Chapter Text
“Give up. You can’t sing. You can’t work. You’re useless. Just stop." Those words constantly ran through his head. He couldn’t stand it. And they were only in his head. No one in his life ever really told him that. Not out loud. And he knew it was silly and self defeating to ever worry or think they were.
But that grating voice wouldn’t stop. And he didn’t want to stop any of what the voice told him to. No matter what life had in store. Yet… Even if those words were only in his head, and even when the man told himself no one ever actually said a thing, that wasn’t entirely true. It just wasn’t intended with malice. But it felt nagging and disheartening nonetheless. Even though he knew it was out of worry and a need to help. It just hurt at this point. The reminders of what was happening.
Breathing went first. From the first time he’d gotten badly sick. That made it hard to talk and sing, often prompting scolding for wasting his breath, followed by, “I know you want to. I know you’re upset, but you have to take care of yourself. Find another outlet that won’t hurt you.”
He tried that. Taking walks, dancing a little, wordless mime-like performances. That also cost his breath, but it was in smaller increments and easier to take back. Until he got sick again, and his legs went next with that bout. It was hard to even stand without shaking. Couldn’t lay down comfortably without the pain. Couldn’t move his legs without stabbing in his knees. But he kept trying to walk, kept trying to just move… but then that came with the same gentle scolding as the breath. And he was often set to stay on the couch. At least short distances in the house were ok. Then they weren’t. And he was stuck in bed, needing heavy assistance.
Until now, the doctors hadn’t taken him seriously, begrudgingly running tests but telling him it was just standard asthma. Nothing to be worried about. When he was taken next, though, after his legs had failed them, now they tried. There was always one doctor who tried before, but others had just sent him to the ER, only to come away with nothing but standard asthma, and body still fighting sickness. She tried so hard, sending him for tests, prescribing what she could, listening and watching… But then his legs gave out. She said ER this time, couldn’t make an appointment soon enough for his issues.
He should’ve gone sooner too, but with the constant runarounds and disappointments and worsening issues, he just blew it off, figuring he’d be fine before long. And he wasn’t. The ER staff took him more seriously, putting him in a wheelchair, having him write his symptoms when he’d been rendered almost silent from the breathing issues and panic. But now his hands were shaky, weak. That was new. Just then did that start. And going through his medical history, it was found, with dismay, that one of his illnesses before turned out to be a misdiagnosed COVID-19 Virus.
Long Covid. He knew it. Knew there were issues, had tried to look it up, had gotten dismissed. Knew that Long Covid symptoms turned into other disorders. POTS was almost mentioned, until there was record of a tilt table test and no other symptoms of POTS; that and a comment saying it wasn’t as common in males. The one thing they seemed to miss in his chart was a very specific adjective. Ah well.
But this then prompted the mention of Fibromyalgia, with blood tests run for that, then an idea of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. More tests… He didn’t even protest or care about the tests, or diagnoses now; just hoping something would show up. Anything. Later on, he was at least given a referral for a wheelchair, and scheduled a follow up with his normal PCP. Now to wait for the results. That was always fun and exciting. So he told himself to try and joke and mentally laugh, anyway.
Food. That was hard too. But he needed to eat. Needed to keep his emotions in check. That wasn’t new, at least. Always had texture and stomach issues with that. He thought of the Chronic Fatigue idea as he slowly ate one of his safe foods after the visit. Usually, sleep was an issue. Whether he was tired, could fall asleep, or not. But none of it explained the breathing problems, others mentioned. He didn’t care at that point. Was more concerned about the pain, the walking, the hands…
All they could do was wait. But they had gone on a weekend. Great way to spend a Saturday. Not like he had much going on during the week now. He’d been off of work, contemplating putting in a notice. He’d used up his sick leave, and had already had to leave early several times… Now he had his phone out, staring as he tried to figure out what to say… didn’t matter, really. Didn’t have to be perfect. He was just frustrated now, just felt done. So he started with just explaining what had been going on, how that was affecting him, how terrible he felt for his work performance, and that he had to just leave. He just left. Hadn’t run the message by anyone before he sent it.
And then, the bell rang, and a package addressed to him was at the door. Weird. It was Sunday now. Packages were different from mail, but… whatever. Had he ordered a headset? He couldn’t remember. Didn’t usually buy his own headphones because of the expense. Nor did he play video games that required any special set. But this was marked as a gift. From whom? He didn’t know who to ask. The address was correct. No one else knew, and he wasn’t sure who to contact to ask.
So he was told to just try it out, or see what happens and see if they could return it if they couldn’t figure out who ordered it. So he was just gonna use it for music, maybe he could try to sing, or just end up using it for cosplay. Whatever.
Later on, he sat in bed, trying to find instructions. Bluetooth, charging… anything. He couldn’t, so figured he might as well put it on to at least see how it felt, phone out for music. But, then things went black, and all he felt then was a jolt and pain in his heart from panic.