"You can feel the whole world and still feel lost in it. So many people are in pain - no matter how smart or accomplished - they cry, they yearn, they hurt … We all want the same things: comfort, love, and a peaceful heart." — Mitch Albom
(Source: onlinecounsellingcollege, via psych-quotes)
He flicks nervously through the pages of the book on his lap. He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the psychology section of the sort-of-library. His hands are still shaking and his head feels overwhelmed. He is not sure what’s waiting for him or how severe is his disorder but, judging from the look in the doctor’s face, it can’t be any good. He wants to throw the book away, to pretend he doesn’t know something is wrong with him, to deny his condition. However, he can’t stop his fingers from moving rapidly along the pages. He can’t stop them from skimming through the information given, from desperately trying to find something useful. He doesn’t want to know anything about it and, at the same time, he needs to have as much information on this as possible. Maybe that will help him to deal with all of this.
After a little while searching, he finally finds what he is looking for. On the top of the page are the words “Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD)” and he begins to read as if his life depended on it. His heart is going wild inside his ribcage and he can’t quite process everything that he’s reading. It’s as if the words are getting lost inside his brain, mixing with each other and losing their meaning along the way. However, as his eyes stop in a sentence at the end of the page, the words start making sense again.
He can’t move. He tries to throw the book far, far away, but he seems hypnotized by the words. It gets harder to breathe and he is making a subconscious effort not to panic. His heart is about to explode – or maybe stop working. He feels like crying but there aren’t tears. There isn’t anything. His mind is blank and he is frozen in his place. He wasn’t aware he even had it, but hope seems to float away. He is filled with an unwelcome desperation that keeps growing at every second that passes.
When he is finally able to move again, he storms out of the library. The book falls to the floor. He is not sure where he is going until he stops in front of the psychologist’s door one more time.
Three words.
It’s all it takes and Ryan knows nothing will be the same again. Maybe he’s being a little overdramatic but that’s all he can think right now.
It’s different; knowing that there is something wrong with you and someone telling you exactly what it is. What you have. It’s different knowing that you’re insane and having your madness labeled.
He can’t run away from it now and he can’t deny it. It’s proved. It’s diagnosed. He can’t pretend he is normal, he can’t pretend this whole asylum thing is just a joke. His behavior, his reactions – maybe even his thoughts – have a name and are all just a consequence of something big he can’t understand.
When the doctor speaks to him, her voice is calm and determined but her eyes seem slightly worried. She is patient even when he tries to deny it, even as he nervously grabs his hair and his mind goes blank. She waits for him to understand, to absorb the words. She starts to tell him that he’ll get better but her voice becomes hesitant. It falters and she seems to rethink her words. It is like she is trying to appear hopeful without lying. She then tells him that it will be complicated but he will get proper help and this sounds more sincere. She explains that he needs to be fully honest to her from now on. Ryan isn’t sure if he should believe it but he doesn’t have any other choice.
He doesn’t know exactly the meaning of the words - has only heard them once or twice; he doesn’t know how bad is his disorder, or how it affects him. He is not sure where this feeling is coming from but he desperately wants to find out.
He asks the doctor for more information and she seems reluctant. She tells him that he shouldn’t make judgments of his condition on his own. He claims to be only curious but his voice keeps breaking. She sighs deeply and informs him of the section on the asylum’s sort-of-library where he could find everything he needed.
When the appointment is over, Ryan goes directly to the library. As he paces down the halls, he can’t stop noticing how his hands never stop shaking.
Have some composure. Where is your posture?
(Also, I'm a roleplayer)
