Let’s Discuss
Characters; Garvin (and others), Akira, and Alma. Devery and rest of GRAIN mentioned on varying levels.
Word Count; 2,480.
TWs; Swearing, self-worth issues, self-esteem issues, varying levels of dissociation, suicidal thoughts/ideation, mentions of suicide attempts, depression, mentions of depression, mentions of self harm, implied past self harm, internalized ableism, ableist language, and messy writing/ending. Maybe more? Hard to say. Plus it’s a little nicer than usual.
Notes; Despite all the TWs, this is actually pretty tame compared to a lot of my other short stories. Alma Voogd is great, even if she’s never mentioned by name. Garvin doesn’t remember her name, okay? He’s got a lot of other stuff to think about.
*~*~*~*
It was a little weird, sitting in the lounge and waiting for an appointment again after over a month of not going to any. Garvin tried to stay still in his seat while waiting, at least. He wasn’t sure why it was as difficult as it was for him. Kira didn’t seem to be having any troubles with it. Maybe it was just because of his arms, given how much he was catching himself messing with the bandages wrapped around them. He couldn’t remember when they were supposed to take them off. Or when the stitches were supposed to come out. It probably didn’t matter too much anyway.
-
He stopped tapping his foot, shifting so it wouldn’t be as easy to start tapping it again. The lounge seemed too quiet, too empty. He still wasn’t used to it. He didn’t really need to be used to it. He didn’t think he should get used to it. He hadn’t really wanted to show up for it. The bandages on his arms made it hard to convince anyone that he didn’t need to though. He took a breath, watched himself pick at them again.
-
He still hadn’t really told any of them. They knew that he’d hurt himself again, of course they knew that. None of them were blind and the bandages were an obvious tell. He hadn’t mentioned the hospital or the stitches though. Or anything else that’d happened, for that matter. He couldn’t tell them. They worried enough about him already. He hadn’t even talked to Levy about it. He hadn’t really seen him lately though either, hadn’t talked to him much at all. Which wasn’t actually that weird, considering how much time used to go by without them seeing each other at all.
-
Garvin looked up, slowly blinking, when Aquilla nudged his shoulder beside him. The door to the office was open with the good doctor, as he’d started calling her after forgetting her name for what just had to be the hundredth time, standing by it patiently. Which meant that his name had probably been called. Which meant he’d missed it. He bit his tongue before sighing, pushing himself out of the chair before he could waste any more time.
-
He took a seat in the corner of the couch in her office when he reached it, listening to the sound of the door closing behind her and her footsteps walking into the room. He took a breath, shoved his hands into his pockets, and tried not to feel like he was already doing something wrong. He wasn’t fidgeting yet, at least. He wasn’t sure what they were even going to talk about, he never really knew. He never even tended to remember. Part of why doctor whatever-her-name-was was who he saw now. Probably. He couldn’t really remember that either. He was tired.
-
“Hello Garvin, it’s good to see you again.”
-
He blinked, looked over at her taking a seat in her chair across from him. He shifted, clearing his throat and nodding. “Uh, yeah. Didn’t mean t’cancel on you so much an’ all.”
-
She smiled, it was all he cared to read from it. “Things come up, I understand.”
-
Garvin bit his tongue, and kept himself from fidgeting. He forced a laugh a moment later, shifting how he was sitting so he could seem more casual. “Oh fer sure, lot’sa stuff like t’come up.”
-
She raised an eyebrow, he tried not to squirm. “I take it you were busy then?”
-
As much as he didn’t want to talk, he also didn’t want to waste Lacerta’s money or her time. And as much as he didn’t want to talk about the topic, it was one that would be easier for him to control. So he grinned and shrugged. “Sure, if ya count endin’ up in a hospital twice as bein’ busy.”
-
“You were in the hospital?”
-
And she was hooked. Which was great. At least this topic wouldn’t feel like he was just complaining about something the entire time. “Twice, yeah. First one was, uh, a day or so ‘fore I was ‘sposed to see ya ‘gain an’ all. Sec’nd one was some weeks after the first, I think.” He didn’t really remember too well. He knew enough to get through telling her about it though.
-
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Do you know what happened?” The phrasing had taken some time to get used to. She talked like that a lot though, asking if he remembered or knew about whatever she was talking about. He guessed it was fair, given how shitty his memory was.
-
He kept his tone casual when he answered anyways, “I know ‘nough t’know tha’ I was there ‘cause I tried t’kill m’self, uh, both times.” He paused, willed himself to stop tapping his foot. To stop messing with the bandages from inside his pockets. “Sec’nd time wasn’t on, uh, wasn’t…” He trailed, scraped his tongue against his teeth, bit it, and rephrased. “Didn’t mean t’do it tha’ time, I don’t think. Not at first at least. S’all a bit, uh… Y’know. Bits an’ pieces.”
-
“And the first time?”
-
He shifted, glanced towards the coffee table between them. He shrugged. “I know wha’ they told me. Don’t think none’a ‘em really wanna talk ‘bout it all tha’ much though. Can’t say I blame ‘em. S’not really somethin’ most people wan’ talk ‘bout an’ all.” He was bouncing his leg again, rubbing one of his thumbs against the bandages around his arm. He needed to sit still. He wasn’t sure why he was having such a hard time doing so.
-
“It can be a difficult topic to broach, especially with multiple attempts happening so close to each other.”
-
He didn’t look up at her at that, just forced a laugh and made himself stop fidgeting again. “Oh, uh, they don’t actually know ‘bout the sec’nd one. Haven’t, uh, haven’t told ‘em. I mean, they know I got hurt an’ all, but they don’t know it was an, uh, a tryin’ t’kill m’self thing. They don’t know I was in the hospital again.”
-
He was already fidgeting again, he couldn’t figure out how to get himself to stop. It was annoying. It was so fucking annoying. He bit his tongue and tried to ignore the way his arms itched underneath the bandages. He breathed through his nose, trying to focus on actually hearing what was happening.
-
“Why do you think you haven’t told them?”
-
He looked up at her then, just because of how weird that question seemed. She looked just as casually soft as she usually did though. So he shifted, trying to figure out how to answer. He ended up shrugging. “I.. Don’t think they’d take it well? I mean, Rev blames himself ‘nough as it is ‘bout the first one, an’ he’s already blamin’ himself for me hurtin’ m’self without knowin’ I, y’know. Tried to kill m’self again an’ all. Y’know, ‘cause ‘parently, we keep havin’ big fuckin’ arg’ments ‘fore I do an’thing.” He paused, watching himself as he started tapping his foot again. He sighed, shrugged again. “I dunno. They worry too much ‘bout me already.”
-
“Do you know what either argument was about?”
-
He just about cussed himself out for letting it come up. He shifted, glancing around the room. “Not, uh, not really. Jus’ bits of the sec’nd one. Vans was spitballin’ ideas to help keep me outta the hospital, s’all. It kinda, uh, spiraled from tha’ shit.”
-
“I can tell. I take it you didn’t like any of his ideas?”
-
He bit his tongue. Literally any topic would be better than that one. There still wasn’t really any point to beating around the bush. He didn’t want to waste Hex’s money. “I…” He closed his eyes for a moment. Forced himself to stop fidgeting again. Even if he wasn’t a fan of the idea at all, he was at least liked to keep his word. It’d make them worry less. Maybe. He took a breath, opened his eyes. “He wanted me to bring up anti-wha’ev’rs. I wasn’t a fan of tha’, s’all.”
-
“Antidepressants?”
-
He stared towards the coffee table. “Prob’bly, yeah. An’ I get tha’ he’s worried an’ all but…” He took a breath, held back on the urge to run a hand through his hair. “He does plen’y. I mean, he pays fo’ these. He shouldn’t ‘ave to pay fo’ any’a tha’ too. An’ I mean, he… ‘M not really…”
-
He shifted, closing his eyes and biting his tongue before he could say anything else. Before he could start complaining even more. He didn’t have anything to complain about. Sirius just wanted to help. There wasn’t anything wrong with that.
-
“I’m going to go out on a limb and say there’s more to you not wanting to take antidepressants than just not wanting Revan to pay for them?”
-
He huffed a laugh and shrugged. He kept his eyes on the coffee table and tried to stop himself picking at the bandages again. “Nothin’ tha’s worth talkin’ ‘bout.”
-
“Well, I doubt that. Whatever it is, it’s stopping you from wanting something that could potentially help you. That’s usually something that’s worth talking about.”
-
He’d really rather be having any other conversation. He shifted, tried to think of a way out of the topic. He couldn’t think of anything else to talk about. He pulled at the bandages from inside his pockets. “Yeah, sure. Fo’ most people, maybe. But ‘m doin’ fine without all tha’ shit. I don’t…” He paused, considered what he was saying, and huffed. “I shouldn’t need it. I was doin’ fine before. An’ it’s not like ‘m tryin’ to kill m’self every chance I get. ‘M not…” He trailed.
-
“Depressed?”
-
He bit his lip, tried to grin as he looked up at her. “I mean, I was leanin’ more towards retard but, uh, tha’ works too. Sure. ‘M not a retard or depressed.” She didn’t look too happy at that. He looked back down at the coffee table, shifting more into the corner of the couch. He forced himself to sit still.
-
She sighed. “Plenty of people take antidepressants. Some of them have never tried to take their own life before.”
-
He’d really rather be talking about something else. He breathed through his nose. “‘M not depressed. I don’t– I shouldn’t fuckin’ need tha’ shit. I shouldn’t.”
-
“Why not?”
-
He bit his tongue, took a breath. “I dunno– ‘Cause ‘m not an idiot? ‘Cause ‘m not depressed?”
-
“But you do have depressive episodes. It’s why we don’t meet during certain parts of the year.”
-
He was tapping his foot again. He really needed to stop doing that. He’d really rather be talking about something else. Anything else. “Tha’ ain’t– Tha’ shit ain’t the same. Tha’ ain’t a depressive episode.”
-
“It isn’t? From what you’ve told me, it certainly sounds like one.”
-
He took a breath. “Yeah, well, it ain’t. I jus’ ‘ave parts of the year where ‘m bein’ more stupid than usual. It ain’t ‘cause ‘m depressed.”
-
“Well, I can’t make you take antidepressants if you don’t want to take them but I do suggest at least thinking about them.” She paused. “How are you feeling so far?”
-
He looked up, and looked right back down at the coffee table when he couldn’t read her face. At least she was dropping the topic. He picked at the bandages, tried to think of an answer, and shrugged when he couldn’t. “I dunno. Fine?” He paused, bit his tongue. “I dunno. M’fine. A bit tired, maybe, but.. I dunno. Can’t really complain.”
-
She took a breath. “Right, because two suicide attempts obviously mean everything’s fine.”
-
He bit his tongue for a moment, thinking it over, and then laughed. “Y’know somethin'? I don’t think I even really care ‘bout the, uh, the attempts all tha’ much. Which is jus’ like– I know I should, I dunno, feel bad ‘bout it an’ all. I mean, I get tha’ I have people tha’ would feel like shit an’ all. An’ I don’t wan’ any’a ‘em to go through all tha’ shit. But, I dunno. It doesn’t seem tha’ big?” He paused, shifted and ran a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t feel like a big deal. I dunno, it doesn’t feel like it matters. Which is– It’s shitty, right? I mean, I died. I was fuckin’ dead. Jus’ fo’ a minute tha’ sec’nd time but still. I was dead.”
-
He took a breath, staring at the hand that wasn’t in his pocket anymore. “They’d fuckin’ lose it if they knew tha’ shit. They’d freak out an’ panic an’ worry. It’s already happened but they’d act like it was still happenin’ an’ not like it’s done an’ over with. Which, I get it. Tha’s the normal fuckin’ reaction to have. I dunno though. I don’t… I don’t really care? I’m more upset tha’ I couldn’t jus’ stay dead than I am tha’ I died at all. I wasn’t even tryin’ to kill m’self tha’ time an’ yet– I mean, I should care, right?”
-
She looked a little sad, when he finally looked over. He didn’t look for long, shoving his hand back into his pocket and pushing himself farther into the cushions of the couch. She sighed, he tried not to feel too much like he’d crossed a line.
-
“I know you don’t like the idea, but I’d like for us to at least think about antidepressants.” He opened his mouth to argue that. She continued before he could. “Look, I’m not going to lie to you. A lot of what you’ve told me throughout our sessions line up with depression. I’m not saying that we have to decide to try antidepressants, I’m just saying we should consider them as an option. Either that, or I want you to talk to your partners about what happened. That you tried to kill yourself again, that you ended up in the hospital again, that you did actually die for a minute, and that you only feel bad that didn’t stay dead.”
-
He bit his tongue. “I think I already said tha’ I can’t tell ‘em tha’ shit. They’d freak out jus’ knowin’ I tried to kill m’self again. They’d fuckin’ lose it if I told ‘em I died. I can’t do tha’ to ‘em. They worry too much as it is.”
-
“Then we discuss antidepressants instead. What the common ones are, what they’re used for other than depression, their common side effects, and which one you’d be most open to trying. This doesn’t mean we have to try any, per se, it just means we talk about them and consider them as an option.”
-
He took a breath. “Right. Jus’ gonna talk ‘bout ‘em. ‘Cause tha’ makes sense.” He sighed. “Wha’ev’r. Sure. We gonna do tha’ today or some other time?”
Winter Month: 2 
Night 
Fog Moon: 
