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A Second TW: This one-shot deals with Suicide Idealisation. It mentions some very concerning ideas about death and will allude to someone else’s death and the subject’s own potential death. The descriptions will get graphic and gory due to whom I’m writing for this one. This also discusses Self-Harm and has a quick mention of eating disorders. If any of these can trigger you then you shouldn't read for your own safety. I will say this yet again, I am Not a therapist and while this is based on some of my own therapy experiences this is Not a completely accurate portrayal. Please don’t use this as therapy, go to a real therapist if you’re feeling this way. Suicide Hotline List
Remus liked heights. He liked the view from up on the roof where he could see the city, but lately, he had been banned from going on the rooftop of the apartment building. Which he couldn’t really blame them for. He still liked heights though. And maybe he could go up there again if this went well.
Emile entered the room. He should pay attention to that now. He’s pretty sure that Emile asked about his week or maybe how he was doing. He should probably reply to him. “It’s been going as smoothly as rats do through a pantry full of traps.”
His therapist to his statement in stride, however, even if it would make some people confused. “That doesn’t sound too smooth Remus, that sounds more like a rather rough week”
“I haven’t died yet!” Even if Remus wasn’t sure if he was happy about that.
Emile nodded, “That’s true you didn’t die.”
He had still fascinated about it. Stared at the medicine cabinet for a second too long, looked at the roof and then watched as a bird flew down from it with a sick feeling of that if he tried that he wouldn’t be as graceful, nor as safe but god, wouldn’t the end result be satisfying?
Emile noticed his distractedness. “Remus, what happened?”
“Nothing happened really, I was just thinking about it again, but I never did anything.” He gave a smile to try and placate the doctor but there was no heart behind it and Remus could tell that Emile didn’t believe him. “They weren’t bad enough that I even thought about really trying! I was just… thinking about it again.”
"And that's worrying all the same, but you can't just turn it off like a switch, so the fact that the urge to harm yourself has lessened is progress." Emile then looked at him gauging if this would be a good idea and then settled, “Would you like to talk about the thoughts this week, or would that make you uncomfortable?”
He thought about it for a second. Wouldn’t it be good to talk those feelings out? That’s what most therapists told him. Plus it’s getting hard to hold it all in, and if he doesn’t talk it out he might say it all in front of someone who he didn’t want to say it in front of. “I want to but I… I don’t know where to start.”
“That’s okay. Take a minute if you need, this is all for you.”
Remus took a minute or two, trying to figure out how to say this delicately, or if he should say it bluntly, and just get it over with. If he should really bare his soul’s flaws out to the doctor, and if he trusted him enough to do this at all.
He looked at Picani and knew he did.
“Sometimes it starts when I look at somewhere that’s high up. Or. No not really it starts when my brain sees something that looks like a ledge, somewhere I can visualize a version of myself. It doesn’t have to be a building it can be a filing cabinet if the day is bad enough. The person I see is clearly me, but never detailed. It’s basically a dummy in my clothes. I… I can’t say if I like to watch them fall, but when they do, I feel the pit in my stomach, you know, the ones you get when you go down a drop on a rollercoaster? Where you can feel the drop, the adrenaline coursing through your veins and you can’t help but feel excited? And it feels like I’m going to be sick but I can’t help but feel mildly pleased while watching.”
Why isn’t he crying? He always hears about people feeling sad or broken and all he can feel is the drop.
“And while it happens my brain looks at it and it feels like it’s happening longer than it should when I really know that falling would take seconds. The entire time, I’m staring at this happening, hoping that it will just end but at the same time feeling like it should take even longer than it does. And then when the dummy, me , finally crashes I can see the blood, I can see the broken, twisted, version of my body, there on the ground and the details are suddenly there." His breath catches but it's not from crying. It just… does. "It’s bruised and it’s covered in so much blood, and its bones, they’re coming out of my skin and my hair is matted, wet with my own brain matter. It’s grotesquely detailed and I can’t help but feel… relief? But I also feel like I’m going to barf. And yet. I feel this pull. This… desire, to go and stand on that ledge and let all my problems go, to escape in some sick sense. I never do, and I do in a way. I never actually attempt but I die.”
Picani looks at him, concern, and what Remus clearly views as pity written across his face. “How often do you think about this Remus?”
“About this particular thought? Every once in a while. Maybe every few months? If I’m having an episode I imagine it more though.” The last time was this week.
The Doctor writes down his notes while speaking, “Have you ever acted on any of these impulses? Or have you ever attempted self-harm?”
He answered immediately, maybe to reassure the doctor, maybe to reassure himself. “No, I couldn’t do that after. After they. After the incident. With... With you know. And I’ve never cut myself”
“Self-harm isn’t just cutting Remus. It can be things like not eating or purging on food, not letting yourself have basic needs like sleep, or hurting yourself in ways that don’t leave scars, such as hitting yourself or hitting things with your head.” Emile’s tone was calm and level.
“Oh.” He hadn’t ever really thought of those are self-harm. “I haven’t done those really. I’ve hit my legs before, but it was a way to keep beat with music more than anything, and there was no intention behind it.”
Emile nodded and took some notes. “Alright then, Remus let’s form a safety plan. Do you have people you feel like you can trust where you live?”
“Well, I… I don’t think I couldn’t tell them everything right now.”
“I’m not asking you to. I’m asking if you have people you can rely on to keep you safe and grounded while you’re having an episode?”
Remus thought for a second. “I know I can rely on Roman but I don’t want to stress him out… Same with the others.”
“They’re your friends Remus. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind as long as you asked them first.”
Remus nodded. “I… You’re right. I think I could ask them to at least stay with me for a day or distract me from my bad thoughts.”
Emile smiled and wrote down something. “You know the number for the office correct?”
“Yep, I do, I’ll call if I need to.” It was saved under “Blessed for the Depressed”.
“Good. Do you have any hobbies that you can use to cope, or distract yourself with?”
“I draw a lot and I sometimes write stories… I write poems?”
sometimes i will stare at things
which would most likely harm me
i make no movement to them
i would never actually use them.
but i look.
and i ponder.
what would it feel like?
for the pills to go down my throat.
for the car to hit me.
for the fall to smash me to smithereens.
what would everyone think of me?
would they mourn, grieve?
would they be complacent with neutrality?
would they be secretly relieved?
sometimes i think,
about things i have done.
and realize who i am morally,
is defunct and careless.
thoughtless and immoral,
with actions that hurt others and wonder.
if I did.
what would they of remember me?
would they remember my anger?
would they remember my kindness?
would they remember me?
it's a thought.
it never lasts long.
and I keep living even though I'm not sure,
if that's the best for everyone.
I'm sticking around for now
because I'm selfish.
and I don't want to leave yet.
even though it might be better.