Disorders
Demi holds my hand as we walk to the car to go to the doctors. After my last episode she told me I need help. I fought it of course. "I can handle myself" I said. "I don't need anyone telling me something is wrong in my head, I'll know if there is". Only one if those statements is true. At the bottom of my heart, I knew something was up. These dreams, these hallucinations, these thoughts, they aren't me. I know Nate is gone and nothing is going to bring him back, but in my head he did. It's just not the same. He was never a terror of mine before, now it seems that's all he wants to be.
I don't want to get in the car, I told Demi that. She seemed not to be that concerned but she doesn't understand. The last time I was in a car someone died. I don't have the best of luck, so I'd prefer it not happen again. I have decided. I will not get in the car. I turn abruptly, letting go of Demi's hand and head toward the front door. I don't get very far before a hand harshly grabs my wrist and I howl at the pressure on my healing wounds.
"Natalie, come on". She said, a demand pinching her voice.
"No, I don't wanna go" I whine.
"You have to"
"I don't have to do anything, I'm an adult". She doesn't even fight it. Demi just grabs me by my waist and tosses me over her shoulder. I kick in the air and scream for her to put me down but my very upset and panicked requests are ignored as the surprisingly strong woman opens the passenger door to her car and tosses me in. "Let me go"! I cry in her face loudly as she buckles me in.
"You want to be treated like an adult"? Demi asks, looking me intensely in the eyes with an anger I haven't seen before. "Try acting like one". As she slams the door I hear her mumble, "I'm sick of dating a child". Then she gets in the car and we back out.
The ride is silent. What she said hurt more than expected. I rack my brain for a solution, but come up with nothing. It wasn't until I had nearly given up that I realized why. I've always been treated like a child. Even after I had grown out of it and escaped faze one of my life. I was pulled back in. It turns out that it's not just parents that belittle you both knowing and unknowingly.
The gloomy sky seems endless we drive miles without a single break of blue. Every time I hear the slightest sound out of the ordinary, or feel it happening above me I have to check to make sure nothing is wrong. I even ask Demi to stop to make sure everything is alright with the car, but she says no and keeps driving. It's when we get to the highway I start feeling something wrong, but it's not with the car, it's with me.
I feel like my chest is collapsing in on itself, my lungs feel like balloons fighting pins. I can't breathe, gripping the handle by the door, I try deep breathes through the nose, but no matter how many times I pull the trigger, I'm shooting blanks. I feel like I'm going to pass out.
"Can we pull over", I ask, gasping for air.
"Jesus Christ Natalie, nothing is wrong with the fucking car", she yells. I'm getting dizzy, her angry voice blends in with itself, lasting in all the wrong places. It bounces in my head, echoing, echoing, echoing to a point it's louder than anything on the outside.
"It's not the car", I scream, leaning back and squeezing my eyes shut in an attempt to restrict the nausea, "it's me".
"Oh I know something is wrong with you". The sarcasm drips off her tongue like the venom of a viper.
"Pull over before I suffocate Demetria".
She finally listens, and before the car comes to a complete stop on a bridge I'm unbuckled, out of the car, and leaning over the railing. I can finally breathe, but my head is spinning and I feel like throwing up. The highway wind consistently blows behind me until it is broken by a pair of footsteps. The footsteps stop next to me and I feel a hand rubbing my back. It wants to soothe, gentle fingertips scratching my spinal chord. It doesn't fill it's purpose.
"Don't touch me", I growl.
"Baby I'm sorry I-"
"I don't want to hear it right now. I don't want to hear 'baby' or 'baby girl' come to me from your mouth".
"I'm sorry. I didn't think it was that big of a deal".
"Well you thought wrong, Demi", I yell, "I'm going through a really tough time right now. If you believed something is wrong with me, if you really did, then you would have helped. I'm sick. Even sick people have needs."
"I know, it's just hard sometimes".
"I got news for you. Relationships are hard". I dismiss her with my hand, "whatever, lets just get this over with". Then I get I the backseat and crack a window without a word.
"I've received your results, and it appears, Miss Foster, you have moderate to severe Post-Traumatic-Stress Disorder." The nameless doctor says.
"Excuse me"?
"You have PTSD. From what you and your friend here told me, it began after the car accident, in which hurt all and deceased one. Now this is the classic kind that we handle, outside veterans of course, those poor fellows always have the most gruesome stories to tell. Something dangerous happens and a friend dies and you almost died. Now the friend is coming back through dreams and hallucinations. The episode this morning also goes back to the disorder. Suddenly afraid of things you weren't before. Specifically things and actions relating to the incident".
"What about the wall", Demi asks.
"Oh that isn't the PTSD, that's Natalie's attempt to cope with her thoughts and feelings. not all cope through painting a memorial of a sort, only the ones into artistic things and actions. Although it is quite the project, that's something she did to not effect herself or others in a harmful manner".
"I'm guessing the insomnia and disregard of time are a part of it". I say more in a statement than a question.
"Yes, and the lack of sleep could contribute to your hallucinations. The mind does miraculous things, even when ill", the doctor looks down at his clipboard, signing a piece of paper and handing it to me. "This is a permission slip to get over the counter medications to help with the over-all symptoms of PTSD. It's called Zyrax, it's got some side effects, but most aren't serious". Then the older man stands and puts the chair he was sitting on back in the corner.
"Sir"? I ask. He turns around expectantly," isn't Zyrax the medication where internal bleeding and death have occurred".
"Yes", he replies looking downward," but for those who had that happen were also old, allergic to the medication, or mixed it with something else. Have a good day Miss. Foster, same to you Miss Lovato".
"You too", the two of us say. Then we get our stuff from his office and follow him until we get to the elevator.
I hate elevators, I feel so confined, so trapped. I feel so lost but not lost at all because the space is too small to get lost in. Every time we take an elevator, Demi foresees a panic attack and pulls me into her chest as the doors close. Despite me being mad at her, she does just the same today. I feel safer, well until we start to lose elevation. That's when I whine and she rubs my back. Even if I know it's an elevator I still feel like I'm falling. I still need to burry my head in her neck to hide myself from what I feel.
"Can you believe it?" I ask.
"Yes", Demi replies simply and quietly. She takes my hand as the metal doors open and leads me to the car, briefly breaking our contact to get in before reconnecting. I feel like I should be shocked, even offended by Demi's lack of surprise. I'm not though. Maybe I should feel something differently, but I guess that's just the way I am. I take what I can get and right now it's love and assistance. I know Demi is one of the most likely to try to give them to me.
"You know, my great uncle had PTSD", she says, looking between me and the road. "He saw a lot of things he should not have had to see. He got drafted into the Vietnam war when he was twenty three. They plopped him in the army with minimal training on how to use the gun in his hand in the middle of bloody battle. He didn't want to fight, and certainly not kill. He should have died". I look to her directly for the first time since this morning, intrigued by the rare family stories she tells me. At a red light she smiles at me before the light turns to green and colors her olive skin and looks to the road again." He got it really bad, too. Mostly from when his best friend, Donald I believe, was running in front of him and some other guy in his troop. They were just three men running in the forest, playing a very real and dangerous game of manhunt. Until a man with a straw hat and a native tongue materialized from a plant and shot Donald six times in the chest. Donald fell back on top of him as the man yelling in Vietnamese shot at my uncle. He fell to the ground and Donald was on top of him. He was bleeding so much that they thought because of all the blood and stillness of my uncle he was dead but he wasn't, he was fine. He was just paralyzed by the shock and horror. He laid there for a little eternity, counting his buddies bullet holes until all of the enemies cleared out. The guy behind him was shot multiple times too, but he was taken away from the site of murder. Of course, my great uncle George saw other awful things, but that man who saved his life by dying on top of him was his best friend. With a family and friends. Donald's wife just had a son a few months before then. His name was Jeff I think". She pulls into the driveway and cuts the ignition but does not get out of the car, instead she turns to me. "George's disorder was extreme. That single incident effected him, took over his life until he got pancreatic cancer and that took over his body until that ended it. I know your life has always been difficult, but the hardest challenges are never physical or metaphorical, they're internal. Do you know why my great uncle's PTSD took over his life?" I shake my head. "it took over because no one tried to stop it, we all watched and let it happen, including George. I refuse to let that happen to you. This will not take over your life because you are strong and I won't allow it. You can win this battle, the war is exhausting and everlasting but it's all about the battles in this world. I know this morning it didn't seem like I supported you, but I do. It's just difficult and I just need to adjust. So do you, we do".
I got out of the car, tears in my eyes as I slammed the door and stood in front of the car, waiting for Demi.
"I'm sorry did I-" I cut her off by kissing her harder and more urgently than I can ever remember. I grabbed her by her jacket collar and pulled her to me like another minute of separation would cut my life support. I grabbed her collar and held her lips like I wanted to grab Nathan and pull him back to the earth's surface. I kissed her like I had the privilege to have her was recognized past my ability to express emotion from previously expressionless eyes. Although it clearly surprised her, this sudden closeness and opening in my driveway, she caught up. Demi's hands clung to my face like they clung to the seat in the car the night of the crash. Her lips were as close to mine as the glass that pierced her. She picked me up and ran to the house and to my bedroom like I wanted Nate to come home. Urgently. Everything needs to stop being about the past, the crash. She's my Donald, and I'm her George. Although I'm aware neither man was homosexual, she saved me. The big difference is she was saving me again and again from all angles and positions. Demi was giving her all like they did in the hot forest of Vietnam. In a war most found absurd.
We did not make love that night, I wasn't ready and Demi agreed it was not the right time. You don't find a wounded deer on the Sid of the road and expect it to sprint back home. This battle could go on for a while, but hell I'm gonna finish it before loving the love of my life. Deers can heal like any other animal, but like deers, I need time. No matter what or who the enemy is and what weapons there are, one rule is simple. Do not fuck in the forest. Fuck in the rubble and ashes, it shows how far you've come and prevailed.
We just lied there mostly -but not completely- naked in my bed cuddling and kissing and whispering sweet nothing's to each other until I finally slept soundly for the first time in over a month.
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Alright, it's time I tell you about this one writer I've never met but I'm going to mention here because this girl fucking deserves it. @AViolentEmotion writes delena fanfics. I'm not a crazy delena shipper but FUCK. Her books are better written than half the shit that gets made into movies. Like, she might be Susanne Collins I'm not even kidding. Forget this book, just go to her profile, read everything she's written, cry your eyes at how beautiful and sad it is, then you'll understand. Holy shit. Ok thanks for reading.
So this book won't be done for a while but I changed my mind. When not writing this ill be fixing my other book up. When I'm done with that piece of trash I'll start something new. GENERIC OR DIFFERENT LET ME KNOW!!! I only wrote in caps to get your eyeballs over here
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