#eventually confirming my suicidal ideation (: and tomorrow we start all over again!!!!

[noianoranoia]

imagine you are cranky and sad and not even hungry when you come home from work but are still forced to sit at the table with your parents and then get roped into the umpteenth discussion about how your mother is controlling and constantly unsatisfied with how her children are trying to live their life and predictably end up welling up after 1h of trying to deconstruct her dangerous and hurtful viewpoint because she told you you clearly have issues because you have no friends and she knows this has been a fucking sore point for you for your whole life and you know all of this will be wasted breath because she will never change the way she sees the world and you will always be the one paying for it. that's how my night is going

[harrysgloves]

Let Your Hair Down (chapter xxix)

Get caught up with the Let Your Hair Down Masterlist!

word count: 1,815

story summary: Harry gets more than he bargains for when he falls not only for you but your little girl as well.

chapter summary: Harry’s in over his head.

warnings: Language // mentions of injuries // suicidal ideation // suicidal thoughts // panic attacks // I think like a smidge of ptsd too

a/n: This is a heavy one. The MC needs a real big hug. Tomorrow is the last one! Get ready for the end. xx

>>><<<

It had been 4 days.

4 days since you left the comfort of your room. You laid curled up on your side in your childhood bed, Thea snuggled up next to you. Silent tears falling from your eyes every time you caught a glimpse of her cheek.

Your life had managed to go to hell in the last 4 days.

Day number 2 you tried to leave your parents house, go back to normal life. The second you walked out the door a panic attack hit you so bad you couldn't breathe, your vision blackening. Your parents forced you to go back to the hospital to make sure your brain wasn't bleeding.

It wasn't.

You just can't leave your room without freaking out. All those people staring at your face. Knowing you'd gotten the shit beat out of you.

The pity and judgement in their eyes. It was too much.

The doctors recommended therapy and medication.

You refused saying you would be fine.

But as you laid in bed on night number 3, staring up at your ceiling. You wondered why you even bothered anymore.

It took 3 days for the pictures of your face to leak on the internet and 20 minutes afterwards for you to delete every social media platform you were on.

The comments were the worst things you'd ever read but not as bad as the things you were saying to yourself.

It only confirmed the fact you were a shit mom.

Thea would be better off without you.

She brought you food every day that your mom would send in with her but you mostly ended up eating plain crackers. Your stomach was too upset to force anything else down. Thea sat on the side of the bed as she forced you to eat. Not leaving until you did. She didn't understand. And why should she? She was too young to get the things going on in your head.

You told her you felt like the color blue, rolling over on your other side after choking down some crackers for the 3rd day in a row. Her small body hugging against your back as she whispered,

Me too.

Day 5 had to be your worst. You finally worked up enough courage to look at your face in the mirror.

But you wished you hadn't.

Heart sinking to the bottom of your stomach as your one open eye took in all the damage done. Almost your entire forehead was black and purple. Your left eye was completely swollen shut. The splint you had to have on your nose in order to breathe definitely wasn't the best but the part that made you break down?

The stitches running from your forehead down through your left eyebrow. You'd have a permanent scar there for the rest of your life.

And every time you'd look in the mirror from this day on you'd be reminded of all the things you'd done wrong.

You screamed how worthless you were to your reflection. Throwing all the bottles of lotion and beauty products off the counter. Nothing would ever be beautiful to you again.

You sank to the floor, arms holding yourself as you cried. Your swollen face pressed hard against the cool tile as you let it all out. Gasping for air through your mouth, screaming incoherent things as your hand beat on the floor until you broke open the wounds on your hands again.

You wished he would have killed you.

Your dad broke the door down to get to you. Thea crying into your mom's shoulder on the other side and you wished you would have cared, but you didn't. You didn't care about anything, yourself, living, even her being upset.

She'd be better off without you around to do this to her. She'd be happier with your parents, maybe even Mitch and Sarah could take her.

Your dad carried you to your bed. Laying you down, brushing the hair out of your face as you tried to push him away.

It'd be easier if you just pushed them all away.

He shushed you. Humming the song he sang to you so many times as a kid. Not leaving the bed until you'd successfully cried yourself to sleep.

When you woke later that night you laid perfectly still in your place. The side of your bed filled with someone else who wasn't Thea. You sighed, not wanting to talk.

"Please leave." You whispered softly. Hands curled under your head.

"Not happening. Sorry." He said from behind you. His hand touching your back, making you flinch. You moved away from him, cringing at the other side of the bed. Tears falling down your cheek.

"Your parents called me over. We're all really worried." He sighed, hand retreating back to his own side of the bed.

"Don't be, Mitch. I'm fine." You tried your best to hold in your tears but you couldn't anymore. You weren't fine and you couldn't even lie about it anymore.

A sob leaving you as you buried your head in your mattress. Hands clutching onto the sheets as your tears soaked them.

"Please, talk to me." You ignored him, you didn't want to talk. You wanted your brain to just shut off.

"If not me then at least Harry. You know Thea called him today? He heard you in the background when your dad pulled you out of your bathroom. It's killing him to not check on you guys."

"I'm sorry." You mumbled out, voice muffled by your bed spread.

If you were being honest, you weren't sure what you were apologizing for. Maybe it was for not talking to anyone about this. Maybe it was about ignoring all the warning signs. Or worrying everyone around.

Or maybe it was because you laid in bed every night coming up with a way to leave everything behind.

"You didn't do anything wrong." He sighed, arm wrapping around you and pulling you into his chest.

And this time you let him touch you. Let him comfort you. It wouldn't matter eventually anyways.

Harry showed up the next morning before you woke up. He sat on the end of your bed. His hands in his lap as he stared at all the pictures you had from your high school years on your wall.

You sat up, clutching onto your knees, your head resting on the top of them as you looked at him. You wished you would have felt something. Even a small fraction of what you felt before when you looked at him would have been nice.

But you didn't feel anything. Not a damn thing. You were so numb and you couldn't tell if that was worse or better than before.

"Always forget how close y'and Mitch are. Always seems like y'and Sarah are closer." He said when you shifted your weight in bed. The springs giving away the fact you were up.

"It was always me and him in high school. I didn't really do the whole friend thing." You sighed, eyes darting away from his back to the pictures on your walls.

You used to be so happy.

"Yeh, y'dad told me." He didn't turn around to look at you still. His hands fumbled and twisted around the rings on his fingers as he stared so intensely at his lap.

You didn't say anything. The quiet wrapped around you so tightly it was suffocating. And whatever was left of your already broken heart was completely crushed looking at him like this.

"Harry, we need to talk." You whispered out so quietly. Wishing you didn't have to do this to him.

"Don't 'ave to. Already know what y'gonna say." He sighed, shoulders slumping forward.

Your one open eye filled with tears, biting your lip, and looking away from his back. You knew it would hurt but not this much.

"I brought this fo' ya." He said, standing up and pulling out the drawing Thea did that used to be hung up on your fridge.

Your brows furrowed as your bandaged hands took the piece of paper from him. Eyes taking in the smiling faces on the stick figures of the three of you.

"Why?" You asked, fingers running over the raised up area of green crayon that was used for Harry's hair.

"When I look at that y'know what I see?" He asked, sitting back down on the bed beside you, leaning over to get a look at the picture again.

You shook your head, having no idea where the hell he was going with this.

"My family."

His words broke you. Tears falling from your eye, soaking the picture in your hands. His arms wrapped around you instantly and you didn't fight it. Didn't flinch. Fell completely into his comfort, hand grasping his shirt.

"I'm so sorry." You cried. Head buried into his shirt.

"Y'got nothin' to be sorry fo'." He sighed, hand running through your hair. "I know y'need some time and some space but I'll always be here fo' y'and Thea."

"I know." You said, starting to calm down, sitting up from him and wiping the tears from your face. Wishing you could erase the last week from your memory. Wishing it never happened.

You just wanted to be happy again, like you were with him.

His hand coming up to gently run across your swollen eye. Over the deep sewn up cut over your eyebrow. Down your cheek and wiping away the tears you'd miss. His eyes taking in all the damage but eventually focusing on your lips.

"I love you." He sighed, his fingers running across your bottom lip, not looking at you. Your eye closed at his touch. Leaning in slightly to him.

The sound of knocking on the door made you look up. Thea peaking her head around the corner as she slowly opened it. Her eyes filled with nothing but worry as she peered in to check on you. It was soul crushing to see her so concerned about you.

Harry waved his hand for her to come over. Her feet carrying her quickly over to him, arms hugging around his neck as he pulled her onto his lap.

"I miss you." She cried into his shoulder. His hand running through her hair as he told her he missed her too.

You laid your head on his chest. Your arms wrapping around both of them. Harry's free arm pulled you in tightly to his side as Thea turned to look at you, her eyes filled with tears.

You promised yourself right then that you'd get help, never wanting to do this to her again. She needed her mom and you needed her.

And him.

"I love you too." You sighed. Your right eye closing as you heard him take in a deep breath.

You might not be together but you'd always love him.

[meteora-writes]

Carousel

@reisar asked for a darker, more angsty AU fic where Troy and Nick meet in a mental institution and become friends. I freaking love this idea and am more than happy to write it, especially after they made me such epic art for my series The Trick To Being Happy.

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Paring: Troy Otto x Nick Clark friendship (implied pre-slash)

Warnings: Mental Health Disorders, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Selective Mutism, Angst, Nick is Manic Depressive, Troy has BPD

Authors Notes: So I got a little inspiration from the song Carousel by Linkin Park, more specifically the second verse. I feel like the first half othe song would be about Gloria, and the second half is Nick.

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Nick stuffed his hands into his pockets as he slowly walked down the long hallways that led to group therapy. The doctors had decided when he was admitted the night before that he needed to talk about what happened, and since he wouldn't open up in one-on-one therapy at rehab, they thought group therapy was worth a try here.

Manic-depressive with self-destructive tendencies and suicidal ideation.

The diagnosis didn't surprise him, but what they said after about the family history of suicide, that had. He'd always suspected his dad killed himself. But actually hearing that suspicion confirmed aloud was something he apparently wasn't ready for as it made him shut down further.

The truth of Nick's situation was, he didn't want to talk about what he'd been through. He didn't want to think about it either. He would rather go shoot up and follow Glo if he was lucky (or unlucky) enough.  

Even if he did talk, and get 'better', it would all be a bunch of bullshit. He'd get out, things would still be the same. Glo would still be gone, his mom would still guilt him about everything, and his perfect little sister would look at him with the same disdain as always, and he'd still be the lost boy trying to find his way in a world he wasn’t made for.

So, he didn’t talk. And they told him he didn't have to now, but he would eventually.

As he walked into the brightly lit room, he saw a few other patients milling about. A few in wood and vinyl arm chairs that sat in a circle. The others stood about and looked out the windows, sat on the floor with books, drew on the whiteboard with a dry erase marker. One girl even had wireless headphones and what looked like an iPod as they sat curled up in the corner watching everyone else by the girl who was drawing.

Nick took a seat by a guy who looked about his age, maybe a few years old. He had slightly curly light brown hairs and a slim build under his white t-shirt and baggy sweat pants. His head was tilted down as he read a book. When Nick tilted his own head, he could see it was a science text on biology. A college level book at that.

With a sigh he slouched in his seat and pulled his hood up over his head before stuffing his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie.  A few minutes later the doctor leading the session came in and everyone got seated.

"Alright, who would like to get the ball rolling today?" The doctor, a middle aged brunette woman with glasses and a ponytail, asked, clicking her pen and getting ready to take notes.

The man who had been reading beside Nick snorted and closed his book loudly before dropping it on the floor at his feet with a resounding thud.

"Don't be rude, Troy." The doctor chided gently, giving him a tired look.

The guy, Troy, just crossed his arms over his chest and slouched back in his seat with his legs spread wide in a similar pose to Nick's. When he remained silent the doctor asked again and the girl who'd been listening to music earlier raised a hand before starting to speak softly.

Nick half listened to the other patients as they talked about their feelings and problems. He wasn't sure how much time passed, but eventually the doctor asked Troy how he was doing today, and the man laughed.

"What about the new guy, he doesn't have to talk? You always make the new ones talk first." Troy said, giving Nick a look of distrust.

"Nick went through a recent trauma and has been selective about speaking. He's excused from talking for now if he doesn't want to. Now, would you care to tell us how you're doing?" The doctor asked, scribbling away at her notepad.

"You know me, doc. Still angry at my brother and sick of being here." He said easily as he leaned forward to pick up his discarded book from the floor.

"Have you talked to Jake since he came to see you last week?" One of the other patients asked. Her name was Laura, and she was the one who had been drawing flowers on the whiteboard when Nick walked in.

Troy snorted a laugh at the question. "He called last night. Tried to talk me into selling my share of the ranch again. I told him to go to hell. I don't care what he wants, I intend to go back and run the place when I get out of here." He said the last part resolutely.

"Are you sure that's wise, Troy? You spent the majority of your time there being turned into a soldier for your father's paranoid delusions. Going back might not be wise for your recovery." The doctor suggested, never pausing in her note taking.

"Living and working on that ranch is the only life I know, doc. I don't even have a high school diploma. No way I'd be able to get any kind of decent job without one. And with this god damned mental disorder I've been stamped with no way I could join the army or do anything else I have any interest in. There's nothing else for me." Troy argued.

"Alright, Troy, we'll discuss this further in our private session tomorrow. I think this has been enough for today. Why don't you all go about your free time now and we'll meet back here in two days." The doctor said as she closed her notebook and moved to stand.

When Nick moved to stand as well, Troy bumped shoulders with him unintentionally. They traded looks, but neither said anything as they moved to leave the room.  

Over the next few day's Nick ran into Troy a few times outside of group therapy, but the other man ignored him. He sort of made friends with Laura (she kept drawing him flowers and taping them to the wall of his room when he was in there) and Maggie (the girl with the headphones).  

Both girls would sit with him, and rather than try to make him talk, they talked to each other or just sat silently and did their own thing. It actually helped him feel better than any medication or therapy session had so far.

At breakfast on the fifth day into his hospitalization, Maggie put her headphones on Nick's ears when he was zoned out and put her iPod in his hands. She told him he looked like he needed it more than she did at the moment, and that she'd just get it back before one of them was discharged. The smile she gave him when he thanked her was the first he'd seen from her the whole 5 days he'd known her.

When Nick walked into group therapy with the headphones around his neck, Troy perked up from his scribbling in a notebook with a red crayon to give him a questioning look. "You like music, Nicky?"

Nick just blinked owlishly at him and gave a shrug before taking his seat beside Troy.

"If you don't like music, why do you have Maggie's headphones?" Troy asked, leaning forward to look at Nick around the edge of his hood.

"She said I looked like I needed them." Nick said in a low voice. He had the feeling that Troy wouldn't leave him alone if he didn't answer.

"He speaks! It's a god damn miracle! What's next, you gonna walk on water for us?" Troy said loudly with a grin, looking around the room at the other disinterested patients. The only one that seemed to be paying attention was Laura, who looked up from her scribbling on the whiteboard to smile at Nick from across the room.

Nick just shook his head and slouched down in his seat to wait for everyone else to arrive and the session to start.

Once everyone was seated the doctor looked to Nick first. "Nick, it's your third session with the group. I think it's time you share a little." She said, tone gentle and reassuring.

Nick cleared his throat and shifted around in his seat uncomfortably. He knew he'd have to speak eventually, and he fucking hated it. "I'm here because I'm a junkie and I had a breakdown when my girlfriend died of an overdose when we were both using about two weeks ago." He said, eyes locked on a scratch on the tile floor before him.

A few people gasped at Nick's words. Whether from his content of the statement or the fact that he was actually speaking was anyone's guess.

"And how have you been feeling since you got here?" The doctor asked, trying to coax him to say more.

"Well, I feel like shit from detoxing. But the carousel keeps turning, can't get off till it stops." Nick said, trying to avoid his actual feelings.

"Anything else?" She asked, taking notes rapidly.

Nick heaved a sigh and let his head fall back against his chair as he slouched down further. "I feel lost." He found himself admitted, hating how gravely his voice was from lack of use. "I don't know what people expect me to do here."

"Well, Nick, we expect nothing. What we hope is that you'll open up and let us help you learn to cope with everything you've been through as well as learn to manage your condition." The doctor said, tone still calm and assuring.

A somewhat manic chuckle escaped Nick's lips at that. "Yeah, because learning to handle being manic-depressive on top of being a junkie is so easy."

"No one ever said mental health was an easy thing to learn to maintain, Nick. It's a battle. Every day. That's why we're all here. To fight that battle together and help you all find the strength to keep fighting on your own when you leave this place."

This time it was Troy that chuckled, drawing Nick's gaze away from the doctor. "You should make that info a motivational poster."

"Or one of those self-help tapes that people buy at gas stations." Nick suggested as he pulled his hood down to look at Troy, earning a grin and another laugh from the other man.

"I think we can be friends now." Troy said, still smiling at Nick.

The doctor cleared her throat as she continued to take notes. "Alright, let's move on. Who'd like to speak share next?"

Another patient started talking and Nick glanced at them briefly before glancing back to Troy, who was still smiling at him before opening his notebook back up and starting to write again with his red crayon.

After therapy was over Troy grabbed Nick's arm and pulled him aside to talk as the others exited the room and made their way to do other things. "I meant what I said about us being friends." He said with a broad smile as he stuffed his notebook and crayon into the pocket of his black hoodie.

Nick felt the corner of his mouth quirk into a small smile of his own. He didn't respond, just turned on his heel and started walking towards the art room. Laura was going to make paper roses today and he liked to watch her work.

"Aw, come on. Don't be like that, Nicky." Troy said as he followed the younger man down the hallway. "I'll make you a deal. You talk to me, and I'll help you get out of here." He offered, now walking alongside Nick down the long hallway.

Nick snorted a laugh at that and kept walking.

"I'm serious." Troy said, placing a hand on Nicks shoulder and making him stop to face him.

"Look, Troy, thanks for the offer, but I've got it under control. I don't need help." Nick said with a tired sigh.  

"Alright, then, just talk to me? I'm not gonna psycho analyze you like the rest. You and me, I think we got a lot in common." He said as he let go of Nicks shoulder and gave him and almost sheepish look.  

Nick rolled his eyes at that. "What makes you so sure of that?"

"We're both the black sheep of the family. We both got put here for having breakdowns. And I've got a feeling we're both not looking forward to what's waiting for us when we get out of here." Troy wagered, taking a step into Nick's personal space.

Taking a moment to consider Troy's words, Nick shrugged and went to put Maggie's headphones over his ears. "Alright. I'm gonna watch Laura make flowers. You coming?" He asked before turning away to continue on to the art room.

Troy grinned and followed after him without hesitation.

A month later Troy was the first one to be released. He came back every other day to visit Nick and a few weeks later when the younger man was about to be released, Troy invited him to live on the ranch, and Nick said yes.