Getting Through
Jan. 1st, 2014 08:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
intheheartTitle: Getting Through
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Olivia gets through.
Warnings: depiction of depression
Notes: This is basically how I deal with depressive episodes, and apparently how Olivia does too. This is not a prescription. Everyone's methods are different.
Intellectually, she knows it's not her fault, that it's her crappy adolecence and fitful brain chemistry working against her, but Olivia can't help but feel guilty when the bad days come (18: intellect).
They always come, like a thick sludge of oil, settling over the smooth waters of her life (25: energy flow). It's visible, like a switch has been flicked, although it takes some time for her to be aware of them (9: shift). Generally she's tipped off when nothing seems worth getting out of bed, not even the piano (24: consciousness).
One would think that, being the daughter of a supernatural being, she would be immune to mental illnesses, but that's unfortunately far from true (3: sylph). And of course her mother didn't help one bit, vicious and cutting as she could be (22: vicious). She still hears her mother's voice, her mother's words, but she's progessed far enough that it's only on the bad days that they feel like a sword through her heart (11: sword). Then, of course, it's like a flood, or a tornado, catching her up and flinging her willy-nilly until her heart breaks against the rocks (5: blown away).
On those days, the worst days, she misses her father so much—Hugh Marhenke, her real father, and not the air-god who never knew that she breathed (12: father sky). He was the one who cared for her at all, warm and loving and now as foggy as a memory (8: smoke/fog). If she could have him back... ah, but she isn't a bird; her blood-father has not given her that much (6: bird). She's a landbound being, fat and heavy, and she'll never fly, never dance on the wind (10: flight). She can only dream hazy dreams and wish she'd never left (7: vaporous).
And that's part of it, too, the inability to love or even like herself (13: sanguine). When she's healthy, mentally speaking, she thinks that she's talented and intelligent, but when she's sick, she focuses on the outer things—fat, ugly, spotty—and the things she did for survival—left her mother, got herself help (21: superficial).
It's so hard to open her eyes, to swim to the surface, when everything around her is crushing her down (23: atmosphere).
She has a routine, at least, that helps sometimes: it begins with incense, frankincense for preference (17: incense). The sweet, curling scent lifts her spirits, makes her smile a bit, which is always the first step (4: scent the air). She wears yellow, the brightest shades in her wardrobe, the best-fitting dresses, to make her look good and feel brighter (20: yellow). And now that she has Jake, he's part of it too: coaxing her out of bed, hugging her warmly, kissing her brow and reminding her that he loves her (16: masculine). It all helps: it helps to shade the horizon with light (19: east).
She's coming out of a bad week now, sitting at the open window in the apartment she shares with Jake, practicing meditation breathing, in and out (2: breath). The sun will rise soon, oranges and reds and yellows catching the horizon and outlining the skyline (14: sunrise). It's winter still, but spring will come soon, all light and color and happiness. (15: spring).
The wind touches her curls, lifts them a bit, and she smiles for the first time in days (10: wind/breeze).
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Olivia gets through.
Warnings: depiction of depression
Notes: This is basically how I deal with depressive episodes, and apparently how Olivia does too. This is not a prescription. Everyone's methods are different.
Intellectually, she knows it's not her fault, that it's her crappy adolecence and fitful brain chemistry working against her, but Olivia can't help but feel guilty when the bad days come (18: intellect).
They always come, like a thick sludge of oil, settling over the smooth waters of her life (25: energy flow). It's visible, like a switch has been flicked, although it takes some time for her to be aware of them (9: shift). Generally she's tipped off when nothing seems worth getting out of bed, not even the piano (24: consciousness).
One would think that, being the daughter of a supernatural being, she would be immune to mental illnesses, but that's unfortunately far from true (3: sylph). And of course her mother didn't help one bit, vicious and cutting as she could be (22: vicious). She still hears her mother's voice, her mother's words, but she's progessed far enough that it's only on the bad days that they feel like a sword through her heart (11: sword). Then, of course, it's like a flood, or a tornado, catching her up and flinging her willy-nilly until her heart breaks against the rocks (5: blown away).
On those days, the worst days, she misses her father so much—Hugh Marhenke, her real father, and not the air-god who never knew that she breathed (12: father sky). He was the one who cared for her at all, warm and loving and now as foggy as a memory (8: smoke/fog). If she could have him back... ah, but she isn't a bird; her blood-father has not given her that much (6: bird). She's a landbound being, fat and heavy, and she'll never fly, never dance on the wind (10: flight). She can only dream hazy dreams and wish she'd never left (7: vaporous).
And that's part of it, too, the inability to love or even like herself (13: sanguine). When she's healthy, mentally speaking, she thinks that she's talented and intelligent, but when she's sick, she focuses on the outer things—fat, ugly, spotty—and the things she did for survival—left her mother, got herself help (21: superficial).
It's so hard to open her eyes, to swim to the surface, when everything around her is crushing her down (23: atmosphere).
She has a routine, at least, that helps sometimes: it begins with incense, frankincense for preference (17: incense). The sweet, curling scent lifts her spirits, makes her smile a bit, which is always the first step (4: scent the air). She wears yellow, the brightest shades in her wardrobe, the best-fitting dresses, to make her look good and feel brighter (20: yellow). And now that she has Jake, he's part of it too: coaxing her out of bed, hugging her warmly, kissing her brow and reminding her that he loves her (16: masculine). It all helps: it helps to shade the horizon with light (19: east).
She's coming out of a bad week now, sitting at the open window in the apartment she shares with Jake, practicing meditation breathing, in and out (2: breath). The sun will rise soon, oranges and reds and yellows catching the horizon and outlining the skyline (14: sunrise). It's winter still, but spring will come soon, all light and color and happiness. (15: spring).
The wind touches her curls, lifts them a bit, and she smiles for the first time in days (10: wind/breeze).
