#bc he wasn’t you know.... dealing with undiagnosed mental illness...... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

driderwife · 1 year

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Recently I kind of unofficially stopped talking to my therapist of like , 5 years and I’m feeling like weird and bad about it rn. The thing that happened was like, idk I just got so frustrated and didn’t wanna talk anymore. She’s a really nice person and We have a rapport bc of how long I’ve been seeing her, but at the same time there have been several things that have just been compounding over time and I couldn’t rlly take it anymore:

Last year when I brought up to her that I think I’m autistic, her response was that I couldn’t be because I have an excessive amount of a empathy. And I did explain to her that lack of empathy is not an autistic trait & that it’s a classic ableist mischaracterization, which she SEEMED to be open-minded about at the time. But consistently whenever my BF comes up in convo (he’s diagnosed with autism) she makes it a point to remind me that because he’s autistic he lacks empathy. That’s one thing that really REALLY started to grate on my nerves. It wasn’t relevant and it was factually incorrect. And I guess it hammered in that I will never be able to discuss with her the possibility of me experiencing undiagnosed autism.

Another problem is that still to this day, despite NEVER knowing me when I identified as a girl, she continues to accidentally misgender me or call me “ma’am” instead of sir. She corrects herself but like, idk why I let it go for so long? I’m VERY bad about correcting people IRL so I just let it go time and time again. I was never going by she/her pronouns when we started talking. Clearly she’s just another cis person who hears my “girl” voice and decides internally that I’m a girl.

And on a less serious note I just didn’t feel like I’ve improved at all in the 5+ years we’ve been seeing each other. It wasn’t a waste of time; I’ve learned valuable coping skills and made some important life decisions with her help. But like, I have a litany of mental illnesses that feel untreated at their core and I never feel comfortable enough to open up about them to her on a deeper level. I don’t feel like we’re dealing with anything except little IRL problems I encounter, and my general anxiety. I feel like I’m far worse off mentally than I was years ago and it makes me really unbelievably sad.

I guess all this is to say that I know I NEED a new therapist but Im terrified of the process I have to go through to get one, and get to know them. And I feel like I lost a friend in my old therapist and I’m having trouble not seeing myself as a failure for that.

The only thing I KNOW is what I need, but I have no idea where to find it: I need remote therapy available because I travel across the country several times a year and it’s just a much easier format for me because when I deal with people in person I get way too focused on masking my awkwardness and social anxiety. I also need a queer / LGBTQIA therapist because I’m genuinely tired of babystepping around cis ppls surface-level understanding of my trans experience. Having an ally as a therapist is truly not enough, I don’t want to have to explain the intricate details of what it’s like to be queer.

Sorry for rambling, I don’t wanna put too much of my private life online but it’s something I’ve been wrestling with for a couple months and I needed to write down what I was feeling. If you have any advice, a similar experience, etc, it’s very much appreciated.

#diary shit #tw therapy talk #personal

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ianenjoyer · 3 years

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ians literally at his best when mickeys not around though? hes actually always been at his worst after being around mickey. so saying that hes infinitely more happy now is really just factually incorrect. i agree with some of your post though.

thank you for sharing your story ❤️

#okay sure #i don’t really care bro think whatever you want 😭#anon #okay edit: i guess if you mean purely based on circumstances there’s an argument for ian being happier when mickey wasn’t around #bc he wasn’t you know.... dealing with undiagnosed mental illness......#but even so that’s 1) not about mickey at all 😭#and 2) just kinda pointless to try to compare bc it’s different kinds of happiness and it’s different times of his life #AND he was happy in s7 when mickey came back and in s10 (and he’s happy with mickey now even if he’s struggling overall)#so this doesn’t really hold water

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cookinguptales · 4 years

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Today, SCOTUS is hearing arguments about whether businesses should have to cover birth control for their employees in their health insurance plans and I just. It’s hard to read.

I was going to make up this big informational persuasive post about the situation. But I’m just. I’m just so sad and angry and tired. So I figured I’d make an emotional one instead.

Let me tell you about my hormonal birth control journey.

(Rest under a cut for length and content. cw: mental illness, graphic discussion of medical issues, injuries, & menstruation, discussions of suicide & self-harm, discussion of opioids, alcohol, & recreational drug use.)

I started taking hormonal birth control late in high school to help regulate “painful periods”. It wasn’t for actual birth control at that point and I hadn’t been diagnosed with any disease, not even POTS yet. I just had “painful periods”.

Things were okay for a little while, but when I got to college, things started to fall apart. The double whammy of undiagnosed mental illness and a barely-diagnosed chronic illness (POTS was relatively unknown at the time and my doctors gave me information which I now know is incorrect) really caused me to spiral during my first year of college. I didn’t know it yet, but I react very poorly to some forms of hormonal birth control. Put succinctly, they drive me batshit insane. On one pill, I literally did not leave my apartment for over a month. I became very literally agoraphobic. Bouncing off the walls, irritable, angry, high suicidal ideation. As bad as side effects can be.

But I didn’t know that yet. I just stopped taking BC as part of the whirlwind of medicines and doctors that my life became for about two years while I was on my (first) medical leave from college.

My ribs were coming out back then. I didn’t know that yet, either. I knew that when I was around 16, I started getting severe back pains. The first time it happened, I had to go to the ER because I couldn’t breathe and my teachers thought I was having a heart attack. I got a narcotic shot in my butt. It did nothing to dull the pain. That’s how much it hurt. But it went away on its own eventually and I over the years I started medicating reoccurrences with a lot of different things. Physical therapy. Muscle relaxers. (Medically prescribed) opiates that made me puke. Prescription strength Advil. Wine.

I didn’t see that it was all connected yet. Not yet. I didn’t realize, with my periods as irregular as they were, that the back pains were coming around the same time in my cycle each time.

My “painful periods” got worse. I talked to an OBGYN, with my mother in the room. I told her that I was scared of something like childbirth. I knew that my blood flow was dangerously bad. What if the fetus didn’t get enough blood? Oh, my doctor laughed, that wasn’t a problem. The fetus would always get enough blood. The risk was that I wouldn’t. That it, like the tiny vampire it was, would take it all until I simply died. If I got pregnant, I would likely die. I asked about permanent sterilization. My mother cried. My doctor said no. I didn’t ask again.

I went back on birth control.

It was odd. I didn’t want children before that visit, not really. I was so tired all the time. I knew I’d never be able to manage to raise a child — and honestly, I didn’t care to try. I was so depressed. I was so sick. It sounded like so much work. I still don’t want to have kids. But it still feels… weird, knowing that I can’t. And knowing that I could die if I get knocked up.

I’m bisexual, but I have zero sexual contact with men (because I don’t love them, despite being somewhat sexually attracted to them) and zero sexual contact with people with penises (because they could literally kill me and it would be no one’s fault). But I’ve been followed home by men before. I’ve had cabbies lock me in and ask me for a date. I’ve had men who won’t take no for an answer. And my god, it terrifies me that I might have to deal with both sexual assault and a slowly creeping murder all at once.

(It’s laughable to think he’d be tried for both.)

I ended up getting sick off birth control a few times. I went on and off it periodically during my college career. I now in retrospect see that a lot of my “meltdowns” were a combination of discrimination-based stress, physical breakdowns, and hormonal whirlwinds. At my worst times, I was on birth control. The wrong ones.

My periods, over time, got worse. My back would hurt. The cramps were unbelievable. I couldn’t feel my legs. I could feel them too much. I couldn’t keep food down. I’d be so angry, so sad, so everything.

I went to the doctor again. I was diagnosed with both endometriosis and PMDD. PMDD, or premenstrual dysphoria disorder, is like PMS on steroids. I remember telling my doctor, in halting tones, that I wasn’t well before my periods. That I always had depression, always had anxiety, but I wasn’t well before periods. At her prodding, I confessed that sometimes I would just lie there for hours, for days, in the fetal position. That I’d clutch at my own arms, mooring myself, because I knew that those white knuckles were the only thing between me and killing myself. That my brain, always somewhat malevolent, became an inescapable mantra of death. That I’d just lie there and sob because it took everything I had not to hurt myself. That I’d find claw marks, bruises, on my arms later, and all I could do was get some ice.

It was better than the alternative.

I told my doctor about how painful my periods had always been. How I’d heard a story once about, y’know, that Spartan boy? The one who hid a fox kit under his shirt during an examination and stayed perfectly silent even as it clawed at him so he wouldn’t be caught with it? How it tore at his stomach until he fell down dead, still silent? I told her how I felt like I was holding a fox kit every damn month and sometimes I couldn’t stand the pain of it. Sometimes I considered ending that pain, one way or another.

She put me back on birth control.

A little less than a year later, or in layman’s terms, about a year ago, my mental health was so bad again that I was almost committed. Literally committed. I had to go stay with my parents for a few months while I transitioned to new medications because it wasn’t safe for me to be alone. I learned that the birth control I was on could create those symptoms — but they didn’t start until months after you’d started taking it. So you didn’t realize it was the medicine. You just assumed you were crazy and unlikable and so, so angry. At the world, at your loved ones, but mostly at yourself.

I learned, around that time, that I also had Ehlers-Danlos syndrome. That the pain I felt every month right before my period wasn’t just cramps. It was my bones coming undone from their sockets. It was my hips dislocating. It was my ribs popping out of my spine. I realized that that lump my parents could feel in my back wasn’t a hard knot of tense muscles. It was my fucking rib poking out of my back. I learned that there is a period right before menstruation that mimics a period during pregnancy where your joints loosen — your body thinks it is preparing you for birth, for loosening your pelvic cavity so an entire head can pass through. For someone with Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, that period of joint looseness was enough to wreak absolute havoc on a system of already-weakened joints.

I learned how to put my own ribs back in with a foam roller. I started drinking marijuana tea for the pain. I went on a different birth control. I stopped taking the placebo pills. I had to fully eradicate that entire portion of my cycle. Goodbye PMDD and ribs constantly popping out. I don’t miss you!

I am still on that pill, y’know. Every day I take it and wonder if I’m one step closer to the day when it inevitably destroys me. The last one took about a year. Tick tock.

Or maybe I finally found the one that works… I really just don’t know.

The fact of the matter is that I have a full handful of maladies that require birth control so I can function. PMDD, endometriosis, dangerous pregnancy, EDS. I need hormonal birth control. I would probably be dead by now without it. The PMDD especially was that bad. My internal organs are likely a scarred-up mess. But the birth control itself almost killed me, too. God, it was close.

Simply put, birth control is heaven and hell all wrapped up in a pill. It treats illnesses and it prevents pregnancy. In other words, it provides you with both freedom and peace of mind. It is absolutely essential. But it’s also monstrous. The sheer number of sometimes-deadly side effects that come with hormonal treatments is staggering. Which is why you need to be under a doctor’s careful eye when you’re on it. You need to be free to choose whichever brand you need. You need to be free to switch kinds at a moment’s notice. None of these things are possible in a system where these pills are not fully covered by insurance.

(And yes, I know, this is a stupidly American problem in so many ways. Obviously the ideal thing here would be single-payer for all medical procedures. But that’s not up for debate here and insurance for BC is. Because for some reason we let some people’s religious convictions determine others’ health care. But I digress.)

Please don’t worry too much for me. I have a good employer who has told me in no uncertain terms that I don’t need to worry about my healthcare coverage. But there are so many people just like me. Who may not have diagnoses yet. Who may have “problem bodies”. Who only know that they need to do something and that they might have to go through several pills to find it. Whose employers either have the strong religious belief that hormonal birth control is a sin or the strong religious belief that they want to pay as little as possible for their workers’ health care. (Call me cynical.)

Those are the people I worry about. Those are the people I feel absolutely sick over as I watch the SCOTUS argue whether we should be allowed to have life-saving medicine. The people who I know will fall through the cracks the second that the cracks are widened enough for them to do so. The people who will die.

It’s a tense time right now. It’s a tense time for very obvious reasons. But this morning I find myself to be even tenser, and my stomach hurts thinking about it. It feels like all I can do is stare at a pill packet and remember every horrible reason I need it and every horrible thing it’s done to me and I just.

It’s a lot.

#long post #just me #handsoffmybc #birth control #feelin some kind of way this morning #please mind the cws #PMDD is one of those illnesses that I wish was more discussed #I feel like one day I'll make an entire post about how dangerous PMDD is #and how our cultural dismissal of PMS is dangerous #and unfair for that matter

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imbruedinfear-a · 3 years

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@undeadrphub asked: ALL OF THEM FOR JAY

🍍 : how comfortable is my muse in their body? how do they feel about their height, weight, strength, and body type? how important is being attractive to them?

this man would kill to be taller in .0002 seconds if he could. he was bullied for his height, bullied for being severely underweight, bullied for feminine hips, for.. literally anything. he hates it all. as an adult, he’s managed to pull himself out of the underweight category, but it’s solely from muscle. he’s still incredibly thin and small, just as he’s always been. you can’t get him to be comfortable without an oversized hoodie to hide in. he vaguely cares about being attractive, but it’s more ‘i don’t want them to be embarrassed to be hanging out with someone as fucking ugly as i am’ than anything else. if he’s not working or going out with people, he won’t even think of trying to improve appearance.

🍅 : how does my muse feel about plastic / cosmetic surgeries & procedures? is it something they have done or would do? do they mind if others do it?

dislike. who the fuck cares about their appearance that much? granted, he’s had a nose job, but it was so he could still fucking breathe rather than cosmetics. he won’t dislike you as a person for it, but he’s going to instantly find you unappealing. it just bothers him for some reason.

🍏 : how stable is my muse’s physical health? do they go for regular or semi-regular checkups by a physician? do they have any diagnosed illnesses and / or take any medication? how often do they get sick?

stability whomst? he has two modes of health: sick once a year or sick every other week. it depends on how much food he’s been eating and whether or not he’s blown food money on beer. fuck doctors. his overall health is fucked. doctors cannot explain why he doesn’t have x problems and how he’s even still alive after all of the beatings he’s had, especially when it comes to the brain damage. he has seizures, sometimes an arm will stop working for a bit, sometimes he can’t hold anything, sometimes he’ll have a burst of amnesia. he’s a medical mystery to the point there are literal scientific articles on his case, and 98% of the time if he lands in the hospital for something they’ll just shrug it off. it’s gotten to the point he’ll break bones and still not go, because he learned how to fix that fucking problem himself when he was like 12.

:^) he’s gotten away with murder ( though it was self-defense ) through the insanity claim, which is actually really fucking hard to use. that should give you an idea of his scores on mental exams. but again, he has brain damage, and every single psych he’s ever interacted with has mentioned that they can no longer determine what’s an actual mental illness or what’s just his brain being physically unable to function correctly. he’s never been to therapy, but he’s been tested several times. his scores changed every time, for every section. the only thing anyone’s certain on is PTSD. Depression, Borderline Personality Disorder, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Antisocial Personality Disorder, General Anxiety Disorder, Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder, and Schizophrenia have been heavily considered, but even professionals argue with each other. he’s a medical mystery even in mental health. he needs therapy, but his disorders make him extremely avoidant of it. that is not to say everything i listed is true, nor is it to say there isn’t anything unlisted here.

oof. how anxious is he? if he’s anxious, he’ll fix himself 1000x times. if he’s not doing anything special, he’ll walk out the door without a second thought. he doesn’t spend a lot of time on anything, but he does make sure he’s well groomed and put together. it should be noted, though, he doesn’t look in the mirror. his own apartment doesn’t have one, and he avoids public restrooms like the plague. his own reflection is a fucking trigger. this is probably why his eyeliner is always smudged.

confusing as fuck. he’s lonely as hell and constantly wants to hangout with people, but he also will have periods of avoiding them like the fucking plague. he loves hanging out! he fucking hates being out! who knows! for the most part, he has a lot of friends in a lot of places and will gladly drink with any group of strangers, but he’ll yeet the fuck out if you try actually getting close to him. he’s alone, always, at home and only around people when working or getting fucked up. having other people around too often, like a roommate perhaps, will make his mental health act the fuck up.

in his words, it was a great big pile of horseshit on fire. he literally has brain damage from it. he can’t leave his own room without convincing himself it’s going to be his living room, not his childhood home, and sometimes he’ll open the bedroom door and see his father standing there, and then he’ll fucking yeet back into bed. obviously it’s impacted him just a smidge. definitely not full of self-hatred and constantly fighting himself to do shit he likes, absolutely most definitely not traumatized in a million forms and continues to trigger himself because how the fuck do you go about your day not panicking half of the time. IN OTHER WORDS, he was a fucking parent to his brother when he was only 4, he would rather die in the most slow, most painful death than return to childhood. is he even still alive bc he doesn’t know

if you knew him before his skull was caved in, you would call him a freak for how fast he could think and solve problems. he was the type of genius you’d only heard about in stories, and he pissed off his teachers because he never even needed to be taught. show him the super simple problem once and he knew how to do everything for the next three weeks. he grew up on the streets and read shakespeare for fun. he lost it all. it now only shows rarely, on really good days, when the stars want to align.

🍉 : which of the four seasons suits my muse best, and why?

summer. he literally lived outside most of the time since he was a kid, and summer nights were easiest. outdoor concerts, parties late at night, cookouts and campfires. he also loves storms.

🍌 : is my muse inclined to help others, or will they only do it when it benefits them, if at all? what makes them this way? has it ever gotten them into trouble, or inconvenienced them?

which personality is showing most at the time? he’s gotten accused of rape for helping a woman once. let that sink in. but also, he’s helped so many people he’s protected by half the city’s underworld. who knows.

🍊 : does my muse desire romance? is it something they would actively seek out, or prefer to happen more ‘ naturally? ’ what is their love life like? do they have any exes or past flings, or crushes?

o k a y listen. these r getting too hard i literally don’t know ok can i asked which disorder or which personality is showing most at the time for this bc IT CHANGES like everything always does. mostly, he’s,, weird. he actively seeks it out in the sense he’ll go on dates regularly, but he’s not actually trying to find a girlfriend. he’s carefree. also traumatized. really wanted romance until his heart was ripped to shreds and now he’s convinced himself he’s not lovable, too complicated, extremely undesirable, and especially undeserving of it. he won’t let it happen. no one should have to suffer by having to deal with him. if you’re including things that were just for fun and both parties knew it wasn’t serious, he’s had a few girlfriends. if we’re only including serious things, then he’s only had (1) serious boyfriend. They were together for nearly two years, and they split solely because Jeremiah a) didn’t want sex as much and b) didn’t want to try any kinks. def no trauma from that, absolutely doesn’t panic abt not being good enough or wanting it enough or being pleasing or being fun or attractive or too scarred. nope. also totally doesn’t do shit he doesn’t even like / triggers him just bc they want it gotta give it to them. perfectly fuckin’ fine after one relationship.

🍓 : how is my muse typically seen by others? does it ring true to who they really are? does their reputation matter to them?

our options: 1) aggressive 2) smooth n flirty 3) soft n adorable. he is all of the above. if you’re from the city and connected to the drug world at all, there’s a big ass chance you’re aware he was a major dealer at one point, the son of a psycho serial killer, and connected to damn near every gang in some way. there are few people who would be stupid enough to hurt him, just because there’s probably some member somewhere who’s going to get revenge for it. his rep is pretty positive if ur aware he basically turned the outskirts of the city from a shithole to a really good community. otherwise, u probably just think ‘criminally insane deliquent’. he doesnt rly care about it unless u start asking about his fucking dad.

🥝 : does my muse have any ‘ unusual ’ habits, interests, and / or talents? do they hide it, or are they proud of it?

b r u h i dont fuckin know im skipping this one, he’s just obsessive compulsive about the oddest things

no diet. no food. eat if money, starve if none. remember to eat who?? o u mean eat everything. who fucking knows. he can cook really well, sometimes, maybe. pizza and taco bell 4 life. fuck vegetables. fruits are delicious and to be treasured. he mostly eats like shit, if he eats at all.

🥭 : how important to my muse is their hometown, or where they’re from? are they proud of it, or considered a hometown hero? did they move away, or do they wish to?

none. no fucks given. still here bc no money to move. would happily fuck off to Paris or something.

#undeadrphub #( Some days I live in fear that I am every fucking thing I hate. || Jeremiah Headcanon )

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mothmansfriend · 5 years

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when i’m sad oh god i’m sad pt. 1

link to pt. 2

follows a very similar timeline to @tearxofink‘s fic Rules for a Functioning Alcoholic but will prob have differences (such as no established relationships) and takes place in @illogicallyinclined‘s hockey au after the mention of Remus possibly having undiagnosed bipolar disorder

update: i think its important to acknowledge roughly where this takes place in the big timeline bc D doesn’t really drink past freshman yr in this AU because of self preservation and trauma, alcoholism was more an issue before then in high school (when remus and d were Rowdy Boys) but the stress of Logan’s concussion lead to some heavy drinking that was caught quickly by Virgil because Remus Cannot Keep Secrets.

summary: Remus has undiagnosed Bipolar Disorder and is dealing with a severe depressive episode in the aftermath of realizing that binge drinking with D wasn’t just his own search to Feel Something, but was also D’s relapse into alcoholism. Remus comes to the realization of lost time during manic episodes and refuses help.

tw: graphic descriptions of a depressive episode, self harm (burning), suicidal thoughts, and suicidal intent (but not attempt). unhealthy coping mechanisms, alcohol abuse, mentioned alcoholism, undiagnosed mental illness, miscommunications on shared trauma, ask to tag if i missed any.

Remus doesn’t think he’s ever felt happy in his life.

But that can’t be true. He’s sure it wasn't even two months ago he swore he’d never felt sad before in his life and he knows that one wasn’t true either.

Though, right now the younger Prince twin couldn’t even be certain he feels sad right now. He can identify some feelings, like dizziness (he stumbles through the lobby doors, it’s too bright out its giving him a headache that better not be a hangover), guilt (“Do you even think about anyone but yourself?” No, Virgil, you know Remus better than that. “You know how hard getting sober was the first time, D suddenly taking you out to the bar during the week didn’t raise any flags?” It didn’t, Remus is too self absorbed), and most importantly something he can’t quite label that came in through his lungs smoother than the cheap cigarettes he hates (but uses as an excuse to turn himself into a human ashtray) and settled deep inside him just under a month ago (weeks before D suggested goiung to the club on w Tuesday evening for the first time in almost a year) and it's getting heavier and heavier every day. Possibly, relief was felt when he was greeted by a totally empty apartment instead of a holier-than-thou brother trying to enforce ‘responsibility’ and his first real friend whom he recently enabled in a relapse.

The normally obnoxious and loud man silently rides the elevator to their floor, tripping over his own feet as he exits not even offering a head bop to the cheesy elevator music. He enters the apartment and slams the door harder than necessary but can’t bring himself to feel bad. There's no elegance or emotion to closing his door, landing on his bed full clothed after barely kicking off his shoes and grabbing the controller to turn on Netflix and select the first Saw movie.

It’s halfway through the second movie when he hears someone return home and make what is probably lunch before leaving again. He takes a moment to wonder if his professors or classmates notice his absence or if they’re just thankful for it. He’s sober and he feels the burns on his ankles and arms throb in time with his black eye. God he wishes he wasn’t, but pissed off his last more-than-a-little-sketchy friend and he doesn’t have the energy to find the stash he knows D hid in the apartment somewhere.

Just as Saw II ends and the third begins, he opens his window and lights up a cigarette with a lighter he knows he stole from someone. The smoke coats his throat and the terrible burning taste of nicotine sticks to the roof of his mouth, the headrush barely makes it worth it. Remus considers maybe he needs something stronger, Virgil seems like the type to secretly smoke weed. Wandering minds think about the movie he just watched and the classic needle pit, he certainly isn’t afraid of needles. He slams his head into the glass of his window and takes another drag. The reality of that thought would be a bigger issue than many things he’s done, it’s not often that he rejects things his brain throws at him. He stares out the window and a group of students pass and he sees the exact moment they smell his shitty cigarettes as they look around and glare when they see him. He realizes how often people look at him like that and it feels like the first time that it bothers him. He puts the cigarette out in his lower calf and holds it there until the darkened skin and burning pain is all he can think about

The fifth movie ends marking around 10 hours of blankly staring at the screen. He’s only wearing boxers and the ratty t-shirt he’s been wearing for days. Both roommates are home. The group chat is going off Remus briefly saw a few messages, a reminder about practice Thursday morning, Patton looking for baking suggestions, Virgil asked if anyone heard from Remus because they didn’t finish their discussion.

Remus mutes the chat for the first time and when his phone falls off the bed, doesn't bother reaching for it.

The eighth movie ends. It’s been darkout for awhile, though he isn’t sure quite how long. Remus really feels as if his body has melted and merged with the bed. He hopes he’s dying. He eats stale chips he had hidden in his nightstand and can’t even get out of bed to smoke half a cigarette and put it out on his exposed thigh.

He falls asleep after silencing his brain as best as he can right now.

The next time he wakes up the sun is either setting or rising. He doesn’t really care. The hockey player doesn’t really know if he's stayed still this long, almost ever. If he thinks about it though he is pretty sure he did this last spring. He’s also pretty sure no one noticed last time either. Sleeping seemed to have helped a little and he figured he could probably make a trip to the bathroom and maybe the kitchen if he’s lucky, he noticed that pizza box under his bed is smelling pretty terrible. It’s been four days since he was home spoke to anyone, and no one has checked in on him. He hasn’t left his room since his return, the gatorade bottle of piss is evidence of such. And miraculously, he actually manages to throw out the pizza, steal a ziplock bag full of Roman’s cereal, and use the bathroom. While washing his hands he stares at the shower and decides it’s waited four days, it can wait one more. Just before heading back to his room, Remus swipes the mickey of vodka he saw behind the flour.

He watched the sun rise through his half open blinds and doesn’t remember the last time he saw the sun rise. Remus had yet to touch the vodka, mostly because it hit the floor hours ago and he’s pretty sure he can deal for a few more hours. Today marks day five in a world without Remus Prince opening his fucking mouth to say some dumb shit that probably hurt someone and he didnt even notice. Remus can’t bring himself to care. He can’t stop thinking about how no one has asked about him since. He read the groupchat, Remus knows he’s a nosey bitch, no one has asked about him since a halfhearted response from Roman implying he hadn’t been gone long enough to worry. This sparks a kind of exhausted anger and Remus feels no amount of guilt for stealing his brothers vodka. The smoke weighing him down from inside lulls him back into the bone deep fatigue with no release.

It’s night again, likely early in the morning. Remus’s head is a deep echoing cave of different ways he could die if he just got out of bed. He’s been thinking about the hunting knife he swiped at someone’s house party months ago, for a few hours maybe. He’s had many thoughts like this before, about how fragile human skin is, about how fun it could be to slice open, how warm his own blood would be as it flowed out and he could reach in and feel his final breath.

God, does he want that. His hand reaches out and grabs his chest pulling on any skin he can grip onto as tight as he could. He’s never been good at anything, he knows he has never been a good person, he can’t stop circling around what Roman could possibly mean that Remus hasn’t been gone for long enough to worry when he’s so sure he’s never been gone more than three days. His phone though, if he goes back far enough in his phone, he thinks Roman is right. Google Maps places him in places he doesn’t recognize in cities he’s never been to. His chest seizing up in a way he’s only seen on others.

He’s always been able to hold onto even if his parents didn’t love him, even if no one ever liked him or missed him, that Remus Prince was never fake, he never played nice, he never pretended to be someone he wasn’t he never hid his feelings about anything. If anyone asked him, he’d tell them and it’s their fault if it hurt their feelings. But, how can that be true now? Who is he on these days he doesn’t remember.

Forgetting where he was or getting distracted midway through a task or conversation were always normal for him, the ADHD if he had to guess; but the realization it wasn’t minutes or even hours that he forgot upsets him in a way he didn’t think he could recognize. Remus thinks that this might be the closest he would ever get to understanding how so many people fear him. and he does not like it at all.

The knife is so close. He lights a cigarette. No one else is awake yet. No one has realized he’s even at home. How long would it take to find him? Days? Weeks? How long is he usually gone? Would the smell be what finally pulled someone into to check on him? He puts the cigarette out on his leg. He knows the knife is in the bottom drawer of his desk under old notebooks and packs of pens dumped loosely inside. It’s less than five feet away. He wants it.

He sits up, swings his legs numbly off the side of the bed and stands up. It feels like the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. In a mere three steps forward he sits down on the ground behind his desk chair to wretch open the drawer and sees just how messy it is. His phone goes off and he pulls it by the wire to check, a reminder for practice at 6am. He shoots Coach an apology text for missing practice for the first time in his hockey career and throws his phone back towards the bed. His body feels so heavy as he shoves a hand roughly into the drawer to search for the knife, frustration when he can’t immediately find it leads to him slamming his head into the wooden desk leg before letting it fall onto the chair cushion as his hand wiggles around for a few moments, each second filling him with aimless anger. The drawer slams shut and he flops onto the floor.

He can’t even find the energy to kill himself. Pathetic. He glares at the desk from his place on the cool floor until the fatigue brings him back to sleep.

#sanders sides #remus sanders #bipolar disorder #self harm #suicidal thoughts #angst #hockey au #university au #link to the other fic is fixed #notes on timeline added

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emilypemily · 4 years

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one thing i really liked about the first episode of losing it on channel 4 (there has only been one episode) is that it presented this one girl’s autism diagnosis as a good thing

like, you’ve got this incredibly anxious, suicidal 11 year old girl who has panic attacks so bad that she seizures, and cannot understand herself and why she feels just so incredibly not like everyone else, and cannot understand what she is feeling, and its just gut wrenching, and then the CAMHs team she’s under were able to say ‘i think we are dealing with an a autistic child that has anxiety, and we can work with that’ was just really powerful.

and they were so clear to say that the autism wasn’t the problem, but it was the fact that she was undiagnosed, and once they could diagnose her they could adjust their care accordingly. and the parents were so quick to say that it was a relief, and the girl said it was a relief, bc now she knew why she was ‘different’, and it wasn’t that she was a bad person.

idk, there is so much scaremongering around autism and it gets treated as so alien and mysterious in a lot of documentaries that it was good to watch a documentary where an autism diagnosis is treated as a very good thing, and a relief. like ‘now that we know here you are coming from, it is easier to treat you for this other problem’.

i thought in general losing it was very good, and very empathetic, and not sensationalist. they also follow this one mother who suffered from postpartum psychosis and tried to kill her husband and baby (and herself) and the narration didn’t keep reminding us of that (often in mental health documentaries the narration will go on and on about the one ~crazy~ thing a person does), she brought it up on her own terms, and every time there was always a care professional or her husband there to say that she was very unwell, and it wasn’t her fault, and she wasn’t bad person,

and even though i did think louis theroux’s documentary on mother and baby units in psychiatric care (mothers on the edge? i can’t remember what it was called) was good, louis theroux would still get stuck on certain details, and fixate on certain things, which is understandable, but i think losing it does a much better job at letting the patients speak for themselves, with minimal, but empathetic narration (was surprised to see that it was thomas turgoose!)

this ended up being a lot longer than i expected. it’s a good documentary. there is a LOT of stuff at the moment around ~ending the stigma of mental health~ which is good, and i work for a charity that that’s a major aim, but sometimes i find it too vague and it’s all about ~starting conversation~ and asking ur mates if they’re all right, which again is good, but i think there needs to be more about ending stigma of specific mental illnesses, ending stigma of psychiatric hospitals and psychiatric care, more understanding of people in crisis, more empathy for people who have been sectioned, more stuff like this documentary.

i read one review that said the downside of the documentary is that it tackles the most severe cases, and i think i find that to be a strength? because that’s the stuff that we (society) won’t talk about. a comedian will do an insightful and relatable bit on their anxiety/depression but will still make schizophrenia a punchline. not that i’m pointing fingers. (i am.).

but there is a divide between ‘understandable/good’ mental illness and ‘crazy/bad’ mental illness, and we do a lot of talking about the ‘understandable’ mental illnesses and then still alienate and mystify the ‘crazy’ mental illnesses. i say this as a person with an ‘understandable’ mental illness, with an extended family member that had schizophrenia that we are still not really ‘allowed’ to talk about it, which i think in the long run was incredibly damaging to their son, who misses them and yet doesn’t feel able to openly express that he misses them. the only person he could ever talk to about it, because she was the only person willing to talk about it, was my mum, who is dead. so, idk. this isn’t going anywhere.

this is yet another sentence to talk about how long this post got. if ur in the UK u can watch it on 4od https://www.channel4.com/programmes/losing-it-our-mental-health-emergency/episode-guide/

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isobel-thorm · 4 years

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Don't kill me, but all the fruits for grant and alistair please 💕

Also just noticed @troyebakers asked for all for Grant too, so here y’all are:

Let me apologize to mobile users now bc this is probably just gonna be a giant wall of strewn together nonsense for them. Switching around the order of the questions to make it flow a fair bit better.

🍍 : how comfortable is my muse in their body? how do they feel about their height, weight, strength, and body type? how important is being attractive to them?

🍑 : how meticulously does my muse look after their physical appearance? do they spend a lot of time on their hair, makeup, grooming, and clothing? is there a particular reason why they do or don’t? Grant: Grant is basically okay with how he looks. He doesn’t exactly like his appearance, but he doesn’t hate it either, nor does he think it’s that important. The only thing he’ll really fuss over is his hair, and his idea of fussing is brushing it but letting the bedhead win a lot of the time. Same goes with how he dresses- if a pair of jeans and T-shirt are discarded on the floor one night and they’re not in bad condition/they don’t smell, he’ll wear them again. Alistair: He’s a little fussy with it. He knows most people find him attractive but he’s not that invested in it. Living for multiple centuries does that to a guy. He’ll make sure he’s neatly put together daily and that’s that. He does usually try to dress nicely though. His casual is a nice sweater, well-fitting leather jacket and dark jeans. He tends to call it ‘professorly.’

🍅 : how does my muse feel about plastic / cosmetic surgeries & procedures? is it something they have done or would do? do they mind if others do it? Both: Both of them are usually in the “why do people do that, it’s not necessary, people age, it’s a fact of life” side of things- with Alistair noting “except for me” in that last bit. They’d never dream about getting anything done themselves.

🍎 : how stable is my muse’s mental health? have they been diagnosed with any mental illnesses and / or conditions? do they have any undiagnosed mental illnesses and / or conditions? do they or should they attend therapy? Grant: He’s usually physically healthy and tries to stay that way. Mentally, he’s a mess and tries to get help, but it’s not lost on him that talking with Nic and getting hugs from her works better for him than an actual therapist half the time. Alistair: Fit as a fiddle permanently, if you don’t count the whole living undead thing. He’s also fairly mentally stable himself, and he’s had a vested interest in Psychology the last century, which helps things.

🍒 : how much does my muse value companionship? do they constantly keep people around them, or do they prefer to be alone often? do they have or desire to have many friends? do they see every meeting as an opportunity to make a new friend? Grant: After what happened during his time as a soldier, Grant got it in his head that he was bad luck for anyone around him, so he tried to stay solo for as long as possible and didn’t actively make friends. Enter Nic and Matthew/John, and it was another story. They didn’t really give him an active chance to tell them to leave him alone so they wormed their way into his heart, which helped his mental state so he was able to pursue a friendship with them and then a relationship with M/J, which healed him enough where he was a little more outgoing/willing to meet and befriend other people. Alistair: Nearly the same deal. He was also fairly anti-friends because people only usually gave him the time of day to get in his family’s good graces. He was very apprehensive about making friends because he figured once they got what they wanted they’d leave him, considering that happened a lot. And then Kat and the others came along and made him feel wanted, and while he still has that distrust of people outside that group, he would die (again) for every single person in their friend circle.

🍇 : how would my muse describe their childhood? how much has it impacted the person they are now, or will become as an adult? around what age did they or will they start to mature, and why? do they wish to go back to their days as a child, or have they embraced adulthood? Grant: He had a lonely childhood, his parents did take care of him, but were also fairly neglectful and paid more attention to their business than him. When the whole ‘bi but leaning more towards being romantically interested in men’ thing came to pass his parents sent him off to live with his gay uncles which ended up being the best experience of his life because he finally got active attention/parental figures who genuinely cared about his day or interests for once. The first half of that, however, prepared him a lot for his self-exile after coming home from overseas, but it also planted the idea that there was a silver lining somewhere in life, which he found in his friends. The only way he’d want to relive his childhood is if he was with his uncles the entire time. Alistair: Looking back, Alistair acknowledges that his mother raised him to be a spineless, pompous ass. Him becoming a full vampire/getting some distance from the family when he turned thirty was the turning point where he acknowledged that ‘oh hey, a lot of this shit is messed up.’ He wouldn’t relive his childhood at all.

🍐 : how intelligent is my muse overall? are they smarter than the average person, or less than? are they primarily self-taught, or did they acquire most of their knowledge in school? are they more street smart or book smart? Grant: He never went to college, he joined the Army straight out of high school, so he’s got an extremely basic… standard education. He’s more street smart than anything, and considering That Day, he got a lot of “that’s the how the world works, it’s unfair” type lessons from that tragedy. Alistair: He’s extremely intelligent. He went to college for law, but in the centuries since he’s found modern law is a little too corrupt for his liking, so he went into veterinary science and then studied Psychology on his own just to pass the time.

🍉 : which of the four seasons suits my muse best, and why? Both: Winter. Their personalities and wardrobes match it more, and they both enjoy the aesthetic of it the most.

🍌 : is my muse inclined to help others, or will they only do it when it benefits them, if at all? what makes them this way? has it ever gotten them into trouble, or inconvenienced them? Both: Will help others at the drop of a hat for entirely selfless reasons. They both figure they’ve got awful pasts to make up for, and if little acts of kindness and paying it forward is how they can go about it, so be it. 🍊 : does my muse desire romance? is it something they would actively seek out, or prefer to happen more ‘ naturally? ’ what is their love life like? do they have any exes or past flings, or crushes? Grant: Was very anti-love/anti-thinking-he-deserved love, but then Matt/John came along and was charming and nice and patient and his heart was all “alright get your shit together because T H I S O N E I S F O R Y O U.” Because of that, he’s an absolute mush with his LIs, which is a surprise to everyone outside his immediate friend circle because “wait the stoic guy likes cuddling and talking with faces a couple of inches apart and getting all romantic on holidays?” Alistair: Got his heart shattered into pieces by his first love early in his life, so he was reluctant to ever start anything romantic ever again, but then he fell for Kat platonically, which kick-started his heart back up to be willing to go pursue someone romantically - and then said heartbreaker comes crashing back into his life and then it’s a 50/50 clusterfuck again and he’s not quite sure what to do. 🍓 : how is my muse typically seen by others? does it ring true to who they really are? does their reputation matter to them? Grant: Doesn’t give a damn about his bad stoic/wide/intimidating reputation. He’s not here to be judged, and if people wanna judge a book by its cover, fine, that’s not his problem. He’s got a handful of friends who love him because they bothered to get to know him, he’s invested in them. Alistair: Used to care very strongly about reputation and yearned to be alluring/scary/intimidating all at once, but he learns that was a lot of his mother’s influence, so he goes out of his way to nice people to death so he gets a far more welcome, warm, friendly reputation to make sure it sticks. It makes him stop caring about it so actively/doesn’t make it a staple in his life anymore.

🥝 : does my muse have any ‘ unusual ’ habits, interests, and / or talents? do they hide it, or are they proud of it? Grant: Nothing special at allAlistair: He’s a hemophobic vampire, so he doesn’t go out on hunts with his family- nor does he feed on humans unless it’s necessary. He uses his resources as a vet to ‘feed’ on animals- where he’ll only feed feed if there’s a time crunch, but even then he only takes a standard blood test’s amount and tries to make it last- and he’ll even coach the animal through it, promising that he means it no harm, they’ll be safe in a minute, “Awww, we’re done, see, that wasn’t so bad. Good job, here’s some extra biscuits/cat treats/veggies, you did so well.”

🍋 : what kind of diet does my muse have? do they eat regularly, or the standard 2-3 meals a day? do they have to be reminded to eat, or are they likely to remind others? do they cook, or have others cook for them? do they eat healthily, or not so much? Grant: Unless depression is kicking his ass, he’ll eat balanced meals regularly, with the usual 3x a day. If he does have a day of depression where he misses a meal or so when Nic or John/Matthew is around, they’ll notice and try not to be too forceful about it but they’ll also make a meal with him and try to goad him into eating it, and it usually works. Alistair: Also keeps up with regular meals 3x a day, considering he tries to make human food work as much as possible to avoid interacting with blood in any capacity. If worse comes to worse he’ll cook up/order a super bloody steak and have it, wincing all the while.

🥭 : how important to my muse is their hometown, or where they’re from? are they proud of it, or considered a hometown hero? did they move away, or do they wish to?Grant: Grew up in Texas, and mentioned, he hated it so he avoids going back. He considers Wyoming/his uncles’ ranch home and would live there if he could, but then the job in Hope County came along, and he sticks there for a while and he’s happy, but maaaayyyybbbeee he’d consider dropping hints to John/Matthew that settling back in Wyoming could be nice if they’d be up for it. He’d be okay if they weren’t, though. They could always vacation there, and it’s enough. Alistair: Grew up in the downtown area of [CITY REDACTED] and has a hate/love relationship with it, so when Kat comes along and he joins that crew where they’re on the outskirts of town by the bay, he absolutely falls in love with the weird suburbia feel and makes plans to move there nearly immediately.

#Deputy Grant #Alistair Hardy #amistrio

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mothmansfriend · 4 years

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when i’m sad oh god i’m sad (pt. 2)

link to pt. 1

There are a number of places that are simply uncomfortable to sleep. Barely sitting up and using the chairs provided by the previous tenants as a pillow is certainly one of them. It takes Remus a moment to identify what woke him up as there's another round of knocking on his door and he doesn’t want to respond. It’s bright out,the sun is blocked from his figure by the curtains covering most of the windows. He hears Roman’s muffled voice as the locked doorknob jiggles, “See? I told you he’s not here, Virge. There’s nothing to be worried about, if he doesn’t show up by tomorrow I’ll go look for him. You know how he is”.

Their footsteps move away and Virgil speaks, “Can you text him? I’m just worried, Thomas said that-” his voice fades as they enter the kitchen.

Remus can barely pick himself off the floor before his phone lit up with a notification.

the shittier twin: You good? LMK when you’re coming home, Virgil is lowkey freaking out (received: 10:14)

He stares at the words willing his brain to focus as he decides, maybe he should reply.

He sends a photo of a fat pigeon he took outside a club him and D got kicked out of a few weeks ago. It would be clear that the picture was taken at a different time, but does get message of ‘I’m alive’ across. Which is about as much as Remus is willing to communicate to people that haven’t even tried to contact him before now. How sad is it that his twin brother didn’t even check on him until six days later. Or maybe he should be asking if it’s sad that after four days Roman still hasn’t noticed that he’s home, or that it took Roman six to even ask? Remus spends all this time in the theatre and in the arts studio, and still Roman was the only one to ask, though at the request of someone who wants to get mad at him. He considers if maybe that he is a bad person, and that isn’t something he normally would care about, but if he weren’t then people might have checked on him. He usually hangs out with D almost everyday and he swears he’s never been gone more than maybe four days. But no one else seems concerned at all.

He considers reasons why this might be and gets stuck on Roman’s comment that he hasn’t been gone that long, and the implications then of him being gone longer. Things that don’t really make sense, but he knows losing your train of thought and getting distracted is a part of ADHD, but maybe, this is much more concerning. How does he know that he’s only ever been gone so long, maybe those lapses are more than a few minutes of zoning out. Which leads to, does Remus know who he is during these lapses? The contrast between the two prince twins have always been clear in their behaviour, Roman who follows every word their parents whisper in his ear. The boy grew up to be an actor after years of who takes any command without thought at that chance to be on top, and revelled in praise. It’s the cowards way of survival, are you really living if you’re not you? He knows Roman wasn’t quite loving that, but he still complied. Remus has always known exactly who he is and who he always will be. But the uncertainty of who he is in those spaces that seem to be taking up more and more space, maybe he;s been following someones script too?

He’s constantly changing his mind and forgetting where he is, are his feelings his? If everything the thought he knew about himself is slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass than how does he make it stop?

—

Virgil slides into the recently empty chair next to Roman the second Patton gets up to ask the waitress for another round of coffee, he steals one of Roman’s sausages and speaks, “By the way, I’m catching a ride to your place with you and D”.

Roman squawks at the sausage thief, “Why? I already told you Remus isn’t home!”

Virgil rolls his eyes, “Yeah I know, just humour me. I went to talk to Joan before we left and Thomas said Remus texted to apologize for missing practice, he’s never done that before! I just wanna come check, you can make fun of me later or whatever.”

“Fine, whatever, I know you’d just show up anyway. I don’t think him texting Thomas means anything though, even if it is weird.”

“Well we can agree to disagree then.”

—

The entry to the apartment the Prince twins share with D was just as full of banter as expected. D and Roman irritating Virgil without effort but Virgil matching that with his own comebacks and determination to check on Remus. “Alright, Emo Knightmare, let’s go knock on his cave door so I can know you again, that he isn’t home” Roman drops his bag next to the couch and heads down the shared hallway of D, Remus, and the storage closet. D walks past him with comments of a essay due tomorrow and disappears. Roman walks down and knocks on the door sternly once maintaining eye contact with Virgil knowing there will not be a response. Virgil follows him and he knocks again after a moment and jiggles the knocked door handle. “See? I told you he’s not here, Virge. There’s nothing to be worried about, if he doesn’t show up by tomorrow I’ll go look for him. You know how he is.” Roman turns and leads them back out into the living room towards the kitchen.

Virgil pauses for a moment watching the door before he follows, “Can you text him? I’m just worried, Thomas said that he actually texted to apologize for not showing up today. You know when Remus is out he never remembers to charge his phone, it just seems weird.”

Roman exhales and wordlessly pulls out his phone shooting off a text to his twin before pulling some leftovers out of the fridge to offer to Virgil despite the fact they had eaten not long ago. Virgil accepts and he puts it on two plates for the microwave. Roman’s phone vibrates on the counter with a text. The emo leans over to read and snorts, “Wait, is Remus’s name actually ‘the shittier twin’ in your phone? He just send a picture of what appears to be an obese pigeon, that doesn’t answer my question at all!”

Roman shrugs, “Of course it is, and yeah that sounds about right, it’s like he’s trying to communicate through hieroglyphics, he’s just telling us he’s fine.”

Virgil’s dark eyes examine Roman’s face for any reflection that he’s just trying to make him stop bothering him with his concern, but when he sees nothing he drops his defensiveness, “Yeah, okay, he’s your brother, he’s kind of like a cat I guess. He always comes home right?”

The microwave beeps and Roman slides the extra plate in front of Virgil, “Exactly, he’s just like this, I’ll text you when he comes back. You don’t need to worry about it, Virge.”

Virgil shoots him a small smile before taking his plate to the couch closely followed by the oldest Prince twin as they settle down with Netflix until they need to leave for their respective classes.

—

Roman blearily wipes his eyes as he wakes up in his dark room and rolls over to check the time. 2:34am wake up and bathroom break time. He briefly considers just rolling over and waiting four or five hours until he needs to get up for class, but decides there’s just a higher chance of getting a restless sleep the rest of the night. The hockey captain rolls out of bed standing in his room shirtless and only wearing a random pair of soft sleep pants and stumbles out of his room, crossing the living room and entry way he’s about to try the handle of the dark bathroom door when it opens to reveal a tall dark figure.

Roman jumps back with an admittedly embarrassing squawk before recognizing the dark figure to be a freshly showered, exhausted, and almost weak looking Remus. The two stood in silence for a moment, Remus not even reacting to the sight of his brother. Roman awkwardly laughed for a moment, “Holy shit, Remus! I didn't even realize you were home.”

Remus stares emptily, moving to walk away without replying, Roman stops him with a hand on his shoulder, “Are you like, uh, okay? You kind of look like shit”

That was clearly the wrong thing to say as suddenly Remus’s face hardens into a snarl, “Oh fuck you, Roman.” His voice cracks halfway through but it doesn’t do anything to diminish the venom in his voice, “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Christ! If you’re going to be an asshole then nevermind, I just wanted to check up on you. You know, like a concerned brother just might do?” Roman fires back suddenly feeling defensive. The tone of voice Remus uses almost sounds scared to him but he doesn’t have the energy to pry at Remus in the hallway less than 6 feet from D’s door at 2:30am.

“You don’t get to play any kind of concerned brother role right now! You don’t just get to decide to be concerned one day, it’s all about appearances with you, I dont fuck with that!” Remus’s voice raises as he gets more and more riled up, his voice sounds like shit as if he hasn’t used it in days, “Tell me when you think I got home, Princey, huh? You don't know shit about me and it’s time you stopped asking like you do.” He steps towards Roman edging back down the hallway to the living room.

“Why am I supposed to know when you got home?” Roman fires back, “You’re an adult! You’ve taken care of yourself fine for years, I’m not your parent I don’t need to know where you are twenty-four-fucking-seven!”

Vaguely, Roman hears D’s bedroom door open and feels brief regret that was smashed by Remus shoving him backwards. “You don’t need to know! But, did you ever think to wonder? Did you ever once care enough to ask? No! I don’t remember ever being gone more than three or four days.”

Roman recoils for a second in confusion but counters standing his ground, “What does that fucking mean? You own a calendar, a phone, you should know your average in the last year has been like five to seven days, you can’t blame me that you decide to go on a bender every 6 months or less. Can’t you ever grow up?”

“It means I don’t know where I was for two to four of those days at least! You self absorbed prick! Fuck!” Remus crumples for a second, his facial expression looks so, lost. He violently grabs and tugs on his still damp hair. He stands back up face guarded once again. “I know I never go out without a plan, I have paid some fucking terrible prices for that that you never need to know about. But, you’re telling me that I was out there and I don’t remember it? And no one thought to mention anything to me? And you’re asking if I’m ‘okay’? Fuck that, fuck you. I’m going back to my room, and ideally I’ll fucking rot and die before I have to look at you again,” Remus seethes before turning and slamming his door without waiting for a response.

Roman sags at his brothers exiting remarks, making tentative eye contact with D who waits in the dark hallway. “I don’t know what to do,” Roman says quietly.

D moves towards him moving them to the couch offering a comforting touch to the remaining twin, “Roman, I cannot tell you that I have any idea about what just happened. But, it seems like he just wants you to be there for him, in his own weird displays of affection he does love you and I think maybe he’s scared sometimes that you don’t care for him, and he lashes out. But right now, you need to go back to sleep so you can go to your boring nine am lecture, and I’ll try to spend time with him tomorrow. Sound good?”

Roman examines D, letting himself feel vulnerable for a moment but trusts that D knows what to do. He’s known the twins since high school, if anyone knew it would be him. “Thank you, D” Roman whispers, leaning into the little affection for a moment before he stands up and moves them back down the hallway.

Roman goes to the bathroom as originally planned but thinks about the things his younger brother had said. How much is he missing? What does it mean for Remus to simply not remember days at a time? Is it because of drinking too much or something else?

As Roman tucks himself back into bed, preparing himself for the restless sleep he had been trying to avoid. His mind wanders, and he can’t help but think that maybe he should be questioning blood stains on Remus’s carpet a little more.

#sanders sides angst #sanders sides #remus sanders #hockey au #university au #creativitwins #roman sanders #virgil sanders #remus prince #roman prince #virgil fosc #bipolar disorder

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