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It's what keeps telling himself. He wants to know what he is, where he comes from. Everything and anything anyone has to tell him.
He wants to think, this doesn't change who I am, because it shouldn't. Doesn't change his memories, his past, the choices - good and bad - that he's made. Those are all him, those are all Terrance Ward just as much as the skin he's in and the hair on his head. He's always had a pretty secure identity, there's always been the minor crisis but at the core of it, he never lost who he was. May not have looked it, but he was happy for the most part. Being the loner, the weird kid, the quiet one who makes everyone except his best friends a little nervous. That was fine. That was him.
But now he's lost. Confused.
At this point in life, Trauma-- Terry knows fear. He knows it like an old lover, it lingers on his skin. On his lips. He can taste it and smell it and see it whenever he closes his eyes. He can't imagine a life without it anymore and he hates himself for the small thrill he gets when he can hear the whispers of terror from someone nearby. He claims not to get scared anymore, but this scares him. There's always a moment - a split second revelation - just after the silent rush where he swears he can hear Nightmare in him, suddenly terrified that if he doesn't keep this in check then he could well become his father's son. He's had the Initiative to keep him in check for so long now that he's not sure he can control it on his own. He's been Trauma so long that he barely remembers to use his name anymore and he worries that if he keeps being Trauma then he has to let Nightmare in too. Worries that maybe blood ties have more of an effect than he'd like to believe and it all crashes together until he really isn't sure who he is anymore.
Not long after leaving Camp HAMMER, he finds himself in a small venue in New Jersey. Standing at the back with a coke even though he's old enough to drink now, and he remembers looking forward to that opportunity, but at some point the whole idea lost its allure. He doesn't really know when that happened. He doesn't really care either, he's to busy focusing on the stage. Some ridiculous "industrial" band that are a little too much Nine Inch Nails pastiche and not nearly enough understanding the genre. Watching the crowd makes him wonder if really he's just out of touch with the scene, but he smiles anyway. It's grounding for him. Something he can hold on to and use to pull himself back together after the mess his life has become.
At the very least, it's a start.
Nightmares are the worst.They force their way even more than mortal fear, even more than someone projecting. Even when he's asleep, they force themselves inside him and make themselves a part of his world. He's not even entirely sure how it works, but he never forgets these dreams. It could've been anything before, but suddenly he's a predator. Something that even he can't be entirely sure what it is except terrifying. A force of hurt and fear and evil and simultaneously it manages to make him feel violated and entirely unfulfilled. Because the only way to really sate the demon in him is to let it out, to wake up and let it consume him.
He's a little amazed at his self-control. Though honestly he wonders if he manages it for his sanity, everyone else's safety, or just because he can't afford the cost of repairs it would no doubt bring if he let loose.
Making friends with someone you're supposed to be counselling is unprofessional. Trauma's pretty sure he hasn't seen this in any rule books or had anyone say it to him, but it just makes sense.In most cases he'd nip this in the bud, but with Abby? He can't do it. At first he'd just wanted to help her, he saw what the Initiative was turning her into and he couldn't let that happen. Because they'd wanted to do the same thing to him and without Dani to help him along, who knows what he'd be?
Soon enough, though. It was pretty clear he needed this too. Not just as closure for what happened with MVP. Just... Having a friend. Remembering what that connection felt like. Someone to talk to, or someone who calls him by his name when he'd just about forgotten how it sounded. Someone who reminds him that he's not a horrible monster unworthy of anything good in life, even if he'd argue (jokingly, of course) that her opinion wasn't to be taken seriously given her apalling taste in music and movies.
All of that said, however, he's pretty sure that if she makes him watch one more Ashton Kutcher movie, he will scream.