Strange Days, Salad Days
'She learns to ignore it eventually and when that becomes impossible, well, crazy was kind of a prerequisite.' The silver lining and the bleak prelude to insanity.
Disclaimer- I do not own FFVII
Notes- since everyone in FFVII would have to suffer some sort of PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) and PTSD is not exactly in the habit of conscribing itself to specific types of instability, this is written for a more laid back view of Tifa's breakdown. Not everyone mopes like Cloud, repents like Vincent, steals like Yuffie; some people live pretty normal lives, compensating for what they've suffered and it can take a series of rather unfortunate events- realisations to send someone off the deep end.
PTSD is not always an excuse to angst uncontrollably
And since Tifa doesn't exactly strike me as an Angst Muffin I'm pretty sure I'm incapable of writing her like one.
So, for this, she's mostly confused and in denial.
...
She sits down with a cup of tea and a yearning for company. She sips the tea, talks to the air and whispers words in synergy, energy.
She talks of blood and wings and swords and war and fighting and the utter hopelessness of what she sees around her. She talks of dying and living and the green painted on the inside of everyone's soul.
She talks of pink dresses, brown curls and green eyes, blond hair, black leather and glowing blue.
She talks of people and places, the world on which she walks.
She sips tea and talks of a world she dreams of.
Lives in
Then she sleeps and dreams of a place far away.
Or close
Maybe
Or perhaps this is the prelude to insanity.
.-.
It was a strange realisation.
Hair is piecing together the sky on the floor. You're sitting on it. You're sitting on the sky.
And it was very strange.
You maybe, probably sat there for hours and watched the flowers.
And it was strange.
Things had...stopped hurting.
It felt like time had stopped.
People had stopped.
The grip the world had on you, the leash Gaia herself it seemed had tied on you was loosened the tiniest bit.
Things had...stopped...
You looked at the time. You looked at the ground. You looked up.
Stars shine
Yea, maybe, probably. Do stars shine?
It's illogical for you to think of this now, when it all just feels so...over. But why? Do stars shine?
What do stars have to do with you?
.-.
The next time your eyes open, you're walking down the street.
You have a bag in one hand and the world in the other.
At least it feels like that.
You stop and look down.
.Time
It feels...
.Time
Like losing control
.Time
.Time
Are you?
.Time
.Time
.Time
Losing control that is.
.Ti-
What does it matter, he's coming home today.
[You don't think he is]
And you should be there to welcome him.
[He doesn't care if you're not]
Of course he does
[Let's see then]
No
[Why not]
No
[Because it's true]
No
[He doesn't need you]
The image comes together again and you feel tears shutter behind your eyes.
Them together, he's holding her-him-them-it-notyou close and he's looking like he could lo-
"No, please not-anything but-"
That
And the world returns, you're standing alone with the world slipping through ashen fingers.
A cry falls past your lips.
.-.
You spend more time out of your mind.
Or you spend more time sane; it really is hard to tell.
Either way you should probably stop this.
Stop letting it occur to you that...
Maybe they don't need you all the time.
Then you squash it.
You can't afford this
You can't afford to listen to these voices
Especially not the ones that tell you stupid things.
.-.
It finally happens one day.
You snap.
Sorta
See, it goes kind of like this-
There is a boy
There is a girl
For that boy his mind and the demons that seem to have put a 'No Vacancy' sign up are the singular focus point of whatever planet he decides to live on.
The girl's is him.
Eventually she wakes up to the truth in a most shocking way.
He tells her he's moving out.
This is when she snapped.
The girl –that girl, the one from before, you remember right? No? Oh...- does not scream. She does not yell. She sits down and drinks some tea, reads the paper, maybe starts a crossword.
But she doesn't yell. Or scream.
She sits down and accepts it, tries to at least, because she doesn't want to know.
But inside. Inside she's breaking apart, lights are flashing, buttons are beeping and she's so, so mad she can't help but fall over the edge into this deep pink and blue sadness. And she drinks her tea, with salt and tears and maybe just a touch of bile.
Because if you know you have to accept and if you accept...you lose.
And you see, that denial right there is what makes everything around you fall apart.
.-.
Time goes tick tock by your head.
Tick, Tock
Tick, Tock, like a clock.
Perhaps this is karmic. Maybe this was all meant to happen.
Yeah, right, and the world really is a happy place full of giant neon green hippos.
She was sarcastic
And that makes you sad
You do your best to be happy and upbeat for everyone because she can't do it.
And that definitely makes you sad.
Somewhere in the background something goes tip tap against the window panes of you mind
There is something here that you need to know
Tip Tap
Something here...
Tifa...
Something...
Don't worry, its fine...
Yes...
We'll take care if it...
No...
Just come a little closer...
Maybe...
Hold the light in...
"Don't leash the darkness, let it-"
Let it consume you...
Ah, those voices
Join us little sister...
Yes, you understand better...
The root of it all is Insanity.
.-.
And it ends
Oh sweet Gaia it ends
No bang, no warning just the realisation that your tea is cold and perhaps it is time to let it go
Here, on the moon in your mind
Insanity becomes you
Like dresses or gloves you can inside slip of
You become Insanity
Like slipping masks off
You stop being a stabilizer and finally join the fray
Everyone you know is finally at the crazy tea party
Oh Gaia
This will be the end of you
.-.
And she wakes up alone, again, with nothing but the dream of freedom and Insanity churning in her mind.
She holds the blankets to her chest, the pillow in her mouth and tries to breathe. Breathe in the feathers from the wings, the flowers from the graves, the blood from the streets. She paints a picture in scent and tries her hardest to know-
Which is the dream?
Which is the Insanity?
It spins anxiety in her chest and she clutches things harder.
And the question is hard, so hard.
She doesn't want to know
So she goes back to sleep
--