Noah Jett Fitzaptrick (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
maybethatsalie) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
muserevival2014-06-27 07:17 pm
maybethatsalie) wrote in muserevival2014-06-27 07:17 pm
Entry tags:
069.1. Muse Prompt
"How could this happen to me
I made my mistakes, I've got no where to run
The night goes on, As I'm fading away
I'm sick of this life, I just wanna scream
How could this happen to me"
• How Could This Happen To Me, Simple Plan
If there was one extremely tough thing about fighting an ongoing battle, it were those moments where it hit you like a ton of bricks that the fight was a long shot off being won. If only being a recovering addict was as easy as a bit of rehab and then going on your merry way. In harsh reality, it was so much harder than that. Your focus was staying clean, so when things happened to throw you off course, it had this way of making you feel like the whole world had been roughly pulled out from under you and you were falling all over again. Falling is exactly what he had done. He had fallen so hard off the wagon that, like many a recovering addict, he was teetering on the precipice of not only wondering what the point was to keep trying to stay clean if you were always going to fail, but also sheer terror of detoxing again.
Noah was supposed to have gone over to Dillon’s place to talk about why he broke up with him, but he couldn’t find the balls to face him. He couldn’t find the balls for much at all right now, but there was something about the hazy feeling of a light high from a joint that help unknot that twisted coil in his stomach that had been there more often than not lately. He glanced over at Euan, who was sitting beside him out on the back deck holding the joint they were sharing out to him again. Noah still wasn’t quite sure how he went from confessing he had had fallen off the wagon and been using again to sitting out on the back porch sharing a joint.
All he knew was that after his confession to Euan, and in the wake of destroying the drugs he had in his possession, he had run again. He had run out with intent of not coming back… again. He just kept running, too, until he had run as far as the Brooklyn Bridge, and there he was faced with another of those shattering moments where he came close to ending it. How easy it would be to just jump. He had failed, he hated himself, he let everyone down who had been counting on him, he was an addict who always fucked everything up… the usually diatribe that ran over and over in one’s head when you had hit rock bottom many a time.
He didn’t jump, though. Instead, he just broke down and bawled his heart out standing there on the bridge. He sunk to the floor and curled in on himself and sobbed for god only knew how fucking long. He wished he was someone else, wished he could have a different life, and even wished he was never born. The depression and self-loathing that came with coming down off hard drugs, it was impossible to see the forest through the trees. Ultimately, he didn’t have to. Because yet again, someone had his back and someone cared no matter whether he was succeeding or failing. Someone who had walked in his shoes and knew how it felt...
Julie soon approached him on the bridge and intercepted his bawl-fest. She had crouched down in front of him and gently told him she was taking him home where there was tea and plenty of Kleenex, because wiping your nose on your sleeve was never a good look. All he got out was a wet, broken sobbed query of how she knew where he was, and when she revealed that Euan had put a GPS tracker on his phone, he just gave a slight teary laugh of disbelief and was apologising to her - to them both - when she put her arms around him and gave him a much needed hug, and then took him home. He had a home, and he had people who really did love him enough to keep fighting for him.
It was sobering, and it was grounding for Noah. It wasn’t hard drugs, it was a bit of weed. Though, he had skeptically protested the offer when Euan was telling him to come out the back with him to talk, and then pulled out a joint. They were going to talk about his drug addictions… over a joint. Only Euan would have that tactical reasoning, and whilst Noah was quiet at first, sitting there on the outdoor lounge by Euan as he lit up, it hit him hard what was going on here. Euan was using pot to help counteract the chemotherapy side effects. A drug addict himself, but when you lived something as harrowing as a cancer diagnosis and the agony of chemo, maybe you just did what you had to do to get by.
Around his neck, Euan had a small medical cannister that was feeding into an IV line inserted into a central line just below his throat beneath his shirt. Of course, Noah had no idea of all the specifics here, but he knew it was a very slow release of constant chemo administration so he didn’t have to be in hospital for the entire round. Even though they were sitting in silence and had been for an indeterminable amount of time by this point, Noah knew why Euan was doing this instead of chastising him about using and running away, getting angry, telling him he was stupid, setting ultimatums on him that he wouldn’t help him this way or that unless he stayed clean. Because he had not only been in Noah’s shoes, but he knew how easily it was for hardships to push you off the wagon no matter how much resolve and desire you had to stay on it.
Euan had made Noah destroy the stash of heroin he had. Emptied out of the plastic bags and flushed it away, because Euan wouldn’t do it. He put the onus back on Noah and even though it was seriously hard to flush because part of him didn’t want to get rid of it and lose that safety blanket that it had once again created for him… he did. Because he knew he had to. The needles were discarded in Euan’s own sharps container he had for Ciaran’s injections, and now they were sitting out the back on this balmy night.
He took the joint for a quick puff and gave it back to Euan. There was so much going through his mind right now. He had thought he had been doing well, he was well and truly beyond detoxing and withdrawing, he was thinking about doing his GED, he even had a boyfriend and they had been helping each other. Then one small thing, one bad group therapy session, and he had crashed and screwed up. He had been in turmoil since Euan's cancer diagnosis and he had bottled up his feelings over it. He had stopped the one-on-one therapy session when Euan got sick so I could be there more to help, but in hindsight, that was probably a bad move. There was no one to blame but himself, and shouldering that alone felt like it became too hard, and his thoughts began to spiral right back into a bad place. Maybe some would call it self-destruction, but it was more just forgetting how to be okay. When he wasn’t okay, he was at his most vulnerable of self-destructing again.
This time, though, he had managed to pluck up the balls to go to Euan and tell him he had failed. In the past, he had just bottled it all up and nearly ended up dead more than once. He had this constant niggle inside that he didn’t want to weigh more burden on Euan than he was already facing, but at the same time, he hadn’t forgotten all the promises Euan made to him… and never once asked him to promise him anything in return. Finally breaking the silence, Noah turned to look at Euan. “Thanks for caring,” he finally murmured.
He received a faint smile in return and Euan gave him a soft, reassuring pat on the back. “Thanks for lettin’ me, kid.”
Noah Cameron :: Original Character
- In the wake of THIS
I made my mistakes, I've got no where to run
The night goes on, As I'm fading away
I'm sick of this life, I just wanna scream
How could this happen to me"
• How Could This Happen To Me, Simple Plan
If there was one extremely tough thing about fighting an ongoing battle, it were those moments where it hit you like a ton of bricks that the fight was a long shot off being won. If only being a recovering addict was as easy as a bit of rehab and then going on your merry way. In harsh reality, it was so much harder than that. Your focus was staying clean, so when things happened to throw you off course, it had this way of making you feel like the whole world had been roughly pulled out from under you and you were falling all over again. Falling is exactly what he had done. He had fallen so hard off the wagon that, like many a recovering addict, he was teetering on the precipice of not only wondering what the point was to keep trying to stay clean if you were always going to fail, but also sheer terror of detoxing again.
Noah was supposed to have gone over to Dillon’s place to talk about why he broke up with him, but he couldn’t find the balls to face him. He couldn’t find the balls for much at all right now, but there was something about the hazy feeling of a light high from a joint that help unknot that twisted coil in his stomach that had been there more often than not lately. He glanced over at Euan, who was sitting beside him out on the back deck holding the joint they were sharing out to him again. Noah still wasn’t quite sure how he went from confessing he had had fallen off the wagon and been using again to sitting out on the back porch sharing a joint.
All he knew was that after his confession to Euan, and in the wake of destroying the drugs he had in his possession, he had run again. He had run out with intent of not coming back… again. He just kept running, too, until he had run as far as the Brooklyn Bridge, and there he was faced with another of those shattering moments where he came close to ending it. How easy it would be to just jump. He had failed, he hated himself, he let everyone down who had been counting on him, he was an addict who always fucked everything up… the usually diatribe that ran over and over in one’s head when you had hit rock bottom many a time.
He didn’t jump, though. Instead, he just broke down and bawled his heart out standing there on the bridge. He sunk to the floor and curled in on himself and sobbed for god only knew how fucking long. He wished he was someone else, wished he could have a different life, and even wished he was never born. The depression and self-loathing that came with coming down off hard drugs, it was impossible to see the forest through the trees. Ultimately, he didn’t have to. Because yet again, someone had his back and someone cared no matter whether he was succeeding or failing. Someone who had walked in his shoes and knew how it felt...
Julie soon approached him on the bridge and intercepted his bawl-fest. She had crouched down in front of him and gently told him she was taking him home where there was tea and plenty of Kleenex, because wiping your nose on your sleeve was never a good look. All he got out was a wet, broken sobbed query of how she knew where he was, and when she revealed that Euan had put a GPS tracker on his phone, he just gave a slight teary laugh of disbelief and was apologising to her - to them both - when she put her arms around him and gave him a much needed hug, and then took him home. He had a home, and he had people who really did love him enough to keep fighting for him.
It was sobering, and it was grounding for Noah. It wasn’t hard drugs, it was a bit of weed. Though, he had skeptically protested the offer when Euan was telling him to come out the back with him to talk, and then pulled out a joint. They were going to talk about his drug addictions… over a joint. Only Euan would have that tactical reasoning, and whilst Noah was quiet at first, sitting there on the outdoor lounge by Euan as he lit up, it hit him hard what was going on here. Euan was using pot to help counteract the chemotherapy side effects. A drug addict himself, but when you lived something as harrowing as a cancer diagnosis and the agony of chemo, maybe you just did what you had to do to get by.
Around his neck, Euan had a small medical cannister that was feeding into an IV line inserted into a central line just below his throat beneath his shirt. Of course, Noah had no idea of all the specifics here, but he knew it was a very slow release of constant chemo administration so he didn’t have to be in hospital for the entire round. Even though they were sitting in silence and had been for an indeterminable amount of time by this point, Noah knew why Euan was doing this instead of chastising him about using and running away, getting angry, telling him he was stupid, setting ultimatums on him that he wouldn’t help him this way or that unless he stayed clean. Because he had not only been in Noah’s shoes, but he knew how easily it was for hardships to push you off the wagon no matter how much resolve and desire you had to stay on it.
Euan had made Noah destroy the stash of heroin he had. Emptied out of the plastic bags and flushed it away, because Euan wouldn’t do it. He put the onus back on Noah and even though it was seriously hard to flush because part of him didn’t want to get rid of it and lose that safety blanket that it had once again created for him… he did. Because he knew he had to. The needles were discarded in Euan’s own sharps container he had for Ciaran’s injections, and now they were sitting out the back on this balmy night.
He took the joint for a quick puff and gave it back to Euan. There was so much going through his mind right now. He had thought he had been doing well, he was well and truly beyond detoxing and withdrawing, he was thinking about doing his GED, he even had a boyfriend and they had been helping each other. Then one small thing, one bad group therapy session, and he had crashed and screwed up. He had been in turmoil since Euan's cancer diagnosis and he had bottled up his feelings over it. He had stopped the one-on-one therapy session when Euan got sick so I could be there more to help, but in hindsight, that was probably a bad move. There was no one to blame but himself, and shouldering that alone felt like it became too hard, and his thoughts began to spiral right back into a bad place. Maybe some would call it self-destruction, but it was more just forgetting how to be okay. When he wasn’t okay, he was at his most vulnerable of self-destructing again.
This time, though, he had managed to pluck up the balls to go to Euan and tell him he had failed. In the past, he had just bottled it all up and nearly ended up dead more than once. He had this constant niggle inside that he didn’t want to weigh more burden on Euan than he was already facing, but at the same time, he hadn’t forgotten all the promises Euan made to him… and never once asked him to promise him anything in return. Finally breaking the silence, Noah turned to look at Euan. “Thanks for caring,” he finally murmured.
He received a faint smile in return and Euan gave him a soft, reassuring pat on the back. “Thanks for lettin’ me, kid.”
Noah Cameron :: Original Character
- In the wake of THIS