Hello!

Once again thank you all for the support and reviews and whatnot! Not much to really say tonight, other than Valentines has been lovely with my significant other. We had pizza and watched Sing! which I really liked! Might muster the energy to write a one-shot about it tomorrow! This chapter is a bit happier than the last, I'm sorry the Hiccstrid is slow burning but they can't just be all magnetic, yano? ;)

Trigger warnings: mentions of suicide, self-harm, depression as usual, drug abuse and difficulty family matters.

Week Four

I'm still ill but at least some good things happened this week. I got to go out for a walk and I agreed to speak with my dad. I had a meeting with a psychiatrist who decided to reduce the dose of my medication as the side effects were apparently some of the most severe he had seen. I'm still suffering from a pounding head and low moods, but it isn't quite as debilitating as before.

David said that in the previous week, I had slammed doors, punched walls, refused to eat, sworn at staff repeatedly, tried to run away twice, slashed my wrist with some broken glass, and spent an entire day bedbound. I block out a lot of stuff so the full extent was lost on me. I'm not sure whether he was trying to just make me feel bad though and exaggerated.

Even if that is what happened, I'm not as damaged as some of the other kids here. Everyone else has had it worse than me. They've had proper suicide attempts and been sectioned in psychiatric units, and I've not had that. My dad would always say that as a threat, that they'll section me, and I will be locked up. He said that psychiatric units were bad places for crazy people and that I would be one of them if I didn't get my act together, so I would be good for a few days. I just wanted to have fun though and getting high was fun.

None of my friends have called me, which hurts. We were supposed to be a team that would stick together. They're all tough guys and I was excited when they let me be one of them. They would buy me drink and drugs and we would hang out together late at night. It felt good to know that all the people that bullied me were probably stuck at home with their boring lives and their boring crap on the TV, and I was high as a kite with people who care about me. I still hope they care. I'm looking forward to hitting the town with them again, tasting that special brew again. We aren't allowed to drink here, or anything. Not even a smoke. Those drugs were my crutch; I know that it wasn't healthy, but it was my way of dealing with things and these people don't respect that.

I went for a walk with one of the support staff on Tuesday evening. It was recommended by David that getting me out of the house for a bit could help improve my health. It was standard practice to go for walks and outings, but due to my unpredictable behaviour, they had wanted me to get used to the house and the routine first. The house is actually very nice, with a big garden and lots of space to roam, but it was still suffocating. As soon as I was able to take that first step out of the gate, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders.

We walked for about an hour, although I could have gone out longer. The staff member, Julie, said it was the first time she had seen me smile since she had met me and awkwardly gushed for a bit. I was happier though. Being around nature, feeling the wind in my hair, watching couples have picnics and dog walkers trail through the park. Julie and I chatted for a bit as we walked. She had three dogs and would regularly frequent the area with them. I told her that I didn't have any pets and wasn't allowed any. She replied that she thought having a pet would be a good thing and it is something that could be discussed when I get discharged. She said when and not if, the wording I appreciated.

When we got in, I got to work, sketching a family of dogs on a hilltop. The dogs were all different; one with shiny black fur, one with scraggly grey fur, and another pristine looking blond poodle. I wanted them to be harmonious despite their differences in appearance. We aren't all so different after all.

I thought about the things that David and I had discussed in depth one day, about my childhood. He asked if it had been happy. I said that it had been kind of happy, but also kind of crazy too. I was a bit of an awkward child; I just liked my own space and doing things my own way, and I would daydream chronically. My parents and I would paint this picture of this loving, happy family. There's a photo of me aged 7 with both of my parents on the beach, and we're all smiling and holding ice creams. It would only be a year later when my mother left dad after a particularly violent argument. I didn't think it really affected me at the time. There was all the reassurance that I would still see them equally and that they both loved me very much. I lived with mother first, but she had no job and struggled with her health, so it was tough. She would let me go days wearing the same clothes and eating the same three items of food, and my bedroom was a futon on the kitchen floor because there was only one bedroom in the flat we lived in. The flat was rat infested and mother did no cleaning. It wasn't long before social services got wind and I ended up back at dads.

Then she left. She met some new guy online that was going to "change her life" and flew away to meet him. She would call me a lot, but over time, she stopped calling, and I stopped thinking about her. She has a new family now and a daughter that she loves very much. Who am I to stop that? The more I think about, the less angry I feel. She wasn't abusive, which is what my dad said about her. She just needed to be away from it. Dad didn't understand.

David encouraged me to call my dad, so I did. The conversation was quite laboured and silent, but he asked how I was doing. He talked about how well work was going and how Gobber, a family friend, was quite concerned for me. So concerned he hasn't bothered coming to see me. Dad told me that I needed to work hard and make the most of my time away. He made it sound like I was in some fun holiday camp, not an EBD facility or whatever was the official term. Even so, I'm glad I spoke to him. David was quite supportive of the endeavour at least.

I hung out with Astrid last night, perched on her bed watching a movie. Technically speaking, the girls and boys aren't supposed to be in each other's rooms, but nobody really bats an eyelid to that rule on the precedent that there are bigger issues at hand. I didn't find the romcom we were watching all that entertaining, but she was giggling away softly and at one point grabbed my arm during a particularly emotional scene. Her skin is so soft. No amount of physical exercise has worn her down physically.

Her eyes are sparkling blue like the sea. They have me enchanted. She probably thought I was having some kind of an aneurysm with the way I was looking at her. I remind myself that she's just someone to talk to. She isn't my friend, and we certainly aren't romantic. I'm not here to make any friends, although maybe making some new friends would do me good.

Where are my friends? They just don't bother coming to see me? Maybe I wasn't good enough for them. Maybe I'm not the person to get high with; after all, at least they can hold it together. I end up doing so much crazy stuff and I end up worrying that I'm not real. Maybe Astrid will come out with me when we get out, and she'll get high and crazy too. We could climb that skyscraper, something I tried doing before. The thrill of it would be amazing, and she looks like a thrill seeker. She certainly likes having fun, but I want more fun than just a silly romcom.

I want to have fun, get high and get out of here.