Fighting the Demons
Author's notes and disclaimers: This is a story written in Richard Warren's point of View and deals with George's fight with painkillers during the fourth season. These characters do not belong to me, and I did not hurt them in anyway.
He looks so peaceful, sleeping on the couch, I know usually hes watching me. He's always so concerned about me, it hurts sometimes. I have always thought him very strong, but seeing him struggle through this makes me know hes weak, and he needs help.
He tried to push me away, and apparently everyone else, that's why he got the suspension. I couldn't let him do that though, I couldn't let him isolate himself, he would have just got stronger into this mess. I feel responsible, if only I hadn't had so many conferences, I could of known what was going on. I wasn't even here when he first got in the car accident, and it hurt me to know there was something he was hiding from me. I didn't find out until he was suspended, and he locked himself in his room crying, blaming himself for everything. He had forgotten to take the pills into his room,they were hidden in a mint box and I found them on the counter.They had shocked me, and I knew something was up. He came out to get them, and found me force feeding them down the garbage disposal. He almost went for my throat, and then he fell to his knees crying, saying. "Richard, I have really screwed up."
I took him into my arms, and he let everything spill like the tears that spilled onto sweater. I have never seen him so scared, and it frightened me in a way, because I knew in a way he was still holding something back, not parts of the stories, but his emotions. I didn't know how to get him to talk though, he has always built up a wall around himself, he hates to burden people with his problems. I didn't know anything to say to comfort him, and I felt so small, here he was, he needed me, and I didn't know what to do. I was dumbed and shocked, how could my best friend and lover have gone through this and I didn't even notice. I just kept hugging him, unaware at the time, I had started rocking him in my arms as well, then, I heard him ask in a very small voice if I would help him find a rehab center, -or- a therapist. I don't remember saying anything to him, but just kissing ever so lightly on the top of his head. I think at that time, I was crying to, and he looked up into my brown eyes, his beautiful eyes blood shot, and full of tears, and then, buried his head into my chest, whispering he was sorry.
The first therapy session frightened him, and he almost tried to back out. He had never really trusted therapists. I sat with him in the waiting room, holding his hand tightly for his comfort, and so he wouldn't try to run out. The doctor wouldn't let me come in with him, and I was pacing the waiting room for an hour. When, George came out, he had been crying, and I tried to embrace him, but he withdrew, he muttered something about not going back. I knew I couldn't force him to go back, even if it would help him. I came up with a plan as we were driving back to the apartment, George staring out the window, looking at nothing in particular.
I asked him about it when he came home. He yelled at me, "You want to give me therapy, you don't even know what happened, I shouldn't have told you, You aren't even a psychatrist, and you have never been ..." He stopped there, and headed to his room.
I went to my studio, and sat on the floor crying, wondering how it must hurt him more, that he doesn't trust anyone through this. I knew he needed help with this, but that he needed to feel he was doing it on his own. So, I wrote him a note, apologizing, and telling him I would let him handle it on his own. Then, I slipped it under the door, and went to the computer, and disconnected the modem, so, he couldn't try and get another refill on his pills. Next, I hid all the medications from him that would help his addiction, -or- work as substitutes until he could get more. I hid all this stuff in my closet, except for my diabetic medicine, and locked the door.
It was a long two weeks after that, he almost tore the apartment more than once looking for his modem, and the medicines. Every minute of the ordeal was heart wrenching to me, but I knew it had to help him. He kept yelling at me, and picking little fights, hoping I would get mad at him, and just give in, and give him the stuff.
One day, I came home from work, and he was just staring out the window. It was raining very lightly, and his eyes were following the pathways the raindrops were creating. He turned to me with a small smile. "Do you realize its been two days since I've had anything stronger than coffee, and I haven't desired anything else, but that."
I pull him, into a hug, whispering that its great, knowing he had found some inner strength and he had pulled himself from the pits of hell, well, at least partial. I can't even take credit for that, I wouldn't, he found some inner strength and some inner peace, and he wouldn't have been able to do it, if he hadn't wanted to.
He looks so peaceful on the couch, and its nice to see him sleeping there, not because of any medicines making him tired, but because he had been at his first day back to work, in a long time. The board has declared him of perfect health to resume his duties, and I know he is much wiser now.
I say a prayer of thanks to God, thanking him for keeping Geo safe, and helping him battle the monsters, and for allowing me, and everyone who probably knows him to be extremelly proud of him right now.
Author's notes and disclaimers: This is a story written in Richard Warren's point of View and deals with George's fight with painkillers during the fourth season. These characters do not belong to me, and I did not hurt them in anyway.
He looks so peaceful, sleeping on the couch, I know usually hes watching me. He's always so concerned about me, it hurts sometimes. I have always thought him very strong, but seeing him struggle through this makes me know hes weak, and he needs help.
He tried to push me away, and apparently everyone else, that's why he got the suspension. I couldn't let him do that though, I couldn't let him isolate himself, he would have just got stronger into this mess. I feel responsible, if only I hadn't had so many conferences, I could of known what was going on. I wasn't even here when he first got in the car accident, and it hurt me to know there was something he was hiding from me. I didn't find out until he was suspended, and he locked himself in his room crying, blaming himself for everything. He had forgotten to take the pills into his room,they were hidden in a mint box and I found them on the counter.They had shocked me, and I knew something was up. He came out to get them, and found me force feeding them down the garbage disposal. He almost went for my throat, and then he fell to his knees crying, saying. "Richard, I have really screwed up."
I took him into my arms, and he let everything spill like the tears that spilled onto sweater. I have never seen him so scared, and it frightened me in a way, because I knew in a way he was still holding something back, not parts of the stories, but his emotions. I didn't know how to get him to talk though, he has always built up a wall around himself, he hates to burden people with his problems. I didn't know anything to say to comfort him, and I felt so small, here he was, he needed me, and I didn't know what to do. I was dumbed and shocked, how could my best friend and lover have gone through this and I didn't even notice. I just kept hugging him, unaware at the time, I had started rocking him in my arms as well, then, I heard him ask in a very small voice if I would help him find a rehab center, -or- a therapist. I don't remember saying anything to him, but just kissing ever so lightly on the top of his head. I think at that time, I was crying to, and he looked up into my brown eyes, his beautiful eyes blood shot, and full of tears, and then, buried his head into my chest, whispering he was sorry.
The first therapy session frightened him, and he almost tried to back out. He had never really trusted therapists. I sat with him in the waiting room, holding his hand tightly for his comfort, and so he wouldn't try to run out. The doctor wouldn't let me come in with him, and I was pacing the waiting room for an hour. When, George came out, he had been crying, and I tried to embrace him, but he withdrew, he muttered something about not going back. I knew I couldn't force him to go back, even if it would help him. I came up with a plan as we were driving back to the apartment, George staring out the window, looking at nothing in particular.
I asked him about it when he came home. He yelled at me, "You want to give me therapy, you don't even know what happened, I shouldn't have told you, You aren't even a psychatrist, and you have never been ..." He stopped there, and headed to his room.
I went to my studio, and sat on the floor crying, wondering how it must hurt him more, that he doesn't trust anyone through this. I knew he needed help with this, but that he needed to feel he was doing it on his own. So, I wrote him a note, apologizing, and telling him I would let him handle it on his own. Then, I slipped it under the door, and went to the computer, and disconnected the modem, so, he couldn't try and get another refill on his pills. Next, I hid all the medications from him that would help his addiction, -or- work as substitutes until he could get more. I hid all this stuff in my closet, except for my diabetic medicine, and locked the door.
It was a long two weeks after that, he almost tore the apartment more than once looking for his modem, and the medicines. Every minute of the ordeal was heart wrenching to me, but I knew it had to help him. He kept yelling at me, and picking little fights, hoping I would get mad at him, and just give in, and give him the stuff.
One day, I came home from work, and he was just staring out the window. It was raining very lightly, and his eyes were following the pathways the raindrops were creating. He turned to me with a small smile. "Do you realize its been two days since I've had anything stronger than coffee, and I haven't desired anything else, but that."
I pull him, into a hug, whispering that its great, knowing he had found some inner strength and he had pulled himself from the pits of hell, well, at least partial. I can't even take credit for that, I wouldn't, he found some inner strength and some inner peace, and he wouldn't have been able to do it, if he hadn't wanted to.
He looks so peaceful on the couch, and its nice to see him sleeping there, not because of any medicines making him tired, but because he had been at his first day back to work, in a long time. The board has declared him of perfect health to resume his duties, and I know he is much wiser now.
I say a prayer of thanks to God, thanking him for keeping Geo safe, and helping him battle the monsters, and for allowing me, and everyone who probably knows him to be extremelly proud of him right now.