When my mental health takes a wobble I find myself falling into my writing. This is six months after Dear Diary in the Bound for Hell universe, which I recommend reading first. Adult themes including: self-harm, suicide, and substance abuse. /…/ is the internal monologue and demons that haunt him.

"Mister Maxwell."

"Hmm?"

"You were staring off into space again. What were you thinking about?"

I looked down into the cup of murky lukewarm coffee in my hands. I hadn't realised that I was gripping it so tightly that my knuckles were beginning to turn white. "I don't know," is the automatic response of defending my inner demons. I had it rehearsed and perfected. Just another mechanical way of saying 'I am fine' or 'It doesn't matter'.

"These sessions are supposed to be helpful. I can't help you if you don't open up to me Duo." For a psychiatrist, Dr Willow was far kinder and more patient than I would have thought a psychiatrist could be. I only knew just the clichés and horror movies depicting the terror of psychiatrists and being institutionalised /that's where you belong/, and the fact that I even had a psych of my own was still something I struggled to accept even though I had been seeing her for a year now. I had expected that by the end of the war, I would have been dead. I had deserved it for all of the evil I had done. All the people /and children/ that I had killed. And I would have been dead if it hadn't been for that Japanese boy stopping me from finally ending my suffering so very long ago on that cliff edge. My mind sees it all in sepia now.

"I just… I don't know." And that was the truth. I often found myself staring into space. It was all so overwhelming. Life was a struggle after the war. Living after the weapons were destroyed was something that they didn't teach you how to do. Pacifism itself was a mortal wound to the soldiers unable to find solace in peace. It is true that working with Hilde for that year, taking the mobile suits and dolls apart in her scrap yard, definitely gave me some kind of closure, but obviously not enough to make these appointments redundant.

"Let's finish for the day then. I know it is earlier than usual but coming here should not be stressful for you, and sometimes a shorter session is better," she sighed. Do you need any more of your medication?" I shook my head, feeling my heavy braid move against my back. "I will see you at the same time next week then." Every single time I came to these sessions I found myself thinking the same thoughts. /I am wasting her time/ or /others could be helped by her instead of me/ or /She cannot help me/. I was only really here because of a promise to Hilde, that I would continue to see Dr Willow once I moved away from her. Of course, I had had gentle persuasion from those I cared about too.

Outside the colony air was stale. The environmental system creating a slight breeze which caused the synthetic tree leaves to rustle gently. I could never get accustomed to the unpredictability of the weather on Earth. The colonies had always been my home. I rubbed the bandages on my upper arm that were hidden beneath the black shirt I wore. As much as I try these psych sessions, and take the tablets, I always find myself using my own self-prescribed medication. I have just learned to accept it as a part of me. And Heero loves me regardless I like to think.

It is still a struggle to have him back in my life now after he abandoned me for a painful year. I am /still/ bitter about it. But when I woke up in the hotel room after that Christmas party, and we were still tangled in each other's arms I hoped that he would stay this time, that our lives would return to how it was in the brief interim between the war and the Mariemaia uprising. It has been six months since then, and every morning since I have woken with the Japanese man who was no longer just a boy, curled up next to me.

I found myself allowing a small smile as my gaze fell on him as he stood leaning against the car, his arms crossed, and his eyes like mine were lost in memories that we rarely shared. He looked much better than he did in December when he returned to me. He had put on some weight, even had rebuilt some of his muscle but he still had a gaunt restlessness in his face. I had asked him once if he would like to see my doctor, or at least someone similar. But he was stubborn, taking only the mission of protecting me as his 'therapy'. /Protecting you from yourself you mean/. And considering everything he had been through with Dr J and Dekim, any medication was unlikely to have any effect on him. My mission in return was to protect him from the demons that haunted his dreams. So now every session I had with Dr Willow, Heero would wait for me here. I will admit though, sometimes his constant hover can be suffocating rather than comforting. He accepted that I rarely commented on anything that went on in there. And he always made sure to research each medication they prescribed, looking to help with any unwanted side effects they gave but not questioning as to why I was taking them.

"Hey Ro," I said, his nickname falling from my lips. It felt good to be able to say that again. He turned to me, allowing myself to slither into his embrace where I left a gentle kiss on his own. "What were you thinking about?" He shrugged and his grip around my waist tightened. Something he did when he was nervous. A common occurrence whenever we were apart. I let him cling to me, reassuring him that I was there while ignoring the looks that people passing on the street gave us. After a while, I squeezed him gently, a silent message to let go. As I pulled back he returned the squeeze on a captured hand.

"Home?" He whispered.

"Home."

Umm. As a thank you to every single one of you that has been with me on my fan fiction mental health journey, I have a present for you in chapter 2, which I am writing right now.