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happiness4jane · 6 years ago

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The Scariest Thing I’ve Ever Done

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Well, this is terrifying. Paralyzing almost. My hands are literally trembling as I try to punch the letters on my keyboard. When I allow myself to think about the people that might read this. People I know. People I work with. Students I teach. Students I’ve taught. My soon-to-be-in-laws. My exes. Their families (they’ll say, “I told you so!”). My friends. Their friends. My family. My children. All 836 of my Facebook “friends” are potential critics. And they’ll share it with even more people that might know me or will know me, that see me around and will avoid making eye contact with me in Walmart forevermore! When I allow myself to think about that – the people that might read this – every self-doubting, loathing, shaming, insecure demon inside me surfaces in protest. BUT… but. That’s the point, after all. For people to read this. To maybe help others claw their way out of the uncompromising, crippling, and degenerative grasp of the illness known as Bipolar Disorder (no, but seriously, this scares the shit out of me and I can’t breathe).

Here’s the thing though – I shouldn’t be ashamed of it. It isn’t fair we live in a society that shames people with mental illness into silence. That calls us “crazy”. We can’t just snap our fingers and make it go away (but, oh, if I could!). We can’t just act normal, act rational. It’s not something we can tame on command. And we didn’t choose this. Who would choose this?! Who would choose to leave behind a legacy of wreckage? Well, I don’t doubt there are some who’d choose that… As for me, when I think on all the destroyed relationships, the lost jobs, the unfinished projects and departed dreams, the reckless moments that would haunt me for years, the countless days stolen away by infinite darkness… the shame, the shame, the shame – I would never choose this. And yet, despite all the chaos and ruin and regret, it took me about twenty years to get help. Why? The simple answer is, I didn’t want to be Bipolar. I didn’t want people to think I was crazy (Ha! Like they didn’t already!). So, I refused to accept it. I refused to seek treatment. And it got worse. Much, much worse.

About seven months ago, after another life-is-amazing-and-I-don’t-need-to-sleep-and-I’ll-hyper-focus-and-finish-that-novel-and-train-for-that-marathon-and-FUCK!-you-better-stop-getting-in-my-way-or-I’ll-bite-your-damn-head-off-so-feed-yourself elevated state (Symptoms of a manic episode: increased activity, energy or agitation; decreased need for sleep; abnormally upbeat) followed inevitably by a crashing-into-bed-and-plotting-out-the-details-of-my-exit-because-I-just-can’t-live-in-this-world-anymore-and-I’m-worthless-and-horrible-and-you’d-all-be-better-off-without-me depressed state (Symptoms of a major depressive episode: feelings of sadness, emptiness, hopelessness; marked loss of interest in activities; fatigue; feelings of worthlessness or excessive or inappropriate guilt; thinking about, planning, or attempting suicide), I sought the help of a counselor. So, what changed, you might be wondering? What made me seek treatment at this point, after shunning it for so many years? Well, it used to be that I had normal periods of time between the depression and the elevation. It used to be fun and ambitious and productive (euphoric but always beguiling) to be elevated. It used to be the depression came maybe a couple times a year. The unwarranted distrust and insecurity and ultra-sensitivity was fleeting. The suicidal thoughts were daunting rather than soothing. That’s what used to be. It was easier to pretend I was normal then. I was just eccentric! I was special! Like some of the greatest artists and inventors and individuals that made history. I was a mad genius just like Salvador Dali, Vincent Van Gogh, Charlie Chaplin, Ben Franklin, Sir Isaac Newton, Michelangelo (Symptom: exaggerated sense of self). I was able to ride that train of twisted thought for a long long time, because I could finish what I started then, because I was younger then, and there was always another job, another lover, another place that would accept me. But around seven years ago, that all began to change. The depression seized more frequently. The elevation became less euphoric and more agitated, even rageful at times – lashing out at and rejecting the people I loved most. I started projects but never finished them. It became more and more difficult to go to work, and when I got there, I had to convince myself out of the car and into the classroom. In the classroom, I felt like an alien. I couldn’t stay on track, couldn’t focus my thoughts (Symptom: rapid and frenzied speaking, racing thoughts). I felt like I was disconnected from everything around me, like I wasn’t real (Symptom: dissociation). And then over the past year, the episodes seemed to be crashing right on top of each another with no reprieve in-between. It was relentless, crippling. One day of unbridled energy followed by two days of extreme irritability followed by one day of bed-ridden depression and then rinse, lather, repeat. Weeks, months, a year like this. The darkness that occasionally consumed my thoughts mutated to a pervasive utter blackness – leaving a void where hope and happiness used to visit. My fiancé pleading with me to get out of bed. My 10-year-old son asking me why I was so angry. My six-year-old daughter saying, “Mommy’s sick again.” I hated myself. I couldn’t pretend I was perfectly healthy – just eccentric – anymore. I was sick. Very sick.

You see, Bipolar Disorder is a degenerative illness, and by denying myself treatment, I had enabled a progression into periods of rapid cycling, meaning I was basically Bipolar on steroids – my depressive and manic moods shifting in a constant unpredictable shitstorm. This is the way it was explained to me by my counselor (in much more eloquent terms). She said that in the same way progressive diseases like Cancer will eventually cause organ failure if left untreated, Bipolar Disorder gradually diminishes brain function if left untreated. Oh, did I mention this conversation took place just a month ago? And, perhaps you remember that I went to see her the first time about seven months ago? No, it didn’t take that long to diagnose me. It took that long for me to commit. I honored my appointments only twice before I disappeared for another two months and then for another five months after that (I was still battling my desperate desire to be “normal”). During those initial appointments, I either purposefully omitted the symptoms of my elevated states, or honestly didn’t know they were elevated states. Hard to tell. On the one hand, for most of my life the elevated states were something to look forward to. They were a tremendous relief since they often followed a long period of depression, or, they were a welcome rush of intense energy and focus and ambition after a period of normal moods and routines. On the other hand, there was a part of me that hoped, if I had to be diagnosed with something, that it be depression and/or anxiety – just not Bipolar, please, not that! For some totally illogical reason, having depression and anxiety seemed more socially acceptable to me. People posted about their depression and anxiety on social media. My students openly discussed their struggles with them in class. Lot’s of people are depressed and anxious! Poor reasoning but, I convinced myself that my elevated states were just “normal” times when I wasn’t depressed. After all, I didn’t behave like someone that was manic. I was nothing like Bradley Cooper’s character in “Silver Linings Playbook”! I didn’t suddenly become totally irrational. I didn’t spend everything in my bank account in some obsessed frenzy. I didn’t abruptly start making good on all my wildest fantasies and desires. I didn’t incoherently speed-talk and jump around from one interest to another. No, it was never that pronounced. Or, was it? I’d certainly been called Bipolar enough in my lifetime – and not in a concerned or encouraging way. More like I was being called a “crazy bitch”. It was a bad word. And I did spend [a lot] more money than I should when I felt “good”. Like, when I bought that boat with a personal loan on a 50% interest rate. Or, when I financed that international trip while negative in my bank account. And on all that professional camera equipment when I decided to be a video editor, and on this website two years ago when I decided to be a blogger (Perhaps, now, I’ll finally make use of it?). And the hundreds of dollars I invested in gear when I was suddenly inspired to run a marathon (but I did follow through on that one, thank you very much!). Oh, right, I guess I do jump around from interest to interest when I’m feeling “inspired”. I’m going to be a motivational speaker, no, a novelist, no, a personal trainer, no, a corporate trainer, no, a filmmaker, no, an entrepreneur, no… the list goes on and on. But these things felt so good. Even though I had to clean up the wreckage whenever I smashed back down on the pavement. The rubble of estranged relationships, busted bank accounts, retired jobs. So yeah, I went with depression and anxiety, masking the symptoms of mania. And I refused medication (because all I really needed to do was get my shit together, not numb myself with zombie-making pills). Until the progression to rapid cycling imprisoned me and I sulked, defeated, back into therapy five weeks ago.

After years and years and years of heartbreak and rejection and confusion and self-loathing and denial and protest, I began taking a daily mood stabilizer and seeing my therapist once a week. It took a couple weeks before there was any discernable change, and after four weeks, the change in my behavior was nothing short of striking. At that point, I realized I hadn’t been swallowed by the black void in three full weeks – a record time in nearly a year. I hadn’t lashed out in rage at anyone either. And the most surprising thing? I wasn’t the living dead. I had heard these nightmare testimonies about people with Bipolar Disorder beginning medication and going numb, like they’d been lobotomized, and that panicked me. I didn’t want to stop feeling, I just wanted to experience my feelings in a regulatory fashion. And I was, for the first time in years. Now, I want to be very careful not to sound like the poster girl for medicating. My strong belief is that we over-medicate in this country (but that’s for another post). No miracle has occurred. I’m not “cured”. In fact, there is no known cure for Bipolar Disorder. It can be managed, with a combination of medication and psychotherapy. Some days are better than others. But every day, I still battle my demons and the life-long conditioning of patterns, emotional reactions, and behaviors. My recovery is a continuous journey where no arrival point exists. But I have hope today. I wake up motivated to get out of bed without needing the boost of mania. I carry out the responsibilities and routines of the day without fighting off panic or becoming despondent. I fall asleep without the “lulling” melody of my own death dancing around my thoughts. Yes, I still get anxious and angry and sad and overly eager. The difference is in the way I’ve responded to those feelings since starting treatment. My awareness of the condition and the symptoms that accompany it, along with my medication, has helped me acknowledge my feelings before acting on them.

I hope it’s not the honeymoon period. I hope it lasts.

It’s early yet.

But if this remarkable change is here to stay [with dedicated treatment], I can’t help but feel frustration with myself for not seeking help sooner. Just to think on all the chaos and anguish I could have spared myself and others… But I’m here now, and perhaps it’s exactly where I’m supposed to be – writing this blog so that you may read it and be inspired to act now. For yourself, or for someone you know, before it’s too late. Make no mistake, this disease does kill. The suicide rate for people with Bipolar Disorder is twenty times that of the general population, and nearly 30% will make a suicide attempt at least once in their lifetime.

Don’t pity me, and please don’t fear me. I’m not very different from you. I have a family, friends, a career, hopes and dreams and struggles and fears. For those of you that know me, I’m still Jen. Maybe I’m even a better Jen – my greater and more genuine self. As a society, we need to reframe the way we perceive and speak about mental illness. Help me promote a fair image for those individuals and families that are afflicted with it – so they won’t suffer in silence. So they get help.

My name is Jen Hogue, and I’m diagnosed Bipolar II. Today, I’m in treatment. I take my medication everyday and see my counselor every week. I have a sense of hope that I haven’t had in far too long. I still don’t know if I’ll be brave enough to publish this. But I hope I will. After all, it’s often in the greatest risks we take that we find our greatest triumphs, and our greatest gifts to one another.

#happiness4jane happinessforjane mentalhealth bipolardisorder bipolar depression anxiety mentalhealthsupport

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anon-luv · 7 years ago

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TOSKA -1- (ReaderXBTS)

Genre: Psyche/Mental Institution AU Romance & Angst

Pairing: ReaderXBTS(Taehyung, Jimin, Yoongi)

Summary: “Will you be able to recover and move on, or will your past continue to haunt you?”

Trigger Warning: This Fic will contain explicit language and scenes. It will address controversial topics. We understand psychological illnesses vary from case to case. All contents in the following story are based on fiction. This story will not be suitable for all ages, due to the sensitive topics it will contain. Hope ya’ll enjoy :)

Word Count: 4k+

Collaboration with @riki-leigh-c

Author’s Note:

@anon-luv Hey Guys, I am so excited/nervous to post this fic. I hope you enjoy it as much as we are while writing it. You know I love feedback, so let us know what you think. Feedback, Comments, Reblogs, Likes, and mentions greatly encourage us writers. We are going to leave the final pairing as undecided until we further develop the story. Minor Grammer Mistakes. HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!

@riki-leigh-c : This is my first time writing a fic. Please bare with me, any constructive criticism would be much appreciated. Hope you enjoy!

“Toska - noun /ˈtō-skə/ - Russian word roughly translated as sadness, melancholia, lugubriousness.

"No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases, it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level, it grades into ennui, boredom.

White.

In most cultures, it signifies purity, comfort, holiness, cleansing, a beacon of hope.

For you, white had quite a contradictory meaning. To you, white meant prison, endless appointments, a padded room, the pages of the daily journal you never wrote on, and the shirt stained with red that laid upon his chest as the bullet sealed both of your futures. The future that had ended for him, and the one that had gotten you locked into this place.

The monotonous routine and smell of antibacterial flooded your days, causing a sense of panic. If it wasn’t for your best friends’ every other day visits, you would’ve probably collapsed of boredom.

PTSD, that is what they said it was, the hallucinations, the ones that kept you up at night. Whatever it is, it was the only way you could see him, as if he was still here beside you. You didn’t want to close your eyes, in case he disappeared. Every morning you dreaded having to leave your room, for you had to pretend you didn’t see him standing nearby or smiling at you.

It was your imagination, you knew it…. but you couldn’t deny that just seeing him was what kept you going throughout the day. Even if reality had taken him away from you, the memory of him had fooled your brain into projecting him into your everyday life.

It was 12:15……. Hoseok was late….. He was 45 minutes and 30 seconds late. What if he had forgotten to change those overused tires that you had scolded him time and time again to get changed?

Was he okay? Did he get sick? You had seen the rain falling mercilessly from your window pane.

The tapping of your fingers increasing in speed as the door opened again, but your eyes landed on an unfamiliar figure once again. It had been 2 weeks. TWO long weeks in this institution and Hoseok had yet to be late. He was always early or right on time.

The sweat forming in the palm of your hands caused an uncomfortable, sticky sensation which triggered your anxiety slightly more. A loud deep laugh blasted throughout the room, causing you to jump slightly. The same young man that you had seen on several occasions was sitting in front of the same black haired girl. She was constantly talking while he just stared emotionless at the white wall in front of her. He never addressed her back, but she never gave up. His eyes suddenly flicked up to meet yours and another manic laugh exploded from his lips. His gaze moved back to the white wall and the laughter ceased almost as quickly as it began.

You glanced back up at the clock on the wall. Another 2 minutes and 17 seconds had passed. Where was he? Dark thoughts began to flutter through your mind. What if he’s had enough of you? Or what if something awful has happened to him? What if someone’s murdered him? Your breathing began to quicken, and your hands began to shake as vivid images of all the reasons why Hoseok was not there yet burned themselves into your brain, one by one. You could feel the all too familiar feeling of a full-blown panic attack start to creep its way into your chest. Breath, Y/N you thought to yourself, trying to remember the coping techniques they’d been teaching you in therapy. Gulping down air, you tried to get the attention of a warden. The sound of the door opening and closing drew your attention. Hoseok rushed in, red in the face and panting, doubled over trying to catch his breath. “Y/N” he yelled out across the room, causing more than a few heads to turn your way. He rushed over to you, already being able to see the effects of your panic attack. He put his hands on either side of your face and looked you dead in the eye. “Breath, Y/N. I’m here, I’m fine,” he whispered while using the clichè breathing technique of having you copy him. It worked though. Every time. After a few minutes, your breathing returned to normal and Hoseok patted your hair, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, before getting up abruptly. “Y/N, I’m going to have a chat to one of the staff okay? I’ll be right back. No longer than 5 minutes, you can count them, alright?” You simply nodded in response, still slightly out of it after your latest ‘episode.

There is a rush of adrenaline when people fall, it makes them feel like their insides bundle up, and make their way towards their throat forming a perfect knot just to come back down, just before they hit the ground. That’s how you felt at that exact moment as you saw Hoseok’s familiar messy mop of dark brown hair exit the room.

The numbness within your fingertips was now fading into slight prickles that you could feel crawling up your extremities. The heaviness in your chest that had felt like a piano had crushed it a few moments ago was being lifted, only leaving in its path a soreness that had begun to dissipate. Your pounding heart still beating loudly in your ears as your eyes traveled amongst the room to analyze the number of witnesses that had obtained a front row seat on your full-blown show. Much to your surprise, everyone was focused on their own task and you had gone under the radar. You assumed people were probably immune to the many spectacles that had taken place within these four walls.

There was only one set of brown eyes staring at you, and those eyes seemed to be more amused with the sudden predicament you had found yourself in, than worried. A small smirk lay upon his plush lips as he swept your body from top to bottom absorbing all your figure in as if you were a piece of fine art, on display in a museum. A shiver ran down your spine. He made you uneasy. His sporadic, maniacal laughter sounded again as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. He seemed like the true definition of insane. Just as suddenly as it started, he stopped laughing and went back to staring at you. You felt your heartbeat start to quicken and your palms getting sweaty, the telltale signs of another panic attack. Hoseok made a reappearance right at the moment you had started to feel your chest constricting and your throat getting tight.

“It’s alright (y/n), I’m so sorry I got here late, I got a flat tire on the way over” he said as he sat down on the cold metal chair and scooted his way forward, closer to you. The faint smell of his cologne calmed you down automatically.

The speed of your finger tapping decreased as you examined him from head to toe assuring yourself that he was indeed okay.

“You had me worried, I told you several times to get that thing you call a car checked Hoseok” you said as you grasped his hand “I’m sorry for taking away your lunchtime, you are honestly the only reason I am not in solitary confinement right now, this place is bonkers”.

Hoseok gave you a wide smile as he looked around the area examining the patients surrounding you “Yeah… it does seem pretty crazy huh? It is only for a bit though, Y/N.” Hoseok smiled brightly at you, a smile you always thought looked as bright as the sun, before shifting his chair to sit next to you and gently pushing your head down to rest on his shoulder. “I don’t know about that Hobi,” you sighed deeply, closing your eyes while a montage of memories filtered through your brain at the use of his nickname. You breathed in his comforting scent, already knowing he would smell just like springtime. “I don’t feel like I’m getting better.”

The silence that followed your statement thickened the air that surrounded the both of you. Hoseok looked into your eyes hoping to see the familiar twinkle of hope you used to carry around before that horrible night.

“Well, you know ...Rome wasn’t built in one night. Just promise me you will try, participate in activities and let the counselors in. Please do it for me” he said pouting cutely your way. You lifted the corner of your mouth in a slight smile, but your heart wasn’t in it when you answered. “I will.”

The dorm you had been assigned lacked personality. Just like everything else, it was white from top to bottom, with a few accents of a washed out green and mustard yellow. Whoever participated in coordinating the color scheme might’ve been color blind. Despite the general distaste you had for your room’s superficial overall look, it was the only place you felt at ease in. The rock-hard bed was unusually homey, and the fact that there were no windows gave you a sense of safety for some reason. No one would be able to sneak in through your window while you slept. Just the thought of being able to see what the outside world contained while unsupervised up-close gave a chill up your spine.

The clock in your room showed 9pm, which meant there was a long night ahead and the dosage that had been prescribed for your sleeping medication was shit. You were tired, but your eyes refused to close. You knew the night that laid ahead of you was going to be long and emotionally tiring. You sat on the edge of the bed trying to practice the exercises you had gone over with your primary psychologist, praying for them to work. The silence within your room was all consuming until you heard deep screams. The words were incomprehensible, but the volume kept rising signifying the person was getting closer and closer to your room. You stood up quickly and slammed your door shut, before peeking out the window, your curiosity getting the best of you.

“Fuck you! Take me back. That fucking bastard, how dare he fucking touch my shit.” a bleach blond man about your age screamed as two male nurses dragged him, one by the arms and the other one by the waist, towards the door opposite yours. He swung his right arm straight at the nurse’s jaw, which the nurse was barely able to dodge. He was putting up a good fight, surprisingly, for his size made you think he would be much weaker. You hid behind your door a bit more, only your eyes visible now. The man screamed more obscenities as he was thrown into the room and onto the bed, and two more nurses entered the room. They held onto his arms wrapping what seemed like cloth on his ankles and wrists. One of them was holding a visible needle, you were assuming it was some kind of medication. The man was no longer screaming, and you could see how his muscles relaxed into the comfort of his bed, and his eyes drooped. A sigh of relief escaping your lips, as you noticed the nurses had finished attaching the remaining restraints on him. You closed your eyes tightly as you walked back to your bed and covered yourself completely with the blanket, the fear of what was right across the hall getting the best of you. The dorm across the hall hailed a dangerous threat in the shape of a blond-haired man, and even though his features looked peaceful and quite charming as he lay immobile upon his bed, his vile words just now meant you knew better. You felt the first of the night's many quivers in your stomach, letting you know that the horrible memories you tried to keep buried during the day we’re about to be released.

The shadow of the past, conjured now by your broken psyche, sat on your bed staring straight at you.

“It’s not real….it’s not real…..it’s not real” you kept whispering to yourself, but your eyes couldn’t stop staring at his face as he smiled….that smile you used to love “He is not here…...he is not here…..he is not here……”

Black circles flourished under your sunken eyes the following morning. It had been a sleepless night, just as you had predicted. The constant itch of checking up on your new dorm neighbor and the hallucination of who you thought would be your forever kept your eyes wandering around your room and sleep at bay. You weren’t due for a visit from Hoseok and only had a psychologist appoint late in the afternoon. You had absolutely no idea how you were going to keep yourself occupied in between. Maybe I’ll ask the nurses for a book or two, you thought to yourself as you changed into your uniform white shirt and pants, with matching slippers. You had just opened the door to step out when you noticed a number of nurses leaving the room across from yours. His room. After the sedative had worn off, the blonde man had screamed obscenities for hours, only worsening your hallucinations. He demanded over and over for the restraints to be removed to no avail. Eventually, he just wailed, long, harrowing cries that frightened you even further. As the last of the nurses exited the room, you caught a quick glance of the blonde man sitting upright on the edge of his bed, looking down and rubbing his wrists, before the nurse shut the door and began to leave.

“Excuse me,” you called after him, shrinking back slightly as he turned to face you. You averted your gaze and asked softly “is there any possibility of getting a few books to read?”

He smiled slightly before nodding, “sure, I’ll scrounge some up and leave them by your door.”

“Thanks,” you replied before indicating for him to leave. There was no way you were walking with your back to him, despite how nice he came across. You waited, back flat against your door, for a few minutes, wanting to give yourself a safe distance from the nurse. Just as you were about head towards the common area, the door across from you flung open, revealing the blonde man. His eyes were narrowed into slits and his rosy lips were positioned in an unfriendly frown. The fear that had gathered within you from the initial shock of his presence was slightly forgotten as your curious eyes traveled along his pale sugary white face. There were noticeable red marks on his wrists that made you unconsciously rub your own.

“Good Morning” you heard a deep voice say, catching you off guard. Your fly or fight system wanted to run away as soon as the words spilled out of his mouth, but your body was betraying you by staying frozen in place. He waited patiently for a response, but after examining your panicked expression he shrugged it off, and took a step forward closer to you “Yoongi’ he said extending his hand towards you.

You looked at his hand as if it was fire ready to burn you into ashes, but for some reason, your hand found his. Your voice though was not cooperating and all you could do was stare at his figure confused at the contrasting personality that radiated from him this morning compared to that displayed last night.

“Y/N?” he asked you as he read the name plaque outside your room. You nodded as you cautiously took a step back away from him. You felt exposed, and you wanted to escape the feeling of nausea that had started stirring in your gut. The white walls around you closing in as the image in front of you started blurring around the edges. The lack of sleep starting to take a toll on you. Your breathing had become visibly more agitated, but before your knees could give out, you felt another presence standing before you. The distorted image of an unfamiliar silver-haired boy came to view as he hummed a tune and encircled your body with his own as if to block you from any unwanted feelings that had lined up to once again drag you to the deepest pits of emotional hell.

“Calm down and try to match your breathing with mine” he whispered softly with a higher pitched voice than that of the blond boy who was still standing nearby, he seemed a bit uncomfortable as he took in the scene unfolding before him.

Your hands were gripping onto the boy’s shirt as if he was the anchor to your sanity. Before you knew it, the heaviness that had settled on your chest had once again faded into nothingness. You quickly stood up and pushed yourself away from the stranger embarrassed at your previous actions.

“Jimin” the silver-haired boy said quickly without any explanation before you could respond Yoongi welcomed himself to introduce you as well as himself.

“I am Yoongi and this is (Y/N), what you just did bro...thank you” Yoongi said awkwardly.

Jimin just nodded to the both of you quickly and then took off as if he was in a hurry. You looked at Yoongi once again, but before he had a chance to speak, you had already started walking off to head towards the common area, taking turns between facing forward and sneaking glances back at him to make sure he wasn’t pulling a stunt behind your back. As you made your way to the end of the hall you noticed his figure had disappeared back into his dorm. The shadow of what had happened still engraved in your mind as you walked into the common area, you just knew this won’t be the only interaction you had with your neighbor and the fear of what will come will more than likely be present throughout the entire day.

“How is your sleep Ms. Y/N” the doctor asked in a fairly monotone voice. The lack of emotion in his voice aggravating you. His presence was that of a rock, and in all honesty, consulting with a wall would probably have the same effect as this.

“To be honest like shit” you replied trying to be as monotone as he was.

“Anything we can do to aid your sleeping habits?” He said as he scribbled down what seemed more like a doodle than a note on his notepad.

“Memory Foam? Or one of those water beds. I have always wanted to try one of those.” you replied with fake enthusiasm.

The doctor took that as a queue to stare up at your figure with a serious face “Ms. Y/N, we can’t proceed with treatment without your help. It takes two to tango, so your cooperation is essential for you to improve. Now, I have registered you for some group sessions that I think will be of benefit to your case, and one of those is for patients with insomnia. That one is every night for 45 minutes, you will be learning techniques to clear your mind and be able to get some shut-eye. Also, please start writing in your journal, we find it helps patients significantly.”

You nodded no longer interested in his rant as you grabbed the paper he had placed on the table in front of you. There was a list of 3 different counseling sessions that you were expected to assist other than your 1 on 1 session. You sighed annoyed at your now crowded schedule.

The green yard in the facility premises was crowded with bodies, some familiar, and some not, ranging from various ages and genders. When you had first arrived, you had felt out of place, but as the days went on you realized you fit in strangely amongst the people that had been locked in here. You had yet to make an acquaintance, but you had already heard a few of the stories, and in all honesty, some made your past look like a fairy tale. There were a few psychos within the bunch, and the rumors that surrounded some of the people were frightening, that is why you had isolated yourself for the duration of your stay. Hoseok had been, for the most part, the only reason you had the courage to step outside of your room. You surveyed the area, making sure not to lock eyes with anyone, nurses, and patients alike. You walked slowly towards an empty seat across the yard, body tense and eyes zipping around your skull, trying to keep an eye on everything all at once. You were monitoring the people on your left when you felt a presence to your right. You stopped dead in your tracks before whipping around, bringing your hands up to your face to defend yourself against whoever had dared to get too close. The first thing you heard was manic laughter, before noticing a semi-familiar pair of brown eyes, creased at the corners, staring back at you. You just about jumped out of your skin in an effort to put some space between the laughter and yourself. You could feel your chest constricting and your breathing getting shallow. Please, not here. Not in front of all these people, you thought to yourself. You already knew it wouldn’t help. Just as quickly as the laughter started, it was over and the patient behind the laughter was sticking his hand out to introduce himself. Before he had a chance to say anything, Jimin came running over, shoving the laugher out of the way. “Taehyungie, what did I say?” He all but shouted at the guy.

The flourish of activity going on in front of you was causing your panic attack to worsen. Your hands felt like they were dripping with sweat and your throat had begun to feel like it was closing. “Y/N, it’s okay just breath with me again, shhhh,” Jimin said as he grabbed a hold of both of your hands and looked you dead in the eye.

He worked through the same breathing technique that he had done earlier, and you soon began to feel calm.

“Thank you,” you said softly, quickly letting go of his hands and dropping your gaze to the lush green grass you all stood on.

“It’s okay, Y/N, I’m sorry about Taehyung,” he said as he looked down at him, still laying on the grass. He leaned down and offered a hand to Taehyung, pulling him quickly to his feet.

“Taehyung, introduce yourself the way we talked about please,” Jimin looked expectantly at Taehyung, who inclined his head bashfully.

“Hello Y/N,” Taehyung said, dropping his voice significantly in what you can only assume was an effort to keep you calm. “My name is Taehyung.”

“Hello,” you replied, bowing slightly but still not lifting your gaze to meet his eyes. Manic laughter suddenly exploded from Taehyung’s lips, causing you to let out a scream of both shock and fear. You clamped your mouth, placing a hand over your rapidly beating heart and took off running towards the spare seat you had originally been trying to get to.

You took a cautious glance towards where Jimin and Taehyung were still standing, clearly not expecting your escapade. Jimin raised his hand to smack Taehyung in a playful manner behind his head. Taehyung in exchange just hung his head looking a bit disappointed in himself. You averted your eyes before they caught you looking at them, hoping it would give them a clear sign that you were not fond of strange company.

You rubbed your hands against your knees nervously as you inspected your surroundings, hoping that the loud rapid beating in your ears would eventually quiet into nothingness. You took a deep breath as your eyes landed on a red rose bush. Memories of late nights hiding in your neighbor’s yards as you laid upon his chest caused your eyes to tear up. You looked at the figure that sat beside you, a perfect figment of what had been, staring right back at you.

“Jin” you whispered softly as your eyes devoured his familiar features. A pang of pain surging from the last memories you had beside him. His plump lips smiling at you like they had many times before, the temptation of leaning in to feel their warmth taking over, but before the contact was made a voice interrupted you.

“Um…..are you okay?” said a deep familiar voice, snapping you out of the enchantment of your imagination.

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