Justin Mark Campbell (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
likefatherlikeson) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
muserevival2016-06-04 03:17 pm
likefatherlikeson) wrote in muserevival2016-06-04 03:17 pm
Entry tags:
121.6. Picture
Picture: Blood
tw: self-harm, blood, mentions of past abuse
On the TV in his hospital, the telethon was replaying and Justin was on the screen singing a cover of Florence + The Machine's Shake It Out. It was what he finished his set with, but he wasn't paying attention to it.
It wasn't a randomly selected song. There was more meaning to it than he could put into words for anyone to understand. His self-harming wasn't publicly known, and neither was the fact he was a child sexual abuse survivor. He had he gone public with a lot of his demons, but he couldn't talk about these. It was bad enough that he was judged for having a mental illness. His blue eyes were locked on the cannula inserted in the back of his hand and his fingers were working to peel back the clear film holding it in place. He looked up at the door, seeing a couple of nurses pass by. With one sharp yank at the sticky opsite, he roughly pulled it off his hand and the cannula was dislodged. Blood started to seep down the back of his hand to his wrist, but he held the needle up, looking at the sharp tip.
From where he had been sitting cross-legged in the middle of the hospital bed, he got up and grabbed his IV pole with multiple fluid bags hanging from it. Barefoot, he padded over to the attached en-suite, blood dripping from his hand and spattered on the floor. After elbowing the door closed behind him, he stopped in front of the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. No wonder everyone was freaking out, he looked dead. Pale, drawn, exhausted. This is what was left when the masks of the successful young Broadway breakout star and charity ambassador were forced to be dropped. He had been so sick lately, but managing to veil it by doing the only thing that made him feel normal.
He pulled the gown up and looked down at his stomach and thighs. Ragged healed over horizontal cuts stared back at him via the reflection in the mirror. He hadn't done these things to himself in such a long time, but this was a relapse he was struggling to fight is way out of. He had kept it hidden for awhile. His sex life with will had come to a grinding halt, with Justin mostly just telling his boyfriend he was too tired to do anything. In reality, this was what he was hiding under his clothing and he didn't want to be naked.
Backing up away from the mirror, he slumped back against the door and slid down to be sitting on the cold tiles. Looking at the needle gripped in his hand, he broke down and started to cry. He was still sobbing when he drew the needle sharply down the palm of his right hand, onto his wrist. It was a large cut and the blood was flowing harder. When someone knocked on the bathroom door and called his name, he didn't notice. He didn't answer. They tried to get the door open, but the way Justin was sitting, he was blocking it from being pushed open.
All he wanted was to switch his mind off so it stopped racing. The pain helped. But it made him want to keep cutting. The more pain, the more his mind was tricked into ceasing its whir of demonic thoughts that he couldn't keep up with. It was impossible for rational thoughts to come through and remind him that he was sick because of a bad infection, caused by the self-harming wounds. That was easy for everyone else to see, but for Justin, it just felt like darkness succeeding in engulfing him again and he just didn't know how to keep going.
Justin Campbell
Original Character
On the TV in his hospital, the telethon was replaying and Justin was on the screen singing a cover of Florence + The Machine's Shake It Out. It was what he finished his set with, but he wasn't paying attention to it.
It wasn't a randomly selected song. There was more meaning to it than he could put into words for anyone to understand. His self-harming wasn't publicly known, and neither was the fact he was a child sexual abuse survivor. He had he gone public with a lot of his demons, but he couldn't talk about these. It was bad enough that he was judged for having a mental illness. His blue eyes were locked on the cannula inserted in the back of his hand and his fingers were working to peel back the clear film holding it in place. He looked up at the door, seeing a couple of nurses pass by. With one sharp yank at the sticky opsite, he roughly pulled it off his hand and the cannula was dislodged. Blood started to seep down the back of his hand to his wrist, but he held the needle up, looking at the sharp tip.
From where he had been sitting cross-legged in the middle of the hospital bed, he got up and grabbed his IV pole with multiple fluid bags hanging from it. Barefoot, he padded over to the attached en-suite, blood dripping from his hand and spattered on the floor. After elbowing the door closed behind him, he stopped in front of the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. No wonder everyone was freaking out, he looked dead. Pale, drawn, exhausted. This is what was left when the masks of the successful young Broadway breakout star and charity ambassador were forced to be dropped. He had been so sick lately, but managing to veil it by doing the only thing that made him feel normal.
He pulled the gown up and looked down at his stomach and thighs. Ragged healed over horizontal cuts stared back at him via the reflection in the mirror. He hadn't done these things to himself in such a long time, but this was a relapse he was struggling to fight is way out of. He had kept it hidden for awhile. His sex life with will had come to a grinding halt, with Justin mostly just telling his boyfriend he was too tired to do anything. In reality, this was what he was hiding under his clothing and he didn't want to be naked.
Backing up away from the mirror, he slumped back against the door and slid down to be sitting on the cold tiles. Looking at the needle gripped in his hand, he broke down and started to cry. He was still sobbing when he drew the needle sharply down the palm of his right hand, onto his wrist. It was a large cut and the blood was flowing harder. When someone knocked on the bathroom door and called his name, he didn't notice. He didn't answer. They tried to get the door open, but the way Justin was sitting, he was blocking it from being pushed open.
All he wanted was to switch his mind off so it stopped racing. The pain helped. But it made him want to keep cutting. The more pain, the more his mind was tricked into ceasing its whir of demonic thoughts that he couldn't keep up with. It was impossible for rational thoughts to come through and remind him that he was sick because of a bad infection, caused by the self-harming wounds. That was easy for everyone else to see, but for Justin, it just felt like darkness succeeding in engulfing him again and he just didn't know how to keep going.
Original Character