know that it’s not normal to feel okay one day and then have some minor thing happen that catapults me into feeling suicidal. im doing better lately but that’s why i signed up for therapy NOW because i know when im feeling good i get this delusion of like “haha see i never needed it at all :)” and then some little fucking thing happens (or nothing happens) and suddenly i cant get out of bed for three days. i told her that i think it’s more than my environment because even when i was busy at work and even when i was busy and away from home in college i had extremely persistent and severe depression, got into several different overlapping abusive relationships, nearly failed my classes one semester, and then i got hit by a car, was in a wheelchair for 6 months, then had our car hit by a semi immediately afterward. it’s time for new glasses btw lmao as i am still wearing the same pair that got scratched to shit and annihilated in the accident. lmfao The Accident™

this is a pic of them from the night of the accident and the scratches have only gotten worse. id take a new pic but im in bed in the dark and whatever

the therapist seemed impressed with my psychology knowledge which was kind of discomforting, in a way. i guess im just so used to my own situation and people utilizing the internet to learn about their own head cases that i dont consider it novel to have actually done research. also because with my other experiences i felt like doctors would be dismissive of me as if i was trying to one-up them or something, like “well -I- have the degree and YOU dont” like, well yeah, im not sitting here trying to correct you but i am gonna use the terminology im familiar with even if theyre super special SAT words or w/e (like i’m gonna say shit like “comorbid” and “hypnagogic” because that’s the terminology i use all the time to describe these situations... i throw out “5 dollar words” all the time :\) but i think maybe by also having a video/verbal conversation w me that she knows i’m not sitting there meticulously typing up the most fancy schmancy shit i can find, flippin through a thesaurus like a blood elf nobleman vampire’s purple prose or somethin.

i guess what i wanna get out of therapy is uh

1. i dont want to be suicidal, which means 2. i have to build confidence, which means 3. i have to become self-reliant, or more self-reliant than i am.

she suggested, on the grounds of my mom giving me interrogation any time i try to go out on my own (hence me only feeling comfortable to go out when i fucking sneak out of the house or on the VERY rare occasions that she isn’t home) that i have a written list that i either give to her personally or write out and leave for her to read at her leisure of all the answers to her questions: where ive gone, when i’ll be back, what i’m doing, etc. the problem is coming home, though, because then she reads me the riot act of guilt on anything i did. if i go out and get food, it becomes about her. if i go out and do an errand, it becomes about her. everything i do somehow falls back on her.

i explained to the therapist that even when i was still working—a perfect chance to learn to drive and drive regularly—i took the bus the entire time. but i’d have to be driven TO the bus stop and then take the bus to work, which meant my mom drove me to the bus every day. and my dad would talk about how good it was for MY MOM to have a reason to get up in the morning, and that it’s good for her because it gives her a kind of schedule or obligation to follow. so then like... my schedule now becomes HER schedule. and i martyr my potential independence of driving to work on my own in order to give my mom a sense of purpose.

so...every day, mom picked me up from the bus stop, just like she had been for all the years i was in school. of course i never went out and did anything after (or before!) work; i never had the freedom. sure i could tell my mom partway through the day if i was staying late or going somewhere else, but my work was also in the middle of a canyon, five miles of nothing in either direction. if i missed the bus home, i wouldnt have another chance to go home for another hour. so having buses come only once an hour and then also having my mom waiting for me at the stop... it was just too much trouble to say like “hm i think i’ll go grab a smoothie before work” or “maybe i’ll hang with my coworkers a bit and go grab dinner with them” or “maybe i’ll start going to the gym after work”. i couldnt make any executive decisions about my own life. i think that restriction of freedom happens for lower income people too, since youre relying on a (notoriously shitty) bus service to get anywhere and you also cant just throw money around that often. i had a little slush fund to treat myself every so often but i didnt have the access to it.

EVERY day that i was 20 minutes away from the stop i would have to text my mom the name of the stop (imagine, if it were “maple street” or something, my entire text message history with my mom just being “maple” “k” “maple” “k” back and forth for months) in case she had fallen asleep or was doing something, as the bus would sometimes be late or early or whatever. and sometimes i would delay that text on purpose to have the extra time to buy something from one of the fast food places located at my bus stop, then hide it in the bottom of my bag and hope it wasn’t too aromatic that my mom would notice and ask me about it.

BECAUSE if i bought food on a day she made dinner, she would flagellate herself about it, and if i bought food on a day that she DIDNT make dinner she would flagellate herself about it. it’s HER FAULT because she doesn’t make food enough that i have to go buy my own :((((, so the one time she does cook i’m already getting food because she’s unreliable :((((, and shit like that, instead of like, just because there IS food doesn’t...mean anything!!!!! maybe i just wanted a certain kind of food that day!! But it becomes about her!!!! everything i do hurts her. everything i do. so i just got adjusted to just... not eating, or eating the same things over and over. eventually, when i was still working, i would eat nothing but a muffin until i came home. and if there was food, i would eat it, and if there wasn’t, then i wouldn’t eat. many nights i went to bed without eating even if there WAS food because i was just so fucking tired.

i dunno i kinda lost my train of thought but basically it’s hard to assert myself because i’m not confident because a lot of the time i dont know if im doing something right. it reminds me a lot of the scene in tangled where rapunzel fucks up and something bad happens to her and her mom catches her in the act, and she uses that to reinforce rapunzel’s dependence on her. like obviously my mom isn’t abusive like that but it makes me afraid to fail and even MORE afraid to even try, because i know that if i DO fail--whatever it is--it will just be more evidence for why i should have just asked her or had her do it. and more evidence, to me, of why im worthless and shitty and incapable of doing anything.

like the other day my mom wanted me to follow her in a separate car to a car place to drop off the car she was driving, and then we’d go home together in one car. but she wanted me to do it at 9 in the fucking morning and let me know two days beforehand. i had been going to BED at like 7am at the time so i was already like ‘man this is gonna suck’. but i was still up in the morning and was getting ready to take a shower, iw as on time, but my mom said “i can tell how tired you are and how nervous you are about doing this so you know what dont worry about it. go back to bed.” and it was really shitty for me because YEAH i was super tired and YEAH i didnt feel like i was capable of driving by myself at that moment, like i probably COULD HAVE if it were an emergency, but my mom talked about doing all this shit afterward like going on a shopping trip and stuff and BASICALLY it’s less that i was afraid of the driving but more that i knew the errand wouldn’t end there. and i had gotten zero sleep and just didnt wanna fucking do it, i didnt wanna have a “girl time :)” outing with my mom, and i knew i’d basically get trapped into hanging out with my mom if i went. so i stayed home. but then that’s also a blow to me because stupid fucking worthless idiot that i am cant even drive ten miles in a fucking car, or whatever, useless leech living with my parents contributing nothing, unemployed for a year, blah blah blah. stupid fucking neet should have never been born etc etc etc

she took an uber home and had glowing reviews about the experience and that’s great for her but the guilt made me throw up because i couldnt even do this minuscule thing. so like, if i DO hand her a note and say “here’s all the shit im going to do, BUH BYE” and some shit happens, or i dont get what i need done, or i dont have a fully developed plan of what i’m doing, then it’s gonna be more ammunition toward what a useless piece of shit i am. like, i dont have good food to eat at the house, but i also have NO APPETITE so nothing sounds good, so i cant even think of what foods i would get if i could. it’s such a jarring opportunity that i would just like...not get anything at all and go home. even when i -did- have the opportunity i just went “Uhh umm uhhh fuck uhhh milk” and got that (AND THEN MY MOM CAME HOME W 2 GALLONS OF MILK FROM COSTCO, SO OF COURSE I -DID SOMETHING WRONG-!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IF I JUST LEFT IT UP TO HER INSTEAD OF DARING TO DO SOMETHING MYSELF I WOULDNT HAVE LOOKED LIKE A FUCKING IDIOT AND ENDED UP WITH 3 GALLONS OF MILK AT THE HOUSE) of course i drank the milk i bought, it’s not like it went to waste, but i was CAUGHT because there were now THREE instead of the one gallon covertly getting replaced. instead of me doing something helpful i did something that became an inconvenience.

it’s just little shit but it all adds up. it’s been all of these little fucking things forever and ever and ever, just like my mom’s hoarded garbage. “i bought just a couple of things”, innumerable times throughout the duration of my entire life, forever and ever, “just a few small things” over and over until it’s suffocating. it’s just all this little shit all the fucking time and it’s suffocating.

naturally, the therapist sent me an article on “daughters of narcissistic mothers”. this will be a delight to read, i’m sure.

#blathering

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timeoutforthee · 6 years

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Like It or Not-Chapter 11

Summary: Logan, Patton, Roman, and Virgil are all struggling in their recovery. Their doctors, Thomas Sanders and Emile Picani think they can help each other out.

Aka Group Therapy AU

Trigger Warnings: denial, unsupportive people, invalidating feelings

Read it on AO3!

“Roman! A word?”

Roman turns away from the door and walks back to his teacher, Mr. Hurley. “Yes?”

“I noticed you weren’t at auditions yesterday,” he starts and Roman takes a deep breath. Yesterday, while all his friends were singing their heart out, he was in therapy with Dr. Picani. And during therapy, he had made a decision. One his drama teacher-slash-director would not appreciate.

“Yeah, about that....,” his teacher raises an eyebrow, “I’m not doing Beauty and the Beast.”

“...what?”

“You know, I’ve been having all sorts of health issues lately, and I think it would be best if I stepped back for a while,” Roman recites, perfectly, just as he and his therapist practiced.

“You look fine to me!” his teacher says, which is one of the responses they had planned for.

“Not all illnesses are visible.”

Mr. Hurley sighs and rubs his temples.

“What am I supposed to do for the Beast?”

Roman winces. He knows his director doesn’t mean anything by it, that it might even be a compliment, considering it was the lead. But having someone in his life immediately assume he would be a beastly, ugly monster is not doing wonders for his self esteem.

If it was up to him, he’d be Lumiere. But lately, no one seemed to ask what he wanted.

“I...don’t know?”

“Do you know how many men are in the theater department?”

“Six-”

“Six!” his teacher cries at the same time. “We already had to make the narrator a female role. That leaves seven male roles, and now I only have five actors?”

And there it is. The crushing guilt he was trying to avoid.

“I’m sorry,” Roman’s voice is surprisingly soft, “I just...I can’t.”

No matter what he wants, how badly he wants this, he can’t have all those people staring at him. He can’t make himself dress up as a terrifying, ugly beast. He can’t have people wait the whole play for a dashing prince and then just be...himself.

“You know, this could have been a big role for you. It would look great on a college application.”

Roman shakes his head, his voice failing. His teacher sighs.

“Fine.”

When Roman walks in, fifteen minutes late, he looks every bit as princely as he likes to pretend to be, except for the red around his eyes.

The other three exchange glances. Thomas smiles.

“Glad you could make it, Roman.”

“Ah, well, you know, you can never predict traffic!”

“Nice try,” Thomas’s smile never falters, “But try again.”

“Why, what do you mean?” He can see Virgil raising his eyebrows out of the corner of his eyes. Patton is looking at him in concern, and Logan is staring at him like he can see right through him.

“You know, part of group therapy is being open with each other, being vulnerable, even with emotions we find uncomfortable.”

“I, uh,” Roman sits down, “It’s just been a rough day.”

“We thought so, considering you didn’t show up for lunch,” Virgil says. Roman shoots him a glare. He couldn’t have, like, five minutes?

“What happened?” Thomas asks.

“I decided not to do the winter musical, which the theater department had some strong opinions about. And my dad and I got into a fight. It’s really not a big deal, I’m just being my overdramatic self,” Roman tries to brush it off.

“Roman, I think you may have trouble with invalidating your feelings.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you tend to brush off your feelings by saying you’re being over dramatic, or that they’re not important. But any feelings you experience are very important to you.”

“Well, sure, I guess, but that doesn’t mean they should be...right?”

“Let me ask you this,” Thomas continues, “Why do you think they’re unimportant?”

“I was crying in a bathroom for ten minutes over not being in a play, doc, I think in the grand scheme of things, it’s not going to matter.”

“I think that’s a little unfair,” Patton speaks up, “I mean, depending on how big of a picture we’re looking at, we could argue everything is meaningless. But that doesn’t mean it truly is. Our feelings in the moment matter in the moment.”

“Also,” Virgil says, “I haven’t known you long, but even I can see how much Theater means to you. You’re giving up that passion, that escape from the real world. It’s a good step for you, and you have to do it, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you want to. Of course you’re upset.”

“That’s true,” Thomas says, “And plus, you said earlier that it wasn’t just that, it was the negative backlash from your director, and also a fight with your father-”

“Did I say that?”

“You did,” his therapist responds, “What was that about?”

“My dad was hoping that without theater, I could try and take up sports again,” Roman says, “And I couldn’t tell him the real reason why I couldn’t, so I just told him I couldn’t, but that wasn’t good enough for him and it just…” and, oh God, he’s getting choked up again, so he just cuts himself off, with a “today has just not been my day.”

“I think that’s a bit of an understatement,” Logan says.

“And that brings us back to undermining our feelings,” Thomas says.

“Okay, I get it,” Roman rubs at his eyes, a little harder than necessary.

“Why do you feel like you couldn’t tell him the real reason?” Thomas asks, a little gentler this time.

Roman laughs. “He wouldn’t believe me.”

“Wouldn’t believe what?”

“That I have an eating disorder. I eat so many fruits and vegetables, and I work out so much, my strength was the only thing that made him proud-” Roman’s mouth snaps shut before he starts sobbing again. This is ridiculous.

“Do any of you have a similar experience?” Thomas asks, “Patton, you mentioned before that your mom caught you, so she knows about your eating disorder. What about you two?”

“My parents do not know,” Logan says and Roman looks over at him, “My mom...actually asks me for diet tips.”

Thomas doesn’t even try to hide that he’s writing that down. That is concerning. “And your dad?”

“My dad has this ridiculous notion that psychology and mental illnesses aren’t ‘real,’ that it’s a new phenomenon instead of a legitimate medical field. I haven’t told him the specifics of why I need to come here, and he’s never asked,” Logan’s hands go to his glasses, like they usually do when he’s nervous, “And I intend to keep it that way.”

“What about you, Virgil?”

Virgil sighs, “I don’t know what Violet knows. She just...sent me to a therapist one day. I tried to tell her I didn’t need it, but she wouldn’t listen, and eventually I came here. She brought up my eating habits during our family session, so I guess that’s why. She makes me eat something at dinner, usually an apple, so I guess she knows. But we don’t talk about it.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, I don’t necessarily want to talk to her.”

“Why?” Thomas keeps pressing.

“I don’t really want to talk to anyone.”

“You say that, and yet you’re here.”

“Not for long if you keep questioning me.”

Thomas holds up his hands. “Okay. If you’re done sharing, that’s fine. Originally, today I wanted to talk to you guys about what’s holding you back from recovery. We talked about what was motivating you all to move forward, but we need to look at any toxicity in life and see if we’re able to cut it off. Does that make sense?”

They all nod.

“So would you say your environments are contributing more to your recovery or your disorder?”

They all go silent for moment, thinking.

“I mean, I think it’s fair to say my environment is great. My mom has been nothing but supportive,” Patton says. And she has. She’s been great, group therapy has been great, his doctors have been great, the only problem is him and this constant empty feeling in his chest. He almost feels bad. Apparently, Virgil picks up on it, because he jumps in.

“Violet’s trying her best, I guess,” he says, “She’s taking me to these appointments and she took me in, which is already more than a lot of people would do.” It’s just me.

“And that doesn’t invalidate your experiences,” Thomas reassures them, “It just means we have to look somewhere else to find your triggers.”

“My family is not triggering,” Roman rushes to say, but he’s a little too late and a little too unsure.

“Roman, let’s jump back a bit. You said you felt your emotions were unimportant. Have your parents ever said they were unimportant?”

“No,” he says immediately, then, “Maybe?”

“Which isn’t ideal. I don’t think it’s just you invalidating your feelings, I think it’s your whole family. And I’m afraid, and Emile’s afraid, that it might make you feel like you’re unimportant.”

Roman isn’t sure what to do. He knows he should straighten his back and flick his hands up and smile and reassure him that he doesn’t have to worry about that. He should defend his family, because they’ve done so much for him. They only wants what’s best for him.

But he’s stuck. The words aren’t coming up and he can’t raise his head to actually look at his therapist.

Thomas gives it a minute to sink in, then turns to Logan.

“And the fact that your parents don’t understand, that they consider your habits healthy even, is very concerning. It’s hard to step back and recognize that what you’re doing is unhealthy when everyone around you is saying it’s fine.”

Logan nods, thinking. If he had never met with the doctor, if he had never met with Thomas, where would he be now? Still delusional, not even recognizing the signs?

“This is such an important topic, and one you guys need to be aware of. I’m going to put a little star next to it, so you can continue talking about it with Dr. Picani,” Dr. Sanders says, “But we’re out of time for today. Until next time, guys.”

Roman tries to subtly speed walk down the hallway, but the other three catch up to him, anyway.

“So?” Virgil asks.

“So what?” Maybe acting clueless will work.

“So why did you skip lunch today?”

“And where were you during gym?” Logan asks.

“My director caught me right before I went to lunch,” Roman says, defeated, “Our talk wasn’t the greatest, and I just...couldn’t eat right then.”

“But you are coming back tomorrow?” Patton asks. After all, he’s never stopped his behaviors, why should he expect Roman to quit immediately? And really, they all know that. They’ve all had a good streak of eating decent meals for two weeks, but it was only a matter of time before someone had a bad day.

“Yeah,” Roman says, straightening up and looking Patton in the eyes, “I will.” And he means it. He doesn’t want to. But he will.

#sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfic #roman sanders #sanders sides #THIS TOOK FOR FUCKING EVER OH MY GOD #like it or not #my writing

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