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The thing about today is that he was floating. And maybe it wasn't floating in a literal sense, but that floating where he wasn't in his body. It was that he was so far in his head, that he was somehow out of it at the same time.
The thing about today is that it's like he's watching himself go through the motions, but it's not actually him doing those motions. That's how he was out of his body. Physically that is. Mentally he was deep. So so so deep within his head, that everything was moving too fast yet too slow at the same time.
The thing about today is that everything was a fog. It was when the fast and slow collided that no thought could be grabbed onto. And the ones that could be grabbed, they were never clear enough.
The thing about today is that he couldn't move. Everything in his brain was too much, too draining, to the point that he was so physically exhausted that he couldn't move. Even though everything was in his head.
The thing about today…
The thing about today…
The thing about today…
The thing about today is that he could go on and on about whatever thing was going on with him today because there were so many things.
The thing about today that caused it all was the meds. The god damn mother fucking meds that messed with his head more than he'd ever like to admit. The god damn meds that made him more depressed than he was before. The god damn meds that came with so many side effects, too many to count. The god damn meds that were supposed to be helping him were the same god damn meds that were making it worse.
The thing about the meds was that at first they didn't do anything. He was the same. He had the same type of days. Some good, most bad, and a few in between. He had the same thoughts that were there before. The thoughts that when he told the doctor only a few of them, the doctor said he should've gotten help sooner. But how was he supposed to know those thoughts weren't normal? He had the same voices. The voices that made the doctor say the very same thing as the thoughts.
But now the thing about the meds is that they are making him worse. Now he floats all the time. More than he used to. Now the thoughts and the voices are still there. Only now he can't do anything to make them stop. He's so tired. So exhausted. So floaty that he can't do anything to make them stop. So he has to sit with them and deal with them and they get even louder when he doesn't listen but he can't listen, he truly can't listen and maybe that's a good thing he can't listen but hearing them so mad and so loud makes him wonder is it really a good thing he isn't listening?
The thing about the meds is that they make him zombie like. He doesn't have another way to describe it. How can he? He wakes up more tired than when he fell asleep. He barely makes it out of bed. He can't make it through classes, he's too tired, too exhausted, he sleeps through the entire thing. He gets home and the thought of even attempting his work is too debilitating so he ends up sleeping a bit more. He doesn't even try to sleep, he just does. And the next thing he knows he's going asleep again but he doesn't truly sleep.
That's the thing about the meds, is that even though he's always tired and he always sleeps he never truly sleeps. Sedation. That's the word used for one of the many side effects. So he sleeps but he never sleeps. He doesn't sleep deep enough to actually get rest. And yet he's always asleep. And when he's not, there's such a mental toll on his body that it becomes physical and then everything physically hurts. It hurts to keep his eyes open. It hurts to stand. It hurts to even lay down. It just hurts and it doesn't go away until he sleeps. But he doesn't truly sleep so it doesn't truly go away.
The thing about the meds is that sedation is only one of the side effects. He twitches now or shivers, whatever it is. It's weird because it started small just having to shake out his neck. Then it got to now where he can barely go 30 seconds without his whole body basically seizing up. He doesn't even know how to describe it, that's why he says twitches or shivers because that's what it seems like to him. From the list of side effects, he decides it falls under tremors. And there are many other side effects too. Eating is one. It wasn't that he even ate much before. He should've, but he didn't. But now nothing is appetizing and whatever appetite he had left before the meds is completely gone now. It's too much work anyways, he decides.
The thing about the meds is that he hates them. He hates them so much because they were supposed to help but they don't. Because the doctor said that this specific one usually worked well and had minimal side effects. Because now he knows someone will say something and the meds will change and he'll have to go through this all over.
The thing about today is that the days all seem the same now. Not that there was much variation before but at least then he could differentiate. Sometimes at least. But now everything blurs together. What seems like 5 days ago was actually 2 and what seems like an hour ago was actually days ago.
The thing that gets him the most though is that people say they understand but can never say the right thing. And he knows he can't ever put that pressure or responsibility or whatever it is on them because he knows it's different for everyone so what may be true for him might not be for someone else. But he can't tell them what to say because he doesn't know what he wants to hear. Which is why he really knows it's unfair because everything they say is wrong but he can't tell them what's right.
The thing is, is that his brain twists the words. So they could be saying the right thing but he doesn't know if he's hearing what they are actually saying. But it's also that when he hears a new voice because his head is already so full if he's not ready for the voice it becomes too much and he shuts down. That's part of the reason too and he knows it's not their fault but he can't help but get mad sometimes.
The thing about today is that Peter knows he's laying in bed. How long, he can't be sure. He knows Tony is standing in the doorway. Whether Tony is trying to get Peter's attention or not he's not sure. Maybe he's just standing there watching. Maybe he can see the cloud of thoughts rushing yet clogging Peter's brain. He wishes Tony could see it sometimes. It would be easier than trying to explain what's going on in his head. It would be easier than ever having to say those thoughts out loud.
"Hi." Peter said quietly, forcing himself to meet Tony's eyes.
The thing about Tony's eyes is that they were a comfort he always knew was there even when he told himself otherwise. Tony's eyes were safe. There was never judgement, never pity, just softness and wanting to help. Wanting to help was different than pity. To some it wasn't, sometimes the line was thin. Wanting to help, that want he saw in Tony's eyes, was genuine. There was no other way to describe it.
"Hi." Tony responded from his spot in the door frame, giving Peter a soft smile. He wishes he could return it, right now he's just not sure how. "What do you need?"
The thing about Tony is that the way he asks isn't that, ‘I'm annoyed, what do you want,’ kind of way, it's that, ‘I'm here to help, how can I help, kind of way’.
The thing about it though, is he isn’t quite sure of what he needs, so Peter only shrugs. What he wants is a different question. But what he needs he doesn't know because it's hard to differentiate wants and needs since technically in some way everything is both a want and a need.
"Can you—" Peter questioned before cutting himself off. He wants Tony to sit with him. He doesn't need that but he wants that because he likes Tony's presence and he likes hearing his heartbeat because counting his own throws him out of his body more but counting Tony's brings him back in. He likes a lot of things about Tony.
The thing about Tony is that somehow he almost always knows what Peter needs, better than Peter knows. And Peter knows this because even though he cut himself off Tony pushes off of the doorway and makes his way to Peter's bed.
The thing about Tony is that he always seems to know what to do. Tony sits down next to him leaning back against the pillows. When he's situated a hand finds its way into Peter's curls and he immediately feels more grounded. The outside yet familiar touch draws him back into reality.
The thing is, Tony doesn't say anything. He only sits there lazily running his fingers through Peter's curls while Peter tries to get as close to him as possible.
"I don't like these meds." Peter says eventually. There's no point in dragging out a conversation when he's so tired. It's more work to drag it out.
"We'll talk to the doctor about it when we go tomorrow, okay?" Tony says, finally pulling Peter up so the boy's head is resting on his chest.
"Okay."
"You'll get there buddy." Tony whispers, pressing a light kiss to Peter's curls. "I promise, you'll get through it."
The thing about today is that Peter knew somewhere deep in his mind that Tony was right. Eventually, he would get through it.