Chapter Text
James wishes he was on a beach. Specifically he wishes he was in Pipa, Brazil with its warm sand and crystal clear water. He was born in England but his mother was born in Pipa and he loved the summers he spent there with her family. Going there always gave him a sense of peace that he couldn't quite find anywhere else.
“James? James?” The man sitting in front of him (His Doctor) called out his name snapping his fingers. “Are you listening? James, this is important, okay? Bipolar One is not some kind of death sentence. It's treatable. We can start you on mood stabilizers and I recommend therapy to help you process all of this.”
James nods along to his words, but they aren't making sense. James had come into the office a few weeks ago because he was having trouble sleeping and now he is being diagnosed with Bipolar One. The Doctor gives him a pamphlet and tells him that they will schedule a follow up appointment to talk about treatment. It doesn't make sense. He can't really wrap his head around it. It just doesn't fit who he is. He reads through the symptoms in the pamphlet.
Depression
Lack of energy, feelings of emptiness, self doubt, having a hard time concentrating and remembering things, ect.
Mania
Feeling very Happy -overly so all the time, not feeling the need to eat or sleep, no regard for risk, acting out of character, easily distracted, ect.
James isn’t like this, but even as he thinks it he knows that it's a lie. His mind reminds him of all the times where he would pretend he was sick because the idea of getting out of bed made him want to curl up and die. It could be days or even a week of no eating, no showering, just thoughts that haunted him. He usually ignored them but when he was like that it was too hard. Worthless. Nothing. Useless. Failure.
/“James? Honey, how about we at least sit up okay? You have to eat something.” Effie worries at his bedside. James stays silent. Maybe if he's silent then she’ll go away./
And other times when he is the life of the party. Going out every night, drinking and dancing. Yeah he did some crazy things every once in a while, but he's young, in his early twenties. That's what he is supposed to do, right?
/”Shots all around!” James shouts. A Roar of cheers spread through the bar. This was the third round he had gotten everyone and it wasn't the last. He just wants everyone to have a good time, but deep down he’s not as happy as the people around him so he throws back another shot./
He never really saw this as a problem and his friends thought it was just his personality, but looking back some part of James knew. He knew he wasn't quite right. Not quite normal. He always felt everything at a 100 when most felt at a 10. The more he reads the more memories start fitting together like puzzle pieces. James used to think that he had a different perspective on life than most and that was what gave him his personality. Now he can't help but think that maybe he's never been more than this. BiPolar.
He starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot making his way home. He's gotta get out of here. He's got to go home, but he can't go home. He can't go back to the place he shares with his boyfriends. God, Evan, Barty, and Regulus. What is he going to tell them? He can't tell them. What would they think? It doesn't matter what they think because he isn’t going to tell them. He's got to get out of here. He's got to go somewhere. Anywhere. Where is he going to go?
Brazil. He’ll go to Brazil. He's always felt better in Brazil.
No, he’s crazy. He can’t. Can he? God, he's insane. But then again he's always said that all the best people are. If he goes, his boyfriends will kill him. His friends will kill him. And what about his mum he can't just leave without saying anything they would freak out. But if he stays he thinks that his own mind might kill him. Staying would kill him so he can’t. He has to go. He will go. He is going.
He enters his apartment, luckily no one's home being as it’s around 12 in the afternoon. He goes into his room and pulls a suitcase out of the closet, stuffing it with clothes and whatever he might need. He doesn't know how long he will be gone. Long enough for him to fix this. Too fix him. After his bag is packed he searches for a pen and paper. He was supposed to be going over to Remus and Sirius’ apartment today to meet up with all his friends so he decides to write a letter to Marlene with a note on top asking Evan to bring it to her tonight.
He isn’t exactly sure what to write or how to explain. So he does his best. In the end it doesn't matter anyway she's not going to understand none of them will. He just hopes that they don’t blame themselves. They're not the problem. He just feels so stuck, so trapped by the expectations of everyone and everything around him. So trapped by this diagnosis and what it means for him. He wants to be able to be what they need. They need their happy friend who is always there as a shoulder to cry on. They need their happy boyfriend who helps them communicate and relax. He can't be that so he can't come back until he can. But mostly he doesn’t want them to see him struggling because they never have before. Besides, his struggles pale in comparison to what most of them have gone through.
Taking his bag in his hand he calls a cab. It pulls up and he slides in. “Where To?” the driver asks.
“The airport please.” He replies.