#i always go into a deep manic episode bc i just party and drink all day and night and go feral around town

[problematicfanfics]

rant/vent but

since i’m on vacation with my family i’m actually at my wit’s end. i have no privacy. i have been sleeping in the same room as both my parents, my sister and my grandma for the past two weeks. i’m genuinely crying dude. like i can’t be happy around them. they decimate everything i find joy in and everything about myself i like. i’m so over this. sleeping in close quarters is just making me feel like shit again and reminds me of all those fucking years i spent as a kid fucking battling poverty and couch surfing with my family. like i hate it. it’s so traumatizing. my sister has like no memory of it because she was like 3 so for her this is all cutesy poor core aesthetic. i’m ripping my fucking hair out. before we left my mom was hounding me, asking me if i wanted a hair appt, a nail appt, to go buy clothes. i said no. i said the only thing i wanted was a wax because shaving is a pain in the ass. she forgot. but u wanna know what she didn’t forget? my sister’s wax appt. my sister’s chemical hair straightening treatment. all the stores my sister wanted to go to. my sister’s $160 nail appointment. like are u fucking kidding me? then the day before i asked my mom “when is my wax appointment?” and she BLEW UP at me saying i should’ve made it, it’s my job to make it. last month i made a dentist appt for my tooth whitening like she told me to and she got mad because I MADE THE APPOINTMENT. i can’t fucking win. then on top of it all for the first time in like months i wanted to get my nails done bc they’re hella cheap and really high quality in greece and once again, my mom forgot. she said “if you wanted it you should’ve gone.” i said mom, i can’t speak greek like that. i don’t want them to scam me. i don’t know what nails are supposed to cost. i’ve gotten my nails done professionally two times in my seventeen years of existence. idk shit about them. but no, i’m the issue. i’m the fucking issue. every time i open my mouth they say i’m giving them attitude when i’m literally just speaking or asking a question. they say i’m too quiet then yell at me for being too loud. they say everything i enjoy is stupid or childish. they won’t give me ANY personal space. they keep ganging up on me with my sister. my sister has been the biggest thorn in my side though. she’s such a pos. like idk how to explain this to y’all. she’s a fucking brat. we couldn’t be further from different. i’m scared to buy myself food with my parents’ money. my sister spends upwards of $100 a week on food, clothing, makeup, etc. with no regard for my parents’ time or finances. she steamrolls over everyone’s emotions to make room for hers, which are usually disgust and anger, and constantly puts everyone in a bad mood. my dad is ALWAYS out to get me despite the fact i try my fuckin hardest to keep the peace between us. my mom is so fucking bipolar i never know what i’m getting. my dad and mom are at each other’s throats. my yiayia lectures me on shit when i’m mad that isn’t even remotely related to the reason i’m mad ever and it pisses me off even more and i desperately try to give her the benefit of the doubt bc english isn’t her first language but she does the SAME DAMN THING IN GREEK LIKE BRO. i met ONE GIRL in this STUPID fucking horio BUT I LEAVE IN TWO DAYS. AND TOMORROW IM NOT EVEN IN THIS HORIO IM OFF TO THE MAIN AREA. like fuck off bro. and the girl mainly speaks greek which is fine but it gets hard bc i’m not the absolute best in it (i’m sm better in other languages bro no one bothered teaching me greek and you’d THINK my GREEK FAMILY would teach me greek and wouldn’t be mad over the fact i don’t know greek bc yk THEYRE MY FAMILY AND THEYRE SUPPOSED TO TEACH ME but no everything is my fault). and she’s sweet but this is her summer vacation spot so she has hella friends here already and i can tell i’m just “the girl next door she has to hang out with”. i feel bad i don’t want to drag her from her friends or insert myself in her plans but for the first time in god knows how long i felt normal today just because i finally had someone close in age.

elevator music and the smiths have carried the brunt of my emotions these past two weeks i can’t lie.

[mothmansfriend]

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.