Corey Shane Fitzpatrick (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
irishblood) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
muserevival2013-12-03 11:18 pm
irishblood) wrote in muserevival2013-12-03 11:18 pm
Entry tags:
Word of the Day 008.
Anxiety
n. 1. distress or uneasiness of mind caused by fear of danger or misfortune: "He felt anxiety about the possible loss of his job". 2. earnest but tense desire; eagerness. 3. Psychiatry. a state of apprehension and psychic tension occurring in some forms of mental disorder.
The fact that he was so reliant on medication these days was something felt was a flaw in his make-up that just might always be there. The second flaw was the fact he seemed to have some sort of mental block to anything violent. When the two mixed together, it felt like he couldn't think straight. It was two little pills twice a day, and logistically, he should be able to push it to the back of his mind. He knew he couldn't function without them, though. He didn't like the way he felt when he stopped taking them. Depression was no laughing matter, and neither anxiety, and he had been a victim of both since he witnessed his grandparents horrific death.
No amount of therapists he had been to since he was pre-teen had been able to isolate a remedy to how he seemed to shut down in the face of violence. Or in the wake of it. Something threatened to hit him or even swing a fist near him, and he was a mess. He had actually wet himself when confronted with a bully in high school, and never did live it down. Kids got bullied all the times, he began to tune it out. He was always the wimp who talked funny. He would go home and bury himself in his art, stonewalling any urge to cry because he saw that as weakness and giving into it. He was born from a long line of strong males, brimming with patriotic Fitzpatrick pride, but he had to be the one to let the generations down.
He had been keeping his head above water lately. Things were okay, and okay was good. Anything more than okay was fucking brilliant. College was going well, his family were mostly content, and it felt like things were beginning to look up. For the first time, Corey had been starting to wonder if he had a chance of overcoming these childhood demons that haunted him. Then it had all just been a slippery spiral, way too quickly for him to hold on and stop feeling like he was falling. It should never have climaxed his beloved uncle being shot and nearly murdered. Wasn't his grandparents being murdered enough?
That was when all those old feelings of terror began to come back hard and fast. He kept waking up in a thick sweat from terrible flashbacks that plagued his nightmares. He couldn't face walking into that hospital room and seeing his uncle in the worst state he had ever been... knowing there was a chance that might be the way he saw him for the last time ever. He was already scared of the subway and refused to ride it, but now he couldn't even walk near the stations. It was pointless even mentioning Central Park. Where he used to walk through it just about every day on his trip to college, now he wasn't sure if he could go in there ever again. It was like yet another city was engulfing him and laying in wait to steal away everything in he loved.
Today was a bad day. He was sitting in his bed with the covers piled around him and the urge to take more pills to switch off the distressing gnawing feeling inside him that he would never feel safe again. The only time he let himself cry was when he was alone like this, and he never let it go on for very long. The tears were streaming down his cheeks, silent and he was already dragging a Kleenex over his cheeks before they even had a chance to dry. He popped open the pill bottle and swallowed dry two of the pills. It was double the dose and he was angry at himself for giving into the temptation to use them to try to drown some of this out. Once they were past his throat, he threw the bottle hard and rough against the wall at the end of the bed, sending the remaining pills flying all over the floor.
It was today he understood more than ever the battle his uncle fought with using substances to try to shut it all off. Maybe the Fitzpatrick bloodline harboured something a lot more sinister than just patriotism.
Corey Fitzpatrick ♦ Original Character
n. 1. distress or uneasiness of mind caused by fear of danger or misfortune: "He felt anxiety about the possible loss of his job". 2. earnest but tense desire; eagerness. 3. Psychiatry. a state of apprehension and psychic tension occurring in some forms of mental disorder.
The fact that he was so reliant on medication these days was something felt was a flaw in his make-up that just might always be there. The second flaw was the fact he seemed to have some sort of mental block to anything violent. When the two mixed together, it felt like he couldn't think straight. It was two little pills twice a day, and logistically, he should be able to push it to the back of his mind. He knew he couldn't function without them, though. He didn't like the way he felt when he stopped taking them. Depression was no laughing matter, and neither anxiety, and he had been a victim of both since he witnessed his grandparents horrific death.
No amount of therapists he had been to since he was pre-teen had been able to isolate a remedy to how he seemed to shut down in the face of violence. Or in the wake of it. Something threatened to hit him or even swing a fist near him, and he was a mess. He had actually wet himself when confronted with a bully in high school, and never did live it down. Kids got bullied all the times, he began to tune it out. He was always the wimp who talked funny. He would go home and bury himself in his art, stonewalling any urge to cry because he saw that as weakness and giving into it. He was born from a long line of strong males, brimming with patriotic Fitzpatrick pride, but he had to be the one to let the generations down.
He had been keeping his head above water lately. Things were okay, and okay was good. Anything more than okay was fucking brilliant. College was going well, his family were mostly content, and it felt like things were beginning to look up. For the first time, Corey had been starting to wonder if he had a chance of overcoming these childhood demons that haunted him. Then it had all just been a slippery spiral, way too quickly for him to hold on and stop feeling like he was falling. It should never have climaxed his beloved uncle being shot and nearly murdered. Wasn't his grandparents being murdered enough?
That was when all those old feelings of terror began to come back hard and fast. He kept waking up in a thick sweat from terrible flashbacks that plagued his nightmares. He couldn't face walking into that hospital room and seeing his uncle in the worst state he had ever been... knowing there was a chance that might be the way he saw him for the last time ever. He was already scared of the subway and refused to ride it, but now he couldn't even walk near the stations. It was pointless even mentioning Central Park. Where he used to walk through it just about every day on his trip to college, now he wasn't sure if he could go in there ever again. It was like yet another city was engulfing him and laying in wait to steal away everything in he loved.
Today was a bad day. He was sitting in his bed with the covers piled around him and the urge to take more pills to switch off the distressing gnawing feeling inside him that he would never feel safe again. The only time he let himself cry was when he was alone like this, and he never let it go on for very long. The tears were streaming down his cheeks, silent and he was already dragging a Kleenex over his cheeks before they even had a chance to dry. He popped open the pill bottle and swallowed dry two of the pills. It was double the dose and he was angry at himself for giving into the temptation to use them to try to drown some of this out. Once they were past his throat, he threw the bottle hard and rough against the wall at the end of the bed, sending the remaining pills flying all over the floor.
It was today he understood more than ever the battle his uncle fought with using substances to try to shut it all off. Maybe the Fitzpatrick bloodline harboured something a lot more sinister than just patriotism.