#tired as fuck no energy recovery (forgot the symptom here)

[healingwgabs]

When you have energy and somewhat of a functioning brain 🥰😭

[philsdrill]

Chapter 39: Sometimes It’s Okay to Not Be Okay

Fic Summary: “Everyone had a link with their soulmates, some could hear some of their partners thoughts, some had a tattoo that would appear with their partners name; for me, I knew when they got sick.” For a while Phil has thought that his soulmate might have an eating disorder and doesn’t expect to meet him in the restaurant where he works.

Genre: a lot of fluff, recovery, really fucking domestic, waiter!Phil

Warnings: eating disorders, anorexia, bulimia, hospitals, panic attacks, references to past abuse, mentions of suicide, mentions of self-harm, a lot of awkwardness, small amounts of smut. This is potentially triggering so for your own sake, please think twice about reading if anything this might affect you.

Disclaimer: I don’t have personal experience with eating disorders, but have done some research. If I have anything about them wrong, feel free to send me an ask and I’ll sort it out.

Word Count (for this part): 8.7k

[Uploads will be hopefully every couple of weeks! (follow @philsdrill-updates to hear when I post)]

A/N: It’s a long chapter so it took me a long time, okay. Partially due to the fact I went to Canada for a week and was super busy (featuring jetlag, dehydration and murdering my feet by walking too far)! It was a good time but it kinda put my writing behind by a week. Hope you enjoy!

MASTERPOST

<= Previous Chapter

Dan’s POV:

I never thought I’d find myself working in a café, not after all my issues with food, but here I was. Phil was friends with one of the staff and when he heard they were looking for an extra employee, he wondered if this would be a good opportunity for me. I didn’t even know what I was looking for in terms of a job, but when Phil said his friend was willing to give me a couple of shifts as a trial, I realised there was no harm in trying.

The probationary shifts went well. I found that I was perfectly capable of making and serving sugary coffees and cakes, so long as I wasn’t eating them. In a way, it made me feel a little better about myself, that what I was eating was pretty good in comparison. I occasionally found the doughnuts staring back at me from the counter, but at least I knew to expect them being there. Surprise doughnuts were another story, but when I turned around expecting to see them, I wouldn’t really feel anxious.

Thankfully, my anxiety had been manageable and my new job hadn’t given me anything to be anxious about so far. Phil’s college was just along the road, so sometimes when he had breaks from his cooking classes he would come along to have his lunch or just a coffee. Sometimes I’d be able to have my lunch with him, but not always. Lunch was a busy time and my breaks depended on the shifts and the other staff I was on with. It was quite calming to know he was just five minutes away if I did happen to need him and I think he felt better too, knowing I was nearby.

The other staff were lovely and I’d even go so far as to say I’d made a couple of friends. I usually worked with Sarah and Andy, or at least one of them was usually on the same shift as me. They were both kind people, and I was slowly opening up to them about some of my issues. Sarah, being Phil’s friend that had helped get me the job, already knew about my eating disorder and was nothing but supportive about it from the beginning.

There was one day, when I wasn’t quite feeling like eating, that the prospect of finishing my ham and lettuce sandwich was just too much. I’d eaten almost half of it, but with every bite I took, I felt a little more nauseous, my skin crawling at the thought of the greasy butter that I could feel on my tongue. I didn’t think twice about tossing the rest of it in the food waste, presuming Sarah was too busy working to notice.

“Dan?” she looked up, making eye contact with me and laying a plate down, “You okay? You not eating?”

“No more, can’t do it today,” I said, feeling my words get caught in my throat a little, “Eating makes me feel a bit sick sometimes.”

“How much did you have?” she asked, flipping the lid up on the bin to take a look, “Half?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, filled with a sudden fear that she was going to make me eat more.

“That’s okay,” she nodded, squeezing my arm a little, “Did you have something to drink?”

I shook my head, realising that no, I hadn’t.

“What d’you like? A can of something? Hot chocolate? Blackcurrant squash?” she prompted.

“Uhh blackcurrant squash would be good,” I said, not bothering to think what else I could have; that sounded the best option out of what she suggested.

“Okay great,” she said, getting out a glass and the bottle of squash, making it up for me, “Now go grab a chair from the back and bring it in here.”

I went to get a chair, appreciating the effort she was making to ensure I was okay. As I carried the chair, I felt a bit weak; I knew I really should eat more, but that wasn’t going to help my mental block on doing so.

“Sit down,” she said softly, “Now here’s your juice.”

I sat down on the chair and took the juice from her, starting to sip on it slowly. I wasn’t too bothered by the flavour, but it washed away the buttery sandwich remains from my mouth, something that I welcomed a lot. Part of me was itching to get the bottle and look at the sugar content, but I could feel Sarah keeping an eye on me.

Sarah handed the plate she’d been working on through the front to Andy, then turned back to me. “How’re you doing with that juice?”

“Good,” I nodded, “I think it’s helping ‘cause I don’t feel like I have sandwich in my mouth anymore.”

“Okay good,” she smiled, “Think that’ll keep you going for the afternoon?”

“Hopefully,” I nodded, knowing that my body probably did need more food, but it had coped on less before, so I knew I could do it.”

That afternoon had been a difficult one as I went through various stages of having energy from my juice, then a gap where I felt tired and awful. I wasn’t meant to have a break but Andy made me a hot chocolate and sent me through the back drink it. Thankfully, I made it through the rest of my shift alright, and by dinnertime I was actually feeling up to eating properly again. I’d let Phil know of my struggle, just to keep him in the loop with my mental wellbeing. So far, that had been the only day where my eating disorder had had any effect on me at work.

There was another day where I opened up to Andy about my anxiety. Not long before ten, we had a customer, who came in, ordered a coffee so sit in and sat down in the corner of the cafe it drink it. Being a quiet spell, I found my eyes wandering slightly, not necessarily intending to watch the customer, but doing so anyway. The woman took some pills with her coffee, maybe paracetamol or something, but I didn’t see the packet. I was hit with a sudden realisation, one of those ‘oh shit I forgot something’ moments. I’d forgotten to take my medication this morning.

In realising this, my eyes remained on the customer, my mind elsewhere but my eyes staring at her. Andy must’ve noticed this because they waved a hand in front of my face, “Dan, you okay? You’re staring?”

“Uhhmm… I…” I said, feeling at a loss about what to tell them, “I just realised I forgot to take my medication this morning.”

“D’you need it urgently or is it something you’ll be okay without until later?” Andy asked, their voice calming.

“I think I’ll be okay, but I should text Phil to let him know,” I explained, feeling I needed Phil’s assurance that I would be okay.

“Right, go through the back and text him or whatever,” Andy nodded, “I’m good out here on my own for five minutes.”

I made my way through the kitchen and into the back room, where we left our outdoor clothes and took our breaks. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and opened up a new message to Phil.

Umm I just realised I forgot to take my medication this morning. I’ll be fine without it, right?

Shortly after the message sending, I noticed that Phil was typing.

Yeah, you should be fine! but I have a free hour next so how about I drive home, get it and bring it to you?

Feeling a wave of relief at the thought of taking my medication like I should have, I replied to Phil quickly.

That would be great if you don’t mind? I guess I’m just worried I’ll get withdrawal symptoms or be more prone to having an attack because I havent had it

I hit send, waiting for a confirmation that Phil definitely didn’t mind going to get it for me.

It’s fine, honestly :) I’ll see you in like half an hour

Relieved, I slid my phone back into my pocket and made my way back to the front counter, where I let Andy know the news, “Phil’s got a free hour at college next so he’s going to pop home and bring it here for me.”

“Okay great,” Andy smiled, “That’ll stop you worrying.”

“Yeah,” I nodded, relieved.

“Are you sick or something then if you’re taking medication?” Andy asked slowly, a slightly puzzled expression on their face, “Sorry if its personal, you can ignore me.”

“Not really,” I answered, thinking for a minute; I trusted Andy, so there was no reason I couldn’t just tell them the truth, “I have an anxiety disorder and mild PTSD.”

“Oh… Dan…” Andy said, sounding sorry for me, approaching me with open arms.

I let Andy hug me for a moment, appreciating the little bit of comfort after just telling them such a big thing.

“My uh... ex-girlfriend was verbally abusive about my weight,” I explained, trying to get my head around what I wanted to tell them, “I got out of it when it started to go physical, but I was already in a bad place by then. You know about my eating issues, but I sometimes get flashbacks about her and things she said or did… and then general anxiety about my weight, food, eating habits and even things like stress and big life changes.”

I felt some tears welling in my eyes as I opened up to Andy about my problems. It wasn’t something I’d talked about to anyone other than my therapist, and mine and Phil’s families. I took a deep breath and rubbed my left eye with my thumb, trying to appear stronger than I was feeling.

“Dan,” Andy said softly, “Are you okay? Like at this moment?”

“I’m fine,” I said, my voice cracking, “I just want a hug from Phil.”

“He’ll be here soon,” Andy reminded me, squeezing my shoulder slightly, “You want to go take a seat and get yourself a glass of water, as we’re quiet?”

“I’ll get some water,” I said, not really wanting to leave the front counter in case Phil was early.

I grabbed a clean mug and filled it from the tap, leaning against a clear part of the counter to drink it. I took a few deep breaths to calm me, reminding myself that it was okay that Andy knew, in fact it was probably a good idea for me to have opened up to someone at work about my anxiety problems.

Andy must’ve sensed when I was ready to talk again, because soon a carefully worded question came my way, “Has working here affected your anxiety at all, with you having issues with food?”

“It’s okay most of the time because I’m not the one eating it,” I explained, “The only thing which bothers me is the doughnuts, had a bad experience with them, but I can deal with it.”

“You’ll let me know if you ever start to feel anxious while you’re working, right?” Andy asked, “I can’t say for sure I can help, but I’ll do my best. I understand anxiety to some extent, having struggled with my own mental health.”

“I’ll try,” I said truthfully, knowing I would be able to unless I was just suddenly hit by a panic attack, “If anything happens, I’m sure you’ll know about it.”

“Thanks, I’d like to be able to help if you need it,” Andy nodded, taking the empty mug from my slightly shaking hands and refilling it.

When Phil arrived, we’d just hit a busy spell, where Andy and I were both serving customers. Phil looked like he didn’t quite know whether to stand in line or wait around somewhere. When I spotted his confusion, I waited for the momentary gap between two customers and shouted to him just to head through the back, pointing to the ‘staff only’ door at the back of the café. It would take him through to the breakroom come cloakroom, which I would access through the kitchen.

After serving my next customer, Andy told me to go, insisting that they could deal with the remaining customers. I made my way through the kitchen to the back room, briefly explaining to Sarah on the way, as I grabbed myself a glass of water to take my tablet with.

Phil was sat on a chair near to my coat, my box of antidepressants on his knee. He patted the chair next to him for me to come over, “You’ve got some water, good.”

I sat next to Phil and leaned into his side for a moment before taking my medication from him.

“Are you okay?” Phil asked me, sliding an arm around my shoulders, “You seem a bit… jittery?”

“I kind of ended up explaining about my anxiety to Andy and they were good with it, but it was just difficult for me to say, I guess…” I explained, “C-can I get a hug?”

“Of course,” Phil said, softly, his expression going a little gooey. He set my medication and water down on the table, before wrapping his arms around me completely. I rested my head on his shoulder for a moment, enjoying his comforting smell, the feeling of his body wrapped around me, holding me close. I felt warm and safe in his arms, felt that everything would be okay... and that was just what I needed.

I could always hug Phil for longer, but I knew I had medication to take and a job to get back to, so reluctantly, I pulled away and got down to taking my tablet. Pop it out the packet, swallow it, wash it down with water, it was all routine by now. I sighed as I laid the empty glass down on the table, leaning back in the chair to enjoy my last moment before I inevitably had to get back to work.

We finished our exchange with another hug, and a promise from Phil that he would come by at lunchtime. It was comforting to see him again, but at the end of the day, I was fine. It felt good to know that not only was Phil nearby when I was working, but I now had Andy in the loop. They understood to an extent and would help me with my anxiety if it came up at work.

--

Once he had settled into college and his cooking classes, Phil found that he still had the time to work the odd shift at the restaurant. He had become supply cover now, one of the people his boss would phone up if someone else called off sick or they couldn’t find someone to cover a shift. He had no obligation to take a shift, but he often would presuming he had the time.

Although I was working pretty much full time now, we were still getting financial help from our parents. My parents had reduced their contribution now that I was working, but Phil was getting some help from his now as he was at college and only able to work some of the time. It felt good to know that I was capable of earning a steady income, and I knew that if Phil and I were both working, we could be self sufficient.

For the time being, our schedules were more or less aligned. Phil’s schedule varied a bit, but he was in classes Monday to Friday, give or take the odd day here and there. I too usually worked Monday ‘til Friday, nine until five, but I’d get a short day once a week. Apart from the odd time Phil took on a work shift, it gave us all of our evenings and weekends together. It was good for us to have that kind of schedule, because we got into a better routine with getting up, eating dinner and going to bed at more or less the same time each day. Phil would still crash when he came home from work, but in general he seemed less tired.

I was still attending my therapist appointments regularly and whilst I still wasn’t in a completely stable mental state, I would say I was doing the best I had in awhile. I still had little anxious moments, times I’d need to take five minutes here and there to calm myself, but I found my beta-blocker medication rarely moved from my coat pocket these days. I knew I still couldn’t be without it; something could still trigger a panic attack, but it was nice to be feeling a bit better overall. I had people I could talk to and trust if anything got too much and my life had fallen into a routine where there wasn’t much that could overwhelm me.

--

I guess it was a given that something would happen eventually, that someday my anxiety would catch up with me at work, however, I didn’t expect it to happen in the way that it did.

You get into a routine of serving customers, some want coffee, some want sandwiches, but the motions are mostly the same. Occasionally someone asks for something you’ve run out of and you have to explain apologetically, would they like something else? Sometimes you get elderly confused people who come in looking for lipstick and you just have to smile and suggest the nearest pharmacy instead.

Some people are regulars and others you never see again, but you never expect to see the people from your past who you hoped you’d never see again. On the day in question, I was working with with Sarah, Andy and Ben. Andy was working from nine to three and Ben from twelve until six. Shifts varied, but it was always important to cover the lunch rush.

Ben and I had been non stop serving coffees for a while, putting the sandwich orders back into the kitchen for Andy and Sarah to make up. Coffees, cakes, sandwiches, cold drinks; everyone would order something different and it could sometimes get a little overwhelming. Even at two-thirty, we still had a queue. My coping mechanism was to focus solely on the person at the front and getting through their order as quickly and efficiently as I could. I didn’t really have much glimpse of who was behind until I called ‘next’ and the next person stepped forwards.

I finished making a man a latte and passed it out to him, calling forward the next person in the queue and looking up to see who it was next. I felt so much shock, so much fear, the instant I saw her face. Face coated in makeup, framed by greasy brown hair. I’d once thought she was beautiful, but now I wanted to throw up just by looking at her.

“Can I get a cappuccino and a chocolate doughnut please?” she asked, her voice almost mocking.

I’m surprised her order even reached my ears, but I managed to put my hands and feet on autopilot and get through the motions of making her a cappuccino and getting a doughnut out of the cabinet. Meanwhile, my heart was pounding, my chest felt tight and I was definitely struggling to breathe as I told her her total at the cash register.

“That’s four pounds forty nine,” I told her, choking slightly on the ‘nine’ and having to repeat myself.

She handed over a five pound note, which I took with shaking hands and put into the till, grabbing her fifty-one pence change. As I dropped it into her hand, something went wrong, my hand shook and jolted, touching hers for just a fraction of a second. That hand had pointed at various parts of my body, poked me in the stomach and slapped me in the face. I couldn’t be near her and now that I had finished serving her, my only logical thought was to get out of here.

I stumbled through the kitchen to the back room, where I collapsed into the chair nearest my coat. Medication, I needed my medication. Fumbling through the pockets, I found it eventually, bringing the tub out of my pocket and grasping it in my hand. I needed water, why hadn’t I thought of that. I needed water to take these. My throat felt tight and that would make it hard enough to get them down.

I barely even noticed I was sobbing as flashbacks started to intrude my mind, particularly one of her holding an empty doughnut box, a look of pure evil on her face. “What the fuck, you fat imbecile. You ate my entire box of doughnuts - you were fat enough already, you worthless piece of flab! Do you not understand the meaning of my doughnuts?”

Then another one, from earlier in our relationship, when unknowingly, things were starting to go downhill. “Dan, maybe you should go to the gym more. Like wouldn’t sex be better if you had a little more stamina, maybe lose a little weight and you’ll be hot as fuck.”

“Dan, I’m not letting you be on top again until you lose some weight, you’re crushing me.”

“Dan, you don’t really need breakfast when you ate so much for dinner…”

“Please stop eating all my snacks, Dan, it’s not good for you.”

“I’m not having sex with you until you’re under sixty kilos.”

At the time, when I thought I loved her, I thought she was just trying to do what was good for me. It wasn’t until she slapped me in the face that it hit me, literally. She’d yelled so much that day, I could still hear it ringing in my ears.

What the actual fuck Dan?

Get the fuck out of my life.

Confusion hit me as a voice broke through the yelling. No one had been there to break it up; it was just me and her to fight it out.

“Dan,” a voice repeated, softly, “Dan, you there?”

It was Andy, I realised as I opened one of the eyes I had scrunched shut in trying to protect myself. They were crouched next to me, looking concerned, lips moving but I wasn’t getting half of what they were saying.

“Dan, are you hearing me?” they asked, this time enough words getting through for me to understand.

“A little,” I choked, nodding.

“Dan, try and take a deep breath or two, okay. What do you need?” they said, slowly moving their hand so it was within grabbing distance of mine.

“Water, these, ‘n’ Phil,” I choked out, opening my hand a little to show my tub of pills.

“Okay, two seconds,” Andy said, hurrying to the kitchen door and shouting something in to Sarah.

“Sarah’s on the water,” Andy said, returning to pull a chair over next to me, “You want to get your tablet out?”

Nodding, I started trying to open the tub in my hands, but with how much I was shaking, it was a struggle. A frustrated sob burst from my throat as I fought with the lid. I couldn’t do it; I couldn’t.

“Dan, can I help?” Andy asked, their hand slowly approaching mine, “Here.”

I let Andy take my medication from me, trusting them to get it out the tub so I could take it. As they were opening the tub, Sarah walked in, holding a mug of water and approaching slowly.

Andy beckoned her over, at the same time depositing a pill into my shaking hand, “Is it just one?”

Nodding, I lifted the pill to my mouth and reached out to Sarah for the mug of water. I let Andy help me with it, because I was completely past the point of trying to do things by myself. I choked a little on the tablet as I swallowed it, but there seemed to be a helping hand rubbing my back as I washed it down.

“Please stop eating all my snacks, Dan, it’s not good for you.”

I shook my head frantically, trying to get her voice out of my head again.

“Please talk,” I croaked to Sarah and Andy, “I need to hear something else.”

“Okay, Dan, we’re going to call Phil now,” Andy started, their voice soothing, “Sarah, could you maybe do that? You’ve got Phil’s number, right?”

Sarah nodded, turning back towards the kitchen, “Of course, yeah.”

“Dan,” Andy continued, “D’you think you could focus on your breathing or is that too hard?”

“Too hard,” I nodded, feeling like I was using all of my mental strength to keep a certain voice out of my head and that I couldn’t realistically focus on anything else.

“Keep sipping your water then,” Andy nodded, rubbing their hand up and down my back, probably as I hadn’t pushed it away. “You’re going to be okay. I’m guessing you can’t really talk about it right now, but you’re safe back here. Sarah’s calling Phil and hopefully he can get down here.”

“What if he can’t get out of class?” I asked, suddenly feeling another wave of overwhelming panic at the thought of Phil not being able to come and help me.

“Phil’s on his way, don’t worry,” Sarah said, poking her head through the door again, “He was in a theory class, so it wasn’t a problem.”

The five minutes that followed were all a blur. Sarah brought me a mug of diluting juice once I’d finished my water and Andy continued to speak to me and rub my back. I was still panicking, chest tight, breathing hard, tears running down my cheeks, but they were keeping me from getting any worse, keeping my mind from any further flashbacks.

When Phil appeared, out of breath, Andy quickly gave up their seat for him. He plopped himself next to me and immediately decided to free me of my apron and my top shirt button. He shed his coat and placed it gently on my shoulders, pushing my hair back off my face. Although his breathing was fast from rushing, I could feel him trying to slow his movements.

“Dan,” Phil said, his voice soothing, slipping his hand between the buttons of my shirt, “What happened? I know you’re having a panic attack and that you’ve taken your medication, but what triggered it.”

“N-no,” I choked, struggling to get her name out.

“No?” Phil questioned softly, “Would be easier to help you if I knew.”

“Nora,” I spluttered, pointing in the direction of the cafe, “Came in, had to get her coffee and doughnut.”

“Okay,” Phil nodded, “You’re safe back here though; I need you to focus on that. It’s just me and Andy in here, no one’s going to hurt you, you’ve got space to breathe.”

I felt the fingers of Phil’s other hand brush over mine, then he gently curled my hand up within his, “Your medication’s going to help you soon, but I need you to keep breathing until then. Want me to do it with you?”

I nodded, feeling too tired to answer in words. I felt Phil undo a button on my shirt, then spread his hand out more. He would tell me to breathe in and he would slowly count for a few seconds, then I would hold my breath, then I would breathe out. The familiarity of the exercise was somewhat comforting; I could focus on one thing at a time and I knew that Phil was ready with the next. I eventually started to fall into a rhythm, started to understand what was coming next. I didn’t stop until Phil stopped, until he was satisfied I had my breathing steady enough. It wouldn’t be perfect, not until my medication slowed my heart rate back to normal.

“One. Two. Three. Four,” Phil paused, “And out…”

When Phil stopped counting my breathing, I relaxed into his side, thankful, but not quite able to express it yet.

“You’re okay Dan, you’re okay,” Phil said, bringing his arms around me in a hug, “Just relax now.”

--

Phil’s POV:

When Sarah had called me during class, I knew something was wrong. She quickly told me that Dan was having a panic attack and that he needed me. I was pleased to hear he’d managed to take his medication, but getting myself to him was a top priority of mine. I quickly excused myself from my class, explaining to my tutor, Mark, that my soulmate needed me urgently.

Knowing I couldn’t really park any nearer to the cafė, I left the car at the college and ran to where Dan worked. Okay, I was a bit out of breath on arrival, but I was able to help him all the same. Hearing that Nora had appeared was a bit of a shock, but I guess it was kind of inevitable that she’d make an appearance again in his life at some point.

Now that I’d helped him calm his breathing, he was cuddled into my side, still shaking, but on the mend. I leant down to kiss him on the forehead, feeling like he was needing a little extra love. What he really needed was his bed, but I wasn’t quite sure if that was possible yet.

“Could you maybe make Dan a hot chocolate?” I asked his colleague and friend, Andy, “No cream or marshmallows, in a takeaway cup.”

“Of course,” Andy nodded, giving us a small smile and heading through the door into the kitchen, “Give me two minutes.”

I kept hugging Dan until Andy returned, when my duties changed to helping him drink hot chocolate. His hands were shaking, hence my request of a takeaway cup, but if I didn’t help, he was going to get it all down his chin and probably all over his shirt. Dan had his left hand on the cup, I had my right, and between us, we managed to get the drink safely to his mouth. It was never a skill I thought I’d develop, being a pro at helping my soulmate drink out of a cup or glass, but here I was. He needed the help sometimes and I was happy to give it to him.

I knew the hot drink would help him, give him a bit of warmth, a bit of sugar. His body was going to need a lot more than that to recover though. Ideally, he needed to go home, lie down and get some sleep, but he was meant to be working for another two hours.

Looking to Andy for help, I asked my question, “Is there anyone who can take the rest of his shift? I think he really should go home.”

“I'll do it,” Andy said, “I was meant to be finishing up the now, but don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, to be polite, “You've already done so much.”

“It's fine, honestly,” Andy nodded, “I don't mind working another couple of hours.”

Dan looked like he was about to protest, but Andy shut him up before he could get there, “Dan, Phil’s right, I think you should go home. I really don't mind finishing your shift.”

“Okay,” Dan said, still sounding a little weak, taking the last sip of his hot chocolate, then nuzzling further into my side, “Thank you.”

“Phil,” Dan started after a while, “D’you think you’d recognise her? Could you check if she’s still in the cafe? I don’t think I could leave with her still here. I feel kinda trapped.”

“Yeah, I remember her from halloween,” I nodded, “Can we not use the back door?”

Dan looked up at Andy questioningly, clearly needing the authority of someone who had been here a bit longer, “I don’t see why not, but I’ll go and check with Ben.”

“Thanks,” I said to Andy, as they made their way to the kitchen.

Andy came back with the news that yes, we could leave via the backdoor. This came as quite a relief to Dan, as although he was not fully recovered, he was desperate to go. As Dan was already half wearing my coat, I helped him get his arms into it and zipped it up in front of him. I lifted his coat off his hook and put it on myself; it was a bit of a tight fit, but I wasn’t going to steal his warmth.

“You look after yourself Dan, get some rest, and let me know if you’d rather stay home tomorrow because I can take the shift,” Andy said to Dan, putting their arms around him in a loose hug.

Andy’s hug only lasted about a second, then they moved away giving me a small smile, “I know you take good care of him, Phil; make sure he makes the right decision about tomorrow.”

Andy opened the back door for us, and with an arm around Dan, we made our way outside. We said goodbye to Andy, me thanking them so much for all they had done to help Dan. We made our way along the alley that ran behind the shops, not stopping until we had rounded the corner. It was Dan who had stopped first, turning into me for another hug.

Bringing my arms around him and my face up next to his, I mumbled to him, “Something wrong?”

“Just felt I needed another hug, maybe couldn’t lose myself in it so much with Andy there,” Dan mumbled, shakily exhaling against my neck.

“I get that; you said sh-they get jealous of guys hugging, right? That you don’t want to make h-them feel down about it?” I said, stumbling a bit over the pronouns I wasn’t quite used to using.

“Yeah,” Dan nodded, “Andy’s mostly chill with hugging people, but I think they crave the feeling of hugging as a flat chested person. I can’t completely understand, but generally I try to avoid doing anything super masculine or bringing up anything that’ll make them feel feminine or uncomfortable.”

“Speaking of uncomfortable, how are you feeling?” I asked Dan, noticing that he was a bit more talkative.

“Shaky, tired, still a bit scared and shaken up, but alive,” Dan told me, sighing.

“Well let’s get you home and we can either talk about it or I can let you sleep, whatever you want,” I nodded, knowing we would need to figure out what was best for him first. “The car’s still up at the college so we’ve got a little walk, but I think you can do it.”

“Just stick with me, yeah?” Dan asked, a little uncertainly.

“Of course,” I said, giving him a little squeeze, “I’m not going to leave you even for two seconds at the moment.”

As we pulled apart our hug, I found Dan’s hand, interlocking our fingers and giving it a squeeze, “I’m right here.”

We set off walking, back to my college, back to our car, hands joined, shoulders brushing as we stuck as close together as we could. Dan’s hand was a little shaky, a little clammy, and he himself was quite quiet, but I knew he’d be okay, he just needed some privacy and some rest.

On reaching the car, I opened the passenger door for Dan and kept supporting him, with a hand on his back, until he was settled in the seat. I quickly hurried around the front of the car and joined him inside, ready to take him home.

I did the reverse process when we arrived at our flat, opening his door and joining hands again once he was out. We got up the stairs fine, with there not being so many of them these days, but I could see it was still a bit of a struggle.

As I unlocked the door, I gave Dan a couple of instructions so he didn’t go straight off to bed without taking care of himself, “Go and get changed into something comfy, go to the bathroom or whatever you need to do and come to the sofa. I’m gonna get some water and a couple of other things and I’ll meet you there.”

I left Dan at our bedroom door, knowing he would manage to get sorted out by himself. I made my way to the kitchen, filling a mug with water for Dan and flicking the kettle on in case he decided he wanted some tea later.

I sat the water down on a table by the couch, then went to retrieve a blanket from the comfy chair across the room. I couldn’t think of anything else to get him; that would depend how he was feeling. Maybe he’d need paracetamol, maybe he’d want a bath, but I felt he’d probably want to go straight to bed.

“Hey,” I greeted Dan, as he arrived in pyjamas and a hoodie, “Come sit down, let’s talk about how you’re feeling?”

“Not the best,” Dan mumbled, settling himself between my legs.

“Right, let’s start with how you’re feeling physically? Tired? Sore? Shaky?” I prompted him, pulling up the blanket and trying to make sure he was comfortable.

“A little shaky, tired, but I can deal with that,” Dan told me, relaxing into me a little.

“And mentally?” I asked slowly, “D’you want to sit and have a chat for a little bit?”

“That would be good,” Dan nodded, sighing, “I still feel really on edge. I kind of feel like I want to talk to my therapist but she’s probably busy and you’re here so…”

“If you want to call her and see I can help?” I suggested, wanting to do what I could.

“I’m not sure I’m honestly in a state to speak to anyone else,” Dan mumbled indecisively.

“Will I do for the moment and you can maybe call her, say tomorrow when you’re feeling up to it?” I suggested.

“Yeah, that would be good,” Dan nodded, pulling the blanket up to his chin, “Could you pass me that water?”

As Dan took a few sips of water, I thought about what I was going to ask him. I knew that Nora had come in for a coffee and a doughnut, that he’d clearly had a panic attack and taken his medication, but I didn’t know where his mind was during the whole process.

I started the conversation gently by asking Dan if he’d managed to make the coffee for her, how much he had managed before he fled to the back. I was impressed to hear that he’d managed to make her the coffee, get her the doughnut and even do the transaction and change. We then went onto his feelings as he’d gone about that: the utter panic, the realisation that his body was able to go through the motions of making a cappuccino without his mind really being there.

We had to take a break in the conversation, as when Dan started to explain where his mind was during the first few minutes he spent in the back room, it got a bit too much for him to deal with again.

“Breathe,” I said, running my hand over his chest. “You need me to help you or are you okay?”

“M’okay,” Dan nodded, his chest rising and falling rather forcefully beneath my hand.

I stayed quiet while Dan focused on his breathing, letting him focus without distraction for a while. When I did start talking to him again, I decided against picking up where we left off. I had experienced enough of Dan's panic attack to piece together vaguely how he would have felt.

“I think you've maybe talked enough for today,” I said acknowledging his exhausted state, “Unless there's anything else you want to get off you mind?”

“I think I'm good,” Dan murmured, “Thanks for listening. I feel a lot better after talking to you.”

“I think we should get dinner early, maybe watch something and then you can go to bed early,” I suggested, resting my chin on his shoulder for a moment. “Does that sound good to you? I'm just thinking if you take a nap now, you might not sleep so well later.”

“Yeah sounds decent,” Dan agreed, “I think I can manage to stay awake a bit longer.”

“What do you want for dinner?” I asked, “Not got anything planned so it's your choice. What's going to make you feel good?”

Dan looked thoughtful for a minute, but eventually gave me an answer, “I’d like spaghetti? Just make a simple tomato sauce or something?”

“Okay, I can do that,” I nodded, glad he had picked out something quick and simple; it meant I could spend a bit longer just cuddling with him before I had to get up and make it. “I'll start making it at five.”

For the half hour or so that followed, I just sat with Dan, holding him in an embrace that was comforting for him but warm and cosy for both of us. I was glad he was okay, maybe still a little tired and wobbly, but okay.

When I got up to make dinner, I left him with a little kiss, only going as far as the kitchen, from where I could still see him. I set about boiling the kettle, weighing out the pasta, getting out the sauce ingredients. I could feel dan watching me, so every so often I would look up and give him a smile, a little acknowledgement that although I was cooking, yes I still cared about his presence.

We talked a little as I cooked, Dan filling me in on a couple of other, less dramatic things, that had happened earlier on in the day. I told him a little about my day at college; us sharing our days had become part of evening routine, something that helped us stay as close as we could as a couple.

When the pasta was ready, I served it into two bowls and joined Dan on the sofa with it. We usually ate at the table, a habit we’d gotten into in the early days because it was better for digestion, but I felt it really shouldn’t matter now with how good he’d had been doing lately.

We put a episode of a TV show on as we ate, slurping spaghetti but not talking over it. When we finished eating, we sat the bowls to the side and slowly started to curl up together again, the idea of cuddling being too tempting to resist. The TV show ended, so we put the next episode on, but it seemed that Dan gradually seemed to lose concentration, eyes fluttering shut, slowly falling asleep.

As he fell asleep, he fell away from me a little, so not wanting him to fall off the sofa, I managed to get up and let him have the space to himself. I’d let him sleep for a little bit while I sorted a few things out, but I think he really ought to get to bed. I retrieved Dan’s phone from the join in the cushions and thought about how he was doing in terms of working tomorrow. He really should text Andy tonight, and while he probably wouldn’t mind me doing it for him, I wanted to have his word first.

I pocketed his phone, hoping that would remind me to talk to him about it when I woke him up to get him ready for bed. I collected up our pasta bowls and drink glasses, taking them to the kitchen to put in the dishwasher. I got the sink filling to wash up the pasta pot, taking the opportunity to do it now as I knew I wouldn’t appreciate seeing it in the morning. When the sink was full and I shut the water off, I noticed a noise coming from behind me where Dan was; it sounded like choking. I spun around to see him appearing to choke on something in his sleep. I hurried out of the kitchen, grabbing our living room bin on the way because I had no idea what this situation was going to bring.

I rushed over to Dan, pulling him upright and getting his head forward over the bin. I made a judgement and thumped him on the back, hoping that would help because I had no idea what else to do. It must’ve been enough to dislodge the problem, because Dan threw up a little bit, still half asleep and confused.

I rubbed Dan’s back gently now, thankful he had stopped choking, but still feeling a tension there, “It’s okay if you need to throw up more; got a bin here for you.”

Dan mumbled something, but I didn’t catch it as he gagged and threw up a bit more. I continued to rub his back, hoping it was at least a little soothing.

When he appeared to have stopped struggling, I spoke softly, “Are you okay? You started choking in your sleep but I’m not sure why.”

Dan shrugged and looked down into the bin, gagging violently as he saw its contents.

“Dan, if I can help you to the bathroom, you won't have to look at that?” I suggested, knowing it would be best to get him in front of a toilet asap.

“Yeah, thanks,” Dan mumbled, giving me his hand so I could help him up.

With Dan on his feet, holding the bin, I steered him all the way along the hallway and through our bedroom to the ensuite. I left him for a moment to take the bin away to the other bathroom - I would deal with that later - but returned quickly.

I sat by Dan’s side, pushing his sleep hair off his forehead and resting a hand on his back. We were there for about twenty minutes, Dan managing to contain himself and eventually admitting he was feeling okay again. During this time I got him a glass of water, which he sipped slowly on, hopefully helping to soothe his throat and stomach.

We shuffled away from the toilet a little, still sitting on the floor as Dan was feeling a bit weak. I couldn’t quite understand what had caused him to choke and throw up, and neither could he. We eventually came on an idea that maybe he just hadn’t had enough time to digest his dinner properly before he fell asleep. Most people would be fine, but Dan’s stomach just wasn’t quite right sometimes; something that made it clear he was still in recovery.

“I think we should text Andy and ask if they can take your shift,” I said to Dan, “I’d just been thinking about texting them to say you’d make it, but I don’t think you should now.”

“I’ll be fine in the morning,” Dan tried to insist, his weakened voice not helping his case.

“Dan, you threw up, so until you can be absolutely sure you don't have norovirus or something, you're not setting foot in a kitchen,” I told him firmly, “Although we think its your ED, we can’t be sure, okay?”

Dan nodded quietly, making me realise I’d maybe sounded a bit harsh, but it was difficult for me not to with learning a lot of food hygiene in college.

“Sorry if that sounded harsh,” I said softly, not wanting to leave things like that, “I didn’t mean for it to come out so strong.”

I retrieved Dan’s phone from my pocket and opened up a new text to Andy. I typed out a message for him, making clear it was from me, but getting him to approve it.

Hey, it’s Phil. Could you maybe take Dan's shift for tomorrow? He was doing alright, but he just threw up his dinner and while it's probably just his ED recovery, it's probably best not to have him in a kitchen until we're sure.

Dan nodded his approval to the message and hit send himself, handing the phone back to me while we waited for a response.

Of course, I’ve got it covered. I hope he feels better, plenty of rest’ll do him good

It had only taken them a minute to reply, which was quite a relief as I wanted to get Dan to bed and we really needed to know the answer first. I read it out to him and he visibly relaxed, leaning into my side.

“Can we go to bed now?” Dan yawned, sounding so tired that he was almost on the verge of tears.

“Get your teeth brushed and pee and whatever, then yes,” I told him, “I’m going to email my tutor while you get ready, okay.”

I sat on the edge of the bath while Dan did what he needed to do, typing out an email to Mark, my college tutor.

Hi Mark, I think it's best that I don't attend tomorrow. My soulmate’s been sick; I suspect it's nothing contagious as he’s recovering from an eating disorder, but I think it's best to be on the safe side and not come into the kitchen. Will see you the day after, presuming all is well. Thanks, Phil

When Dan was finished, I followed him through the bedroom and helped him get settled into bed. I sat next to him, on my side of the bed, but I had a few things to do first before I would be ready to go to bed myself.

“Get some sleep, love,” I told him, leaning down to give him a goodnight kiss, “I’ll join you soon and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You stayin’ ‘til I’m ‘sleep?” Dan mumbled.

“Yes, of course,” I nodded, running my hand down his duvet-shrouded side.

Dan didn’t say anything else after that, drifting off to sleep and snoring lightly, getting the rest that he needed.

When I was sure Dan would stay asleep, I got up to deal with the few things I had to get done. I finished cleaning the pot I had abandoned in the kitchen sink, I dealt with the bin Dan had been sick in, and finally I locked up. I got myself ready for bed quickly, making the decision to shower in the morning so that I wouldn’t disturb Dan’s sleep just now. I knew when I joined him in bed that I wouldn’t be able to get to sleep yet, so I sat with just my lamp on and read for a while. Dan was feeling fragile and staying with him when he was in a vulnerable state was very important to me.

--

The next day, Dan was absolutely fine, which was definitely a relief. We’d both stayed home as a precaution, but it proved to be nothing more than what we suspected.

With everything that had happened the previous day, I made sure that this one was calm and relaxed for Dan. In the morning we took a bath together, then throughout the day, I made sure that his diet was made up of simple things: toast, soup, fruit, and that we ate at the table like we usually did.

Dan just had his bad days now and then, that was something that just happened. Sometimes his anxiety would play up, sometimes his digestive system wouldn’t quite function correctly, but this time they came at once. It was a bit of an annoyance for him and put him in a bit of a low mental state for a few days, but as usual, he was okay, he got through it.

He made sure to speak to his therapist about the whole thing, another appointment which I joined him at for support. Having had a few days to process the events, he could now explain it well and I could tell that talking it through again to her helped him to get his thoughts in order.

We all hoped that Nora wouldn’t start to frequent the café, but we would look into options if it became a problem. This possibility would give Dan a little anxiety about going to work sometimes, but in one of his flashbacks she’d stated that she never wanted to see him again. That was something I would remind Dan of when he got down about it, the one memory of her which he didn’t actually mind recalling.

Next Chapter (Epilogue) =>

[co-theta]

Okay. Lemme talk about depression and anxiety (or any other mental illness that is applicable), medication, and recovery for a second. About the fear that you will lose everything that you are if you find a path to recovery that works. About the fear that the effects of medication are somehow false or not you. About how hard it is to commit to a treatment plan when all of this is buzzing in your head.

I’ll add in a read more when I can get on my computer.

I am, of course, by no means a doctor. I’m a fricken high school senior, but I have been dealing with my depression and anxiety with the help of various doctors for four years. Four years ago, I mentioned anxiety to a doctor during routine and left the office with a tentative diagnosis of generalized anxiety and chronic depression and more appointments. I never realized that what I was feeling, mood wise, wasn’t normal until then. Three years ago, was put on Prozac, my first medication. It helped for a while because it helped me sleep, but after about a month it made everything worse because my energy was so high that my anxiety was nearly doubled. Then they put me on Celexa, which did nothing. This is when I started worrying about my identity and what recovery would actually mean. I mean, I was a freshman edgelord at the time, so everything was even more dramatic than it should have been already. I was also dealing with increasingly intense daydreams that got darker and stronger the more depressed I got. That summer, o stopped taking the Celexa because no one was listening when I told them that it wasn’t working and I felt empty. Of course, three months on an antidepressant is not enough to get a proper handle on a medication or a good idea of how it affects you, but remember that I was an impatient edgelord. That November, I had a meltdown. I wasn’t on medication, my external support system collapsed, and that aligned with an extreme depressive episode and I turned inward. I blew up at the daydreams I had, pushing them away too. Left in a panic, alone in my house, I unearthed the last of my Celexa and took all of it. Some 40 odd pills. Long story short, I spent a couple days in a children’s hospital. That was a turning point for me. I switched schools, lost contact with what friends I had, and wandered into a new life. Two years ago, I was put on Venlafaxine. This is when I tell you how to know when a med does NOT work. Venlafaxine had no marked improvement in the ~two years that I took it, which really isn’t a diss because that happens with psychiatric medications. It’s hit and miss because everyone’s brain is different and will react to meds different. What IS cause for distress is that it made me so exhausted that I couldn’t do anything. My grades slowly started to drop. I couldn’t do anything outside of school because I was just SO TIRED. Pro tip: if a medication is working, this will not happen. The whole point of an antidepressant is to ease the side effects of depression in order to allow you to be you. Obviously, they don’t cure anything, they just allow your brain to produce the hormones that they aren’t producing enough of already. January 2016, I started telling my doctors that the medication wasn’t helping. That it was making me tired, that it wasn’t making me feel better, that I was dying inside because I just couldn’t live like that anymore. They took blood tests, told me to take it at different times of the day, told me to take a slew of vitamins, told me to go on daily walks. I did all of this, nothing helped. No one listened. I remained on the useless pill for another 10 months. I ended up having to stop taking them on my own. For anyone who has never been on Effexor, it has some of the worst withdrawal symptoms of any antidepressants. Muscle spasms, emotional imbalance, weakness, more fatigue. Even with these symptoms, I felt better of the damn thing than on it. That said IT WAS VERY BAD AND SERIOUSLY IT IS NOT GOOD TO STOP TAKING YOUR MEDS SUDDENLY WITHOUT A DOCTOR’S APPROVAL. I was really lucky that nothing serious happened I could have had another major depressive episode. I could have had a bad physical reaction. Don’t do it. It really isn’t safe. I did not ever want to get on an antidepressant again. But about a month and a half ago, I started seeing a new doctor who put me on an older medication, Wellbutrin. For anyone who doesn’t know, I’m a writer. Or, I used to be. I hadn’t written anything that I liked or enjoyed making in three years. The creativity was just gone. Even when I had the things in my head, it was impossible to put it into words and then put those words on paper. And now we’re back to recovery, and the fear that comes along with it. The fear that we will lose ourselves if we do recover. This is obviously not universal, but I have been SO scared that I would lose an integral part of my personality if my mental illness wasn’t a part of it. When I got off the medication that didn’t work, I was able to socialize more and do after school activities, but I was still having suicidal thoughts nearly everyday and I could feel myself being weighed down by all of it. My mood is better than it has been since elementary school on this new medication. I’ve had energy. I’ve felt like I’m living. I’ve made sarcastic comments about my depression and realized when I said them that they aren’t true anymore. And I’m writing. I forgot what it’s like to write. To enjoy writing, to have the words flow smoothly from my mind to the paper like a fucking river. The apprehension and joy of having people read it. I forgot how much I love writing. I forgot how green the trees can be and how much I love the rain. I forgot how the sun feels on my back. I forgot how beautiful the early morning is and how wonderful it is to spend time with friends. I forgot what it means to feel something so strongly that it brings tears to my eyes without it being bad. I forgot how much I love being alive. I forgot a lot of things because I couldn’t see it under the fog. I’m not cured, of course, obviously, I still have to push past my depression everyday, but it is so much easier. I wouldn’t be here without that medication. I feel like a different person. And that’s because this is a glimpse of the person that I am without depression. This is a glimpse of who I can be, and it is so bright. I haven’t lost a single thing about who I am. I still love the same things, but I can actually enjoy them without having to use them as a distraction from that awful weight on my back. I walk out of my house in the morning and I don’t wish that I could stay home, not genuinely at least. And I’m writing. Obviously, it isn't the same for everyone, but. Think of every single thing that you love to do but just can’t ever force yourself to do. Think of the things that you used to look at and see beauty in that just look tired or gray now. Think of everything that you know you want to do again. Think of the books you used to love. The things you can create or enjoy and just think about them. That is what is under your depression. There isn’t an empty or bare person there. There is you, the person that is screaming everyday to be free if only your brain would let them.

You aren’t losing anything: you’re finding it.