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“How are you feeling?”
The words are muffled and distant. The feeling is reminiscent to that of being underwater, like the voice is being blocked by a dense wall of matter.
Ian tries so hard to lift his head up from the pillow it’s so comfortably laying on. He fails. The second his cheek separates from the soft fabric, the heavy weight of fatigue pushing against his body crashes him right back down.
He tries to peel his eyes open but the second one forces open, the other falls closed. His body felt numb and he could not bring himself to move. No matter how much his body wanted control, his brain was too out of it.
He can feel the figure slowly approach him and lean down to hover over him. They gently pat his shoulder and kiss his forehead.
In the mess of confusion, his brain somehow still manages to register what the other person in the room, who he can now assume is Fiona, is saying.
“I have to get to work now. Make sure to take your meds, alright? Debs will help you.”
If Ian could scoff right now he would. The meds that were supposed to make him better coincidentally reminded him a lot of his depressive episodes. He hates how they make him feel. His mouth feels so dry and his hands, when he has the energy to actually move them, can’t help but to shake. He feels so fucking hopeless and the fact his little sister has to babysit him really doesn’t help.
He tries to stay in bed as long as possible but unfortunately another side effect of the lithium is that it makes him really have to piss. He slowly moves his legs to hang over the side of the bed, grabs the sheets and pulls himself up. He stumbles to the bathroom mechanically and can’t help but to compare the feeling to being a zombie. A walking corpse, lifeless yet cursed to exist for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive again.
Afterwards, Ian figures that since he’s up anyway, that he should continue his trek of the undead down the stairs. He was thirsty anyway. It wasn’t until he was chugging a carton of orange juice straight from the fridge that he realized how thirsty he really was. Great, another thing to blame the chemicals that were forced down his throat for. He slammed the box onto the counter, wiped his mouth with his sleeve and lifted his head.
That’s when he saw it. The array of orange prescription bottles scattered across the counter. He couldn’t tear his eyes away after that. He had to do something. He fucking hates those pills. He grabs each bottle and poors the contents out into his hand. There were so many. They expected him to take this many pills just so that they don't have to deal with his problems. The worst part is that this is only one month’s worth. Who knows how many refills he would need? How many pills they needed to shove down his throat before they could even tolerate being in the same room as him. As the brother who resembled their mother all too well.
He shifts the pills around with his fingers and contemplates what to do with them. He considers flushing them down the toilet but he can’t help but have another idea. One that was driven by desperation and probably delusion. Looks like the drugs weren’t very good at curing him of his Bipolar symptoms afterall. In the back of his mind he knows that the pills are working. That they’re just slow and haven’t found a balance yet. But the thoughts in the front of his mind were overpowering.
The thoughts that tell him that his siblings are better off without him. That Mickey is better off without him. That all the effort they put in trying to fix him is wasted because that person no longer exists. He’s even given up already in trying to recover that old self. All that’s left in old Ian’s wake is emptiness. Maybe, if he takes enough, these pills really can help him. If not then he’ll probably die from the overdose. Either way it would be better than how he felt now. He just didn’t want to feel this way anymore.
He looks at his hand for a moment longer before he empties the meds into his mouth. He grabs the carton of juice from before and washes them down, swallowing a few at a time until there’s none left.
Ian then walks to the yard and sits down next to the pool, tilting his head back. He finally felt something. Satisfaction. Relief. The joy of knowing that this would soon be over. He pulls out a cigarette and shoves it into his mouth. It’s not like taking more drugs could do more harm at this point. He lifts the lighter and ignites the end of the cigarette before taking a deep inhale and blowing out the smoke. Ironically enough, despite his lungs being filled with harmful chemicals, he felt like he was taking a breath of fresh air. He closes his eyes and enjoys his final moments.
Those moments, however, are interrupted by the panicked screams of a teenage girl. He doesn’t bother to turn around, he knows what this is about, he also knows there’s nothing that can be changed now. His fate was sealed long ago and he was finally taking it into his own hands.
“Ian…please. What happened to your pills?” Debbie stood in front of him waving the empty bottle in his face. She was clearly upset, furrowed eyebrows contrasting sad eyes.
“They’re gone.” Ian said, matter-of-factly. His eyes were distant and the spark in them was long gone. The lithium he had already taken earlier was still wearing off.
“I can fucking see that, what did you do to them? Did you swallow them?”
Debbie spat in an accusatory tone. She was not proud of how she responded but she was worried and scared. She saw how bad it got with Monica and it hurt to see her older brother reliving the same nightmare. She raised her voice and stared Ian down, trying to look for an answer, even if it was nonverbal.
“What if I did? They make me feel awful, not like it matters anymore.” Ian stated calmly as he took another drag from his cigarette.
Debbie’s eyes widened as she realized that Ian had actually done it. Given that there were no pills left, Ian probably took more than enough pills to kill him. Why would he do that? She thought that with the diagnosis and the meds he would finally be feeling better. Or at least less depressed. What was the point of even having the meds if they didnt work in the first place. If they couldn’t just fucking give her her brother back?
She panicked and grabbed her phone. She called every number she could think of. Fiona, Lip, Mickey, V, Kev, she even tried calling Mandy. None of them picked up so she frantically left voicemails for each of them before calling 911.
Ian just stared blankly at Debbie during her frenzy. He had to admit, seeing her like this made him start to feel guilty, almost regretting his decision. Almost. He could start to feel his body reacting to the amount of lithium he took, his hands were shaking again and he was starting to get dizzy and confused. As he spaced out he could faintly hear Debbie yelling at him, feeling her grab at him and shake him to keep him conscious.
Her efforts, however, were all for naught when he started seizing in her arms. She couldn’t help the shocked scream that escaped her. She threw her hands up and froze, staring helplessly as her brother was shaking on the grass, vomit escaping from his mouth. She didn’t know what to do, the paramedics were already on their way but she didn’t know if there was time. She hated herself for ever looking away. For texting Derek all day instead of checking on Ian. She held Ian and put him on his side so that he doesn’t choke on his vomit, remembering V mentioning that at one point. V, the only person out of all of them that had any knowledge even remotely medical related. She would be so useful right now but she wasn’t picking up the damn phone. Debbie contemplated running over to their house quickly to get her but she didn’t want to leave Ian alone. She also didn’t even know if Kev or V was home right now.
She instead resorted to gently holding Ian in her arms and comforting him between constant glances for an ambulance and spam calls to every number she had saved on her phone.
Mickey was the first to finally pick up.
“What the fuck do you want, Gallagher? If someone doesn’t pick up then take the damn hint. What does it take to get some fuckin’ peace and quiet around here, huh?”
“I-It’s Ian. He took all his pills and oh god…I think he’s having a seizure or something. Please Mickey, tell Fiona and get the hell over he-“
Mickey hung up before she could finish her sentence and she hoped to god he had gotten over whatever his latest unhealthy coping mechanism was this time and was on his way. He may act tough but she had never seen someone fall in love as hard as he did with Ian. He cared for him, and he was just as hurt as the rest of them, if not more, by Ian’s bipolar diagnosis.
Debbie also would not be able to handle another call in this state, her voice was already shaking enough as is. Staring as Ian’s eyes slowly became more and more lifeless didn’t help either. She just sat there, next to her brother’s body, and held him tight in her arms. Scared to let him go.
Thankfully, the ambulance finally arrived around 15 minutes later with Mickey and Fiona pulling up right after them in a car Mickey stole from one of his brothers. They rushed towards Ian’s body, trying to look for a response, pulse, anything, before they were pulled away by the paramedics who shoved him onto a stretcher.
Mickey was shouting at them, threatening them for not letting him near Ian and not telling him if he was ok or not. Fiona was pulling him backwards, telling him he needed to let them do their job and take him to the hospital. She did, however, make it clear that if they let her little brother die, Mickey would be the least of their problems. While Fiona and Debbie were busy asking the paramedics about which hospital they were taking Ian to, Mickey noticed Ian painfully opening his eyes the tiniest bit. He looked dazed but still managed to spit out what he wanted to say.
“Mick.. I just- I couldn’t feel like that anymore. Tell Debs I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Tears filled his eyes before he passed out and the paramedics quickly shoved him into the ambulance while Mickey’s stolen car followed closely behind, ignoring every red light and stop sign on the way.