Sara :33
- Locked due to inactivity on Aug 4, '16 4:30pm
Thread Topic: Sara :33
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The air of innocence should of been enough for Austin to loosen up, remember where he was, what was going on. The voice coming from the other male should have been capable of keeping him in reality. The more he wandered off and into the ideas of 'The Experiements', the more irrational he became. Any regular person would have disregarded the film as silly and unrealistic. Due to what he suffered from, the film stuck with him like something glued to his brain. The unreal became a little more lifelike with each time it crossed at him. He swallowed heavily, sending a heavy glare in the direction of the female therapist. "I wouldn't doubt her being one of the b----es who cut into our heads for some cash in her pocket from the big guy. In fact," he turned his head so he could make eye contact. "You do, don't you?" He had failed in keeping cool, making her believe he was okay. And so here he was, spewing venom in the most schizoaffective way possible.
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This scared the teenager a lot. Vincent whimpered, grabbing his legs a lot. "Please, don't scare Vincent." The therapist said, coolly. "I'm here to help both of you, and it would be great if you would try to keep calm as not to scare the sensitive one." Vincent was worried now. His shaking had became more rapid and violent. He began to slip into a panic attack, his heart beating quickly in his chest. Vincent regretted not taking his medication. Every waking moment for him was torture. But he wouldn't allow himself to take those meds. He couldn't trust the society that called him a freak because he was the only one who questioned everything. Vincent was viewed as paranoid, and sensitive. He was afraid of everything, merely because he was intelligent enough to see the danger in everything. You shouldn't trust a stranger who says they want to "help you." Now, aggressive outspurts from Vincent were rare. But they happened. They happened when the scary people in the "Hospital" tried to take him away. Tried to put him in a "Mental hospital." When that happened, he had become hysterical and angry. Kicking, screaming, fighting. And then he was put into an isolated padded cell. Where he spent every moment running against the walls and screeching for a week.
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Something about the way the other responded caused for him to realize his mind's wrong doing. His body fell victim to regret. He stared blankly at the woman before taking a seat on the floor in from of Vincent's chair. He peered up at him, "Hey...Hey, Vincent? I didn't mean any of what I just said, okay? Don't take anything I say for truth if it sounds like what I said. I'm sorry. Don't be upset, please." He would have repeated what he had said a moment before, but he couldn't exactly recall. It was what could be considered a black-out event, where he performed an action but could not understand what he had done. These times captured him unexpected whenever they chose. It was never his fault, sometimes they grabbed ahold of them and he would be left a mess for anywhere from seconds to hours to days. It usually took another person to snap him out of his episodes. He had owned a psychiatric therapy dog for about two years until he turned to drugs for comfort. They had always aided him in even the worst situations. Now, in the facility, he was unable to get his hands on the good stuff -- marijuana, LSD, and a handful of others.
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The therapist smirked a little. Vincent was pretty much oblivious to reality, hyperventilating a bit. He blinked a few times, hearing Austin's talking but not processing the words. He hugged his own body, feeling quite lonely again. "I'm sorry." He murmured. Vincent was ashamed he was so sensitive. He caused such scenes. He was victim to such fear and had no idea why. "I'm confused, miss." His blue eyes were pleading as he looked to the therapist. He tilted his head. "W-why am I like this?" Tears welled in his eyes, his mind filling with despair and self hatred. Years of anxiety had taken a toll on him. He found himself distant from reality, unable to connect with others. He often isolated himself in his own dark room in complete silence. Vincent even thought he was going insane a few times. Somehow he had managed to continue living without killing himself, suffering from depression, anxiety, many phobias, and insomnia over the years.
dude that would such tho -
i would have killed myself
He clenched his jaw in remorse for what the emotions that he had caused. Strangely enough, this only caused his more anger, but this time around, it was at himself. He already was aware that the door to the room was unlocked, they always left it that way in case of emergency for easy access. He had studied the actions of each therapist and knew that he had never seen anybody use the key to secure the door. He used his hands to push himself up from the ground and apologized once more. It was then that his feet guided him to the glass, stainless door that led into the hallway. He burst through it and shut the door behind him. The first thing he did was throw his fist again the dry wall on the other side, letting out a grunt of pain once he made contact. The way the force had smash into his hand caused for it to instantly throb. This didn't quite stop him. He turned his whole body, staring at the shrink and other other male with his menacing, clouded eyes. -
same man
Vincent didn't even have the guts to react. He stared at Austin for a moment, but looked to the ground a little. He froze. 'I can't trust him.' He thought to himself, 'He's dangerous.' But an odd part of Vincent wanted to trust Austin, wanted to please him. He wanted to be accepted by him. No matter how scary Austin was, his natural effort to please him immediately kicked in. "A-are you okay?" He asked, loudly. Normally, he would be nervous and afraid. But as usual, his mind had shocked him. Vincent's own mind was full of surprises, and he didn't even seem to control it. It was like he was trapped inside of his own mind. -
boop
Austin, hearing once again the voice that was very much like a sweet symphony, pulled in a deep breath. "No," he called back, staring at his sore hand. He sighed gently, leaning against the wall in annoyance with himself. He wondered if he could have a mug of tea or hot chocolate. That was usually very good at helping him when he was feeling down and out. He rubbed his hand, feeling entirely idiotic for freaking out like he couldn't control himself. It was embarrassing, really, that he was so able to succumb to his head. It was upsetting and made him think he was worthless. What worth could someone like him find, he had alwys held that certain thought. He swallowed heavily, slowly making his way into the room and sitting back in his seat. He apologized to both the woman and Vincent. "I'm sorry, sometimes I can't control myself." -
"T-that's okay." Vincent agreed, "I can't control my fear of e-everything." He blushed, looking down. The therapist grinned, "You both will recover with time, I can assure you." She said, warmly. She turned her chair around, typing a few notes about each patient onto a word document on the computer. She saved it before turning back around. Vincent, seeing this, became curious as to what she was doing. "What were you doing?" He quietly asked. He licked his lips, giving a small head tilt as he stared at her intently. The therapist grinned at the childish patient, looking to the more aggressive patient. "I was taking a few notes about each of you so we can help you recover quicker, make sense?"
"K-kinda." Vincent stated, frowning a little. -
You don't recover from mental illness. You can suppress it, but you don't ever recover. "Why did you because a therapist or whatever?" he asked suddebly, genuinely interested in the woman's reasons. He had always wondered about the process of choosing an occupation. The young man placed his hands on his knees, turning the injured one so that the healthy side could be visible. The hand had already begun to bruise and was throbbing harder than previously. He silently cursed at himself for perfoming such an idiotic action. But then he forgave himself, for the fact of the matter was that he was entirely unable to control what he did and when he did it. It was always a drag for himself to talk himself into believing what caused him to do everything. It always managed to give him a headache as he didn't particularly enjoy thinking about that. Sometimes he had to in order to remind himself. Austin glanced at the boy for a moment, smiling a small bit that he wasn't as shaky as before. He turned back to the therapist.
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The therapist took her hair down, giving a small sigh. "I was originally going into the field of criminal psychology." She admitted, pursing her lips. "But after a small internship I realized how terrifying those people truly were, so I decided to help kids, such as yourselves instead." She kept her eyes on Austin, continuing, "Their is hope for you guys. You can beat what your fighting. It's terrible that you have what you have, but it doesn't define you." The girl stated. These words calmed Vincent down a little. Now that he knew more about this girl, he could relax a bit more. He looked to Austin for a moment, silently questioning why he asked such a random question. "W-what did you see that made you leave your original field?" He questioned. The therapist gave a small sigh, looking over to Vincent. "It's something that you should never have to see, Vincent." She assured, trying not to scare the young man.
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Her reasons were 'reason'able, in his opinion. He nodded slightly and leaned back in his chair, observing her with soft eyes. Criminals were always something that intrigued Austin. Why did they do what they did? What drove them so far that they let the car go off of the edge of being legal? He furrowed his eyebrows, his escapade of getting high and spiraling out of control coming to mind. Another sigh escaped his lips and he couldn't help but put himself into the definition of a criminal. He was so lucky that he never was charged with anything, he should have been in jail. Maybe it was only his condition that saved him, and this only dragged him down further. He felt more like s--- than anything else because of how he was allowing his thoughts to go.
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"Now, how about a few questions?" The therapist asked. Vincent merely nodded, in which she grinned in response.
"What was your childhood like?" She questioned, which automatically made Vincent start shaking. She turned around and wrote a note about it on the computer screen.
"I-I was adopted, to start." The shaky boy admitted. "B-but my adopted parents divorced, so they put me into foster care. They thought I was the reason for their conflict." Vincent's eyes dimmed, thinking about the love they had given him before that. "I was given to many different people..treated d-differently every time." His eyes watered, looking to see she was typing this all. "I was sexually abused, abused, neglected, beaten, starved. S-some people weren't so bad. But they couldn't trust a child with issues. Eventually I ran away.."
"And you were taken into police custody for breaking and entering into a car." The therapist finished, and Vincent nodded. -
Austin listened in closely, his head spinning from all of the information being shot at the same time. He clasped his hands together, quietly waiting for his turn to speak. He didn't actually want to talkm but he knew he would have to eventually. Therapists always wanted you to talk, so it was best to please them rather than give them a difficult time. The peek into Vincent's past gave him a few chills, which he hardly ever had. This only happened when he felt some kind of emotion for another, and here he was, shivering for another patient that he hardly knew. His eyes stole another glimpse and he bit the inside of his cheek. The fact that someone like Vincent was able to break and enter and a car was surprising, in his opinion. Grand theft was usually something that older criminals attempted. He pondered the idea that Vincent may also think of himself as a criminal. Austin suspected that that was the only crime he had committed, which wasn't entirely too bad if the vehicle was not damaged in any way. He nibbled his lip, clenching his jaw like he usually did.
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Vincent rolled his neck, sighing. Chills went down his back, causing him to shiver violently a few times. "That's tragic." The therapist managed, before looking to Austin expectantly. Meanwhile, Vincent wondered why no one loved him in his life. Was he really that terrible? The boy sniffled at the thought. What was wrong with him? Was he that different from everyone else? He just wanted to be loved and cared for, and for once have a happy life with someone. He was tired of therapy, tired of foster care, and tired of life. He was tired of his trust issues, tired of cooping himself up in his house, shaking and worrying about what the next day would be like. Vincent was tired of being teased for shaking and stuttering so much. Vincent was done with his life, truly. He found himself in that dark, scary, depressed filled place again as he stared at the floor.
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Austin had to hold himself together as he could practically feel the upset of the other rolling off in heavy loads. He peered at the floor for a moment before beginning, "Life was pretty normal, average home, good older brother, nice mom. My dad was never in the picture but I never really cared about him." That was a lie. He was always a little jealous of the fact that all of his friend had a dad that taught them how to play ball, shave, drive. He didn't, his mom was both of his parents. The problem in that was that he had a father shaped hole in his heart that he always wanted filled. He shook his head. "I was a normal kid. But there came the day that I had my first episode. I put some kid in the hospital and that's really scary, you know?" He could completely remember how he had hooked the guy on the jaw and slammed him to the floor. He could see himself hitting him repeatedly and he was so thankful that he had only be suspensed rather than taken to jail. "It was bad, after that. My mom didn't even want to look at me. But then, ohhhh, then, I got into the goods. It's probably somewhere in the notes from the other people I've seen here." The drugs. They were his best memories. They made everything go away for a bit and that's what had always kept him grounded for certain periods of time. He could practically feel the way he had felt when he smoked or snorted or injected. It was terrible, he knew, but it had felt so good. "I'm so lucky I didn't get charged."
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