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Lockwood & Co. Angst Week
Day Three: IT’S ALL IN YOUR HEAD
fear | self-doubt | guilt
“Don't want no other shade of blue but you
No other sadness in the world would do”
—“hoax” by Taylor Swift
Lucy grows up hearing all the trite proclamations people like to make about falling in love: Meeting the right person can solve your problems. A good relationship can cure your loneliness. Finding your ‘other half’ changes everything for the better.
Even before the loss of Norrie and the rest of her team at Jacob’s, Lucy never believes those idealistic platitudes. She has those pretty illusions ripped away long before she becomes an agent and starts regularly communing with Visitors reliving the worst moments of their lives.
Lucy learns entirely too young that life is not a fairy tale. No prince is coming to rescue her, not from her alcoholic father, not from the abuse and neglect of her mother, not from the disinterest of her sisters. No relationship will repair the jagged pieces of her past.
She doesn’t think Lockwood believes those easy sayings either. If he hadn’t discarded such childish ideas after his parents died, they were almost certainly cast by the wayside after he lost Jessica, his uncle, and Gravedigger Sikes—an almost endless string of losses for a boy without the resources to process them.
In this way, the two of them are perfectly matched: they are equally cynical about the limits of their relationship. They each know that, despite how much they care for each other, they can’t expect their love to make their individual struggles disappear.
They can rescue each other from Visitors and walk through the Other Side together, but they can’t save each other from their tragic pasts, from the hauntings in their own minds.
While Lucy knows intellectually that this is true, it’s still cruel to be confronted with the reality. Time and time again, it pierces her to her core to be reminded that no matter how much she loves Lockwood or how much of herself she pours into him, it’s not enough to take away his pain.
Once they start regularly sharing a bed, Lucy learns that there’s more than one reason for the dark circles under Lockwood’s eyes. For him, falling asleep frequently ignites a horrible cadence of events: it starts with nightmares, which lead to panic attacks, and then he ends the night more exhausted than how he started it. Sometimes it seems easier to not even try to sleep, when it all leaves him feeling like that hollowed out husk she once saw under Aickmere’s, brittle and drained.
Lockwood’s hidden the extent of these symptoms for years, but now that she’s so close, he can’t any longer. Her powerlessness in this situation feels overwhelming.
Lucy can’t stop the nightmares that plague him, forcing him to lurch up in their bed in the middle of the night, leaving him with emptiness lurking under his crooked grin the next day.
She can’t cure the panic attacks that sneak up on him, making him shake and gasp for breath.
She can’t eradicate the occasional darkness that creeps into his mind—the overwhelming grief, the guilt, the apathy about his own life.
Lockwood puts on a good face in front of everyone else, but she sees through the façade. He’s been a performer for so long, sometimes she wonders if he even knows where the mask ends and where his true self begins.
Gradually, Lucy learns what helps him: a glass of water, sitting in the silence together, giving him space, a particularly intense round of rapier drills to get the anxiety to leave his body, the feeling of her heartbeat under his hand. She whispers in his ear, over and over, “I’m here, we’re safe, I’ll never leave you again,” and he clutches her tightly to him.
The first time she sees Lockwood cry, it’s the middle of the night after a panic attack, and suddenly, the weight is just too much. Of the two of them, he’s always been the light one, and it feels like their equilibrium is off. She realizes that she’s desperately beyond her depth.
Lucy might love him fiercely, but her love is not what he needs.
She begs him to see a doctor, to talk to someone, to try anything, and finally, worn down and exhausted, he agrees. The doctors throw acronyms at them, and Lockwood comes home with diagnoses for PTSD and depression. He carries paper slips referring him to consults for CBT and EMDR therapy. In her attempts to be helpful, Lucy covers the Thinking Cloth with notes and phone numbers, frantically trying to find any way to make navigating this new world easier.
Lucy’s never loved someone like this before. She feels raw and bruised, like her heart’s been torn out of her, and now it’s walking around in Lockwood’s hands, bleeding and on view for the entire world to see.
She would die for Lockwood without a second thought, but she can’t free him from his own mind.
She isn’t used to this kind of grief. She didn’t understand how overwhelming it would feel to watch someone you love suffer while they sleep next to you, still breathing and alive.
She didn’t know how desperately a secret, hidden part of her had hoped that the fairy tale was true after all; that maybe they were the exception, and that love alone would be enough to save them.
Of course, they both have their demons, and Lucy has bad days, too. The scars from her own difficult childhood and her years as an agent don’t vanish without a trace.
She’s so focused on holding it together for Lockwood that she doesn’t see the warning signs—the impatience, the agitation, the racing thoughts—creeping up on her until it’s too late. And then, just as Lockwood is showing signs of improvement, Lucy crumbles.
The first time they have a real fight as a couple, she suddenly realizes how much she has to lose. While she’s fought with Lockwood many times before, the stakes are so much higher now. It makes her panic in a way she’s never panicked before, and abruptly, she can’t handle the pressure. She knows how to fight with Lockwood as a friend and as a colleague. She doesn’t know how to fight as his partner. She worries she doesn’t have the skills to repair it if—when—their relationship breaks down.
Lockwood has the benefit of having had six years of a happy childhood. He has his memories of his parents, their loving marriage, their deep devotion for each other. By all accounts, Donald Lockwood and Celia Lockwood adored each other, and they cherished their children. The sapphire necklace around her neck is proof of it; the house she lives in is still full of evidence of their many happy memories as a family, even though their time together was tragically cut short.
But Lucy’s never known what a happy family life feels like. She’s had almost no models for what a healthy long-term partnership can look like—what it should look like. She fears this will doom them in the end, that she won’t be able to learn how to love Lockwood the way he needs—the way she knows he deserves.
What she feels for Lockwood is so big, and it demands so much from her. He’s spoken tentatively to her about the life he wants—marriage and a family some far off distant day in the future. Lucy knows he didn’t want to scare her, so he didn’t say it explicitly, but he didn’t have to. His eyes gave him away, as they lingered on the gemstone resting on her collarbone, a solemn promise if she’s ever seen one. He wants that life with her, but instead of being excited about the idea of a future together, she mostly feels frightened.
Once, she had worried that Lockwood would sacrifice his life for hers, but now she fears losing him in a completely different way. She’s terrified he’ll get tired of her insecurities and leave her.
At her worst moments in the middle of the night, as Lockwood’s breathing softly next to her in their bed, Lucy’s thoughts spiral. Despite how much Lockwood tells her that he loves her, needs her, wants her, she worries she won’t be enough. What if she’s not capable of sustaining something this good long-term? What if there’s something broken in her? What if the weight of their respective baggage crushes them both and destroys the fledgling thing that they’ve built together?
Lucy’s never been a morning person, but she finds herself waking up before Lockwood to cry, her feelings too overwhelming to keep inside. She disturbs Lockwood from a rare instance of dreamless sleep with her sobs and her fears. Immediately, his presence grounds her, his arms holding her close, his lips brushing her forehead, his body solid next to her.
Lockwood tells her over and over again that she’s enough as she is. He hands her tissues and tucks their blankets tightly around her. “Lucy, my love,” he says, his eyes more serious than she’s ever seen him. “There’s no one else for me but you.”
They find themselves sitting in front of a new group of doctors together. There are tests and questionnaires and seemingly unending inquiries about her childhood. This time, Lucy gets the diagnosis. She also has PTSD, as well as a mild case of anxiety that surprises her. Lockwood says they’re a matching pair and ruffles her hair, and she can't help but laugh ironically.
Lucy starts seeing a therapist to work through the dark cobwebs of her mind. She’s never identified the feelings she has as anxiety—she’s an agent who thrives in high pressure situations after all—but she learns that they are. Her therapist tells her about attachment theory and explains that the brutal nature of her childhood makes it difficult for her to trust Lockwood’s promises. This news feels like the barest hint of relief—at least there’s a reason why she is this way.
Strangely, feeling more secure about their relationship gives Lucy the mental space for the first time in years to begin to untangle the trauma of her childhood, her grief about Norrie, the complex emotions she feels from being a Listener, and her own very normal fears and doubts about her future. Memories that she hasn’t thought about in years come to the forefront of her mind, and unfortunately, beginning to unpack the layers means she gets worse before she gets better.
Eventually, Lucy realizes that Lockwood isn’t the only one who’s mourning; she’s grieving, too. But while Lockwood misses the life and family he lost, she mourns what she never had.
She yearns for the life they could have had together if they weren’t both agents, if they hadn’t lost so many people that they loved, if they’d had better childhoods. She wishes it was simple for her to want the things that come more naturally to him: marriage, children, a stable family life. She never stood a chance at having that easy life—at having the fairy tale—but the potential of it haunts her.
Lockwood takes it all in stride. On her worst days, he brings her toast and cups of tea in bed just the way she likes them. He lets her sit with her head in his lap, stroking her hair until she calms down. He’s always been protective of her, and now his observant nature serves him well when it comes to learning how to take care of her in a new way.
Sometimes they feed off of each other, and both of them become emotional sponges. Lockwood says her anxieties don’t impact him, and Lucy says the same thing about his dark moods. But they both know they’re lying, trying to spare the other person’s feelings. Neither of them want to be a burden.
Slowly, they find more tools together: therapy, exercise, eating more than just biscuits and toast, trying to get as much sleep as possible, seeking out as much sunshine as they can in the midst of their nocturnal lifestyle in gloomy London. Small bottles of pills take up residence on their respective nightstands, and they both grimly nod and toast each other as they swallow them each morning.
The side effects are brutal at times, and Lucy learns that it’s one step forward and two steps back to find a medication regimen. But once they crack the puzzle, it works. Suddenly, she can breathe easier; it’s like someone has flipped the light switch on, and she can cope again. The pills take the edge off her racing thoughts, and she knows that they dull some of Lockwood’s sadness.
Lockwood makes progress, too. He tries many different tactics to improve his sleep with little success—he’s unsurprisingly horrible at meditation—but then a therapist throws out the idea of taking afternoon naps. He discovers that circadian rhythms be damned, falling asleep is easier for him in the middle of the day, when he’s less likely to be woken up by nightmares and panic attacks.
Finally getting more rest helps Lockwood slowly open up. He learns to haltingly name the emotions he’s held inside for so long, eventually admitting to her that it’s easier to bear the weight when he can share them.
Sometimes, Lockwood comes with her to her therapy sessions, where he perches next to her on an uncomfortable couch and holds her hand as she cries. She’s never loved him more than she loves him in those moments, when he sits next to her in her grief and pain and doesn’t flinch or blink an eye.
Lockwood never doubts their relationship or her for a minute. Once he committed, he was all in—not that she should have expected anything less from him. She always knew he was brave, but what she sees in him now is beyond recklessness or adrenaline. This is steadiness; this is the undying devotion that his parents taught him, the same promise he made to her.
At her doctor’s recommendation, Lucy starts attending a monthly art therapy class. They have an exhibit at the end of the year for those who want to share their work, and Lockwood shows up dressed to the nines to cheer her on with all of their friends. He’s so proud of her that it brings tears to her eyes.
She’s proud of him, too, bursting with delight at his newfound honesty and vulnerability. He talks about his parents and Jessica more easily now. Slowly, the grief that he has held inside for so long is dissipating, even if it will never disappear completely.
Like a real relationship, getting better isn’t linear. Years of trauma aren’t resolved easily, and there’s no guaranteed happily ever after. It’s a constantly meandering path, and there are relapses and difficult days along the way.
They both learn the signs that darkness is approaching—for themselves and each other. They catalog the patterns and the triggers and nudge each other when they see that danger is imminent.
They might learn to heal, but the scars never go away.
Lucy wouldn’t wish what they’ve been through on her worst enemy (okay, maybe on Marissa Fittes). Everything does not happen for a reason; that’s another platitude she rejected long ago. But if she has to go through this, she’s grateful she gets to go through it with Lockwood—Lockwood who still takes her breath away every time he looks at her; who makes it a priority to make her laugh everyday, even when he’s feeling low; who pulls her into his body every night before they go to sleep.
After a particularly brutal winter, they save up enough money to sneak away together to the coast for a few days. It’s Lucy’s first time seeing the ocean, and she loves it immediately, just as Lockwood promised she would. He’s been bursting with excitement to share this with her. It rains most of the trip, but they hardly mind, they’re so intent on enjoying a rare respite from the intensity of their daily life.
Lockwood gently nudges her awake the last morning of their trip. “Luce,” he says, a brilliant smile on his face. “The sun’s out today.”
They race outside and spend the morning walking along the shore together. That afternoon, Lockwood dozes in the sand while she sketches. She means to draw the ocean, but she finds herself staring at him instead, outlining his profile for what feels like the millionth time. They both get sunburnt, but they barely even notice.
As the day draws to a close, Lockwood intertwines their hands while they sit on the rocks to watch the sunset, and Lucy lets out the longest, deepest exhale of her life.
This life isn’t a fairy tale, but it’s theirs.