#everything sends me into a spiral. either of overwhelming anxiety or of self loathing and horrible thoughts

[lovsome]

so yesterday i called the mental health center to set an appointment with a psychiatrist and they said the earliest spot is on march 5th.. so thats what i got. i cried a bit because idk how im gonna make it to march 5th tbh

[wordsandlyricsandpicturesohmy]

After so long I thought that the feeling had gone away, that the idea of self-harm as a means to make myself feel again or as a means of making all the overwhelming feelings dissipate had become nothing more than just an old method I had used when I didn’t have the right outlet. Yet here I am, in my lowest, darkest moment in a long time immediate turning to it when everything became too much. And it wasn’t just the idea of performing self-harm that made me break, it was the fact that I had thought about and sought out my medications to try and kill myself, as I knew deep down that simply adding a few more scars to the hundreds that cover my thighs and arms wouldn’t be enough this time, as the feelings I was being overwhelmed by would just come back as soon as the moment was over.

Little issues build up quickly when you simply brush them off and don’t think about them. Little problems at work that you choose to keep quiet over, slight hiccups with friends that you hold your breath over. Small issues with family members that you pass off as simply normal feelings that come with your relatives. These have all built up over time for me, as I somewhere along the way decided that the best way for me to get better was to change myself, that the only way to truly move on from everything that has happened to me would be made easier by simply becoming a new person entirely. A person who likes to socialise, someone who steps out of their comfort zone regularly, who likes to go out and drink.

But the weight of all these choices has come crashing down, and it did so as soon as I face my first problem early this morning, and every little issue and surprise just made it that much worse and that much more overwhelming.

I tried to be different, but that just isn’t in the cards for me. I don’t drink, I don’t like the memories that come with it that I more than often have to push to the side. I hate socialising with people while I am trying to work and study. I don’t like to message people often as I like my alone time to just be my alone time. I hate drugs, I have seen enough and heard enough stories from my parents and the overdoses that they’ve seen and the aftermath of their ill-fated choices to know that no good could ever come from them.

I am done pretending, I am done changing myself so that I may feel some kind of acceptance from the people who I have surrounded myself with.

I am done being ashamed of who I am and the past I have had to endure.

I am done pushing things down and pretending that little things are easy for me to deal with and that the mediocrity of everyday like isn’t completely overwhelming to me and my senses.

 So who am I?

I am the voice behind every single one of these letters, poems and notes.

I could just be another faceless person who sits in front of a computer screen.

But I have never properly introduced myself, my issues and my demons. I have simply mentioned them in fleeting, and very rarely put my voice to them when people ask me about my fears and problems.

My name is Emily, a 21 year old who, like everyone our age is struggling with figuring out who they are and where they are going.

I am someone who suffers from depression and social anxiety.

I am also someone who has been sexually assaulted 3 years ago.

 For a year and a half I spent my life pretending that nothing had ever happened to me, I went through a short phase of being upset and angry, but I pushed past it quickly, throwing myself back into my school life and social circles. I tried dating people, all the while ignoring that sick feeling in my stomach that I now know is the feeling of mistrust. I tried hanging out with friends while ignoring that small voice in my head that would tell me that they would all do the same thing to me when given the chance. I studied my ass off while trying to pretended that I hadn’t screwed myself over and would never get the marks necessary to graduate and get into the course I wanted to.

I did this for the last half of year 12 and almost my whole first year of university. And then I met someone who I hadn’t seen in that year and a half, and their apology sent me spiralling. The next thing I knew I am sitting at my desk before work balling my eyes out while trying to figure out what was wrong with me. I spent countless hours over the following 2 weeks in and out of the doctors trying to find which medication would work best for me and trying to find a professional who I could open up to. I was made to take time off work and spend my days lying in bed because I felt no need to get up. I spent my days sleeping because I didn’t have the energy to get out of bed.

When I was driven to my first appointment with Margaret I was sceptical, why was I meant to all of a sudden open up to this stranger when I couldn’t even open up to my family. How was I meant to talk about my feelings when I felt like I had none at the time. I was sent to see a psychiatrist and given script after script of anti-depressants, sleeping tablets and an epileptic medication. Because regardless of my expressed fears of being given large numbers of scripts and being given the ability to potentially horde my medications, my doctor decided that the best way to help me was drugs, and then drugs for the side effects, and then drugs for the nightmares. Soon my life revolved around set times for medications and doctor visits.

All the while I never had to speak about what had happened, I just had to deal with the fact that I simply no longer had the capacity to process and deal with more than one emotion at a time. Because when I was happy I felt suspicious because with happiness comes joy, and pride. And I felt like these feelings were false and only due to the high doses I had been taking and would just ignore them. When I felt sad I was often plagued with anger, disgust, fear and self-loathing. These emotions would drive me to the point of tears, I would have moments where I felt like I couldn’t breathe. So I shut them all out, and let this little bit of pressure slowly grow in the back of my head. And as I would quickly come to discover, the numbness I would feel and the pressure in my head that would build until that was all I could notice would only be released if I hurt myself. A quick reminder that I can feel before I would shut down again.

I started small, punching a pillow, and then my desk, and then any hard surface I could find. But bruises on my hand made it hard for me to work without customers asking questions, so I moved onto punching my legs, letting them become black and blue from the times I would spend just sitting there hitting them, over and over again until I would realise that I had been doing it for a long time. But just as quickly as I started I stopped and moved onto something else; cutting myself. Running a pair of scissors or a knife along my forearms and thighs, watching the blood droplets form before solidifying. Knowing that they would hurt for a while, and itch while they were healing.

I had found an outlet that I did not tire of, but it left me with marks that I would soon view with disgust, and then sadness, and then they would be so overwhelming that I would hurt myself again just to stop it from overwhelming me. I bear these scars and do my best to cover them, I always wear jeans or dresses that won’t show them, I always have a jacket or long sleeve shirt on. I avoid going out when its cold as that when they turn pink and they feel like flashing neon lights. I began to fear if people would see them and immediately judge me, assume that I did it for attention. I quickly resigned to staying at home, where my mother would see them and not say a word, where my father was never around me long enough to notice them, where my brothers and sister were all either simply too young to understand or old enough that they didn’t want to be around their “weird and sick” sister because they thought that it might brush off on them.

I did all of this for months on end. Because I still never had to reflect on what had happened, I began to admit that something was wrong, but I never had to talk about the subject of my assault. Purely because I hated the term assault. If you tell someone that you’ve been assaulted there are so many different types of assault that come under that umbrella, and people never know whether or not to assume the most or least extreme scenario. So I would simply tell them that something had happened, and no I didn’t want to talk about it. Because almost everyone I told would look at me with pity and give me their half-assed apologies and ask if I was ok; or they would judge me and make the stereotypical comments of “she was asking for it” “Well you should have dressed more modestly/appropriately”.

Well fuck you then.

Those people had no idea what happened or how their words affected me. I very quickly got sick and tired of people asking me if I was ok, because no one wants to know the real answer, they simply want to say that they asked in order to make themselves feel better. People say they are sorry because they have no idea what to say and don’t want to ask questions. I began to feel sick to my stomach when people would look at me with pity in their eyes and give me a small pout. I began to hate socialising even more, and hated even uttering a single word about what happened.

But that’s the question you have now, isn’t it? You know that I have been assaulted, and if you are good with your math skills you would have figured out that I was a little over 18 when it happened.

Well, I don’t really know how to tell you if I’m honest. For how much detail is too much? If I simply said that a group of people thought it would be a funny way of payback would that answer your question or leave you with more? What if I told you that I had never had sex before that night and that I had never had a partner before that moment? Would you be curious or would you begin to feel sorry for me and send me messages of sympathy?

Well, without too much detail to bore you, but enough to give you an idea as to how it managed to fuck me up so badly; I was invited to a girls house around the corner from mine. I had known her for about 12 years, we knew each other like the back of our hands. So when she had heard of a rumour that I had slept with one of her boyfriend’s when they were going out she decided that she should get even with me, regardless of the act that I was never one for such things. She got her dad as well as a bunch of her friends to spike my drinks with alcohol and give it to me without knowing, getting me drunk to the point that I couldn’t move. The best way to describe it is my arms and legs felt like they were jelly while also feeling like they were so heavy that they were made with iron. A guy I didn’t know entered the room. The rest of it I’m sure I don’t need to go into detail for you.

I lost my trust in a lot of people after that moment. I found myself uncomfortable around every man I ever met. People coming up behind me gave me panic attacks, and still often makes me shudder involuntarily. I can’t stand the thought let alone the act of anyone touching my neck and it immediately reminds me of his hands wrapped around it as a means to scare me and keep me quiet. The idea of having sex became something utterly repulsive because my first experience was so scaring, so how could anyone find the act enjoyable?

I have begun to overcome these issues overtime, but they all still remain in some shape or form.

And up until this point, they have been the only part of me that has always stayed the same since that moment.

And I am tired of having only my experience being the only thing that has connected me with my old self, I am tired of changing who I am and what I do in order to fit in with the people around me who will never change.

Yes I can be loud and overbearing at times, and if there is a subject I am passionate about then there is a good chance I won’t know when to shut up. But I also love being alone, I love the idea of walking around by myself with my earphones in blasting music anytime and anywhere. I love having moments of childish fun, but I also enjoy being an adult, going out and having a coffee or visiting an exhibit.

I hate being in large groups, I find myself very uncomfortable. Loud places scare me and I try to avoid them, and if there is a group of young people hanging out and laughing then I will immediately try to excuse myself. I hate going out just for the sake of drinking to get drunk, I don’t mind a drink or two, but you will often find me chasing them down with several glasses of water to try and avoid getting drunk. I try not to be alone with men, as I don’t want to begin to feel uncomfortable around them. I can’t stand jokes about rape and suicide. Because I’ve experience one and attempted the other twice, and it was not funny either times so if you don’t shut your mouth then believe me you don’t want to see me do it for you.

 I think I’ll take a little moment to distance myself and try to at least be me, or at least, become somewhat similar to the me that I was in high school. So that means no regular updates about what I am doing. No steady stream of messages to hang out every second day. Because that’s not me. I tried to be that person, and I couldn’t do it.

Honestly, it’s killed me a bit,

And if I’m being brutally honest,

It’s lead me to those moments when I’ve almost let it kill me.

[thelightofthingshopedfor]

have 8 million things to do very soon and I can tell that I'm riiiiiight on the edge of a depression spiral (which is itself at least partly caused by being overwhelmed, dealing with it poorly and becoming more overwhelmed, and hating myself for dealing with it poorly) which is SUPER GREAT TIMING. so obviously I'm making a list, because sometimes that helps.

things I absolutely must do this weekend:

finish the hair repaint on my current Etsy order so I can mail it Monday or earlier

do anything I might need to do for the other outstanding order that the customer also wants in time for Christmas somehow, so that when the parts arrive on MONDAY I can put the thing together and mail it almost immediately (damn well better show up on Monday, which is itself irritating because the site said free 2-day shipping but nobody really means that when they ship to Alaska)

wrap and prepare any gifts I want to mail out because I should also send those no later than Monday, and in fact earlier would have been better, but for some reason every year I'm like "eh, it's fine, there's time" right up until there suddenly isn't

do...whatever I still need to do with Tumblr. import to Wordpress, back up the whole thing to my computer with one of several methods I've reblogged, try to find specific posts I want to save (original posts and anything tagged "fic ideas" will be tedious but at least easy to find; no idea about other stuff)

semi-related: add something to my Dreamwidth profile so it's not...blank

haul some more stuff to Value Village and other donation sites, because I’m about to pick up a bunch of shit that will take up too much space in my car (somewhat related: books, music, movies, and toys are 40% off today and tomorrow, which is unusual for them)

set up the damn tree, like even if we don't put ornaments on it I'd at least like to have the tree up (requires digging it out of the garage, which is a disaster and very much not my disaster)

do something with my dad and sister for my birthday (but first, figure out what and when, and like...I don’t have the mental energy for that)

try to get more birthday donations for SPLC (I went with Trevor Project last year and got several donations without doing much to promote it, so I don't know if this one's getting a lot less because it seems more political, or algorithms are hiding this and a lot of my other posts, or a lot of people have deliberately snoozed me because of my political posts, or...something else, idk)

transfer stuff into my new planner, because my current one is close enough to the end that it's not very useful anymore

other things that don't necessarily have to happen this weekend but should happen in the really near future, both because they need to get done and because they're contributing to my overall mental load that means everything is overwhelming:

figure out how to send in the claim for my car accident last year to my life-insurance-and-a-few-other-things company, because it's worth $50 (should probably also see if I can get something similar for the earthquake, because I think it did fuck up my neck a little more, and $50 is $50 when I'm paying them that much each month)

list other things on Etsy...now that it's too late to take advantage of holiday sales 😖

sign up for actual training with Hazy

also, bug the rescue group again about recent vet info to figure out whether she has any pre-existing conditions and when she needs a checkup (maybe soon, because she seems to scratch herself a LOT and sometimes she gets kind of wheezy)

also also, try to figure out ways to work on her separation anxiety and general hyperness, which I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO because it's all a gradual process that I don't really have time for, and I have yet to find a smart/puzzle toy or a good chew toy that really seems to occupy her attention so I guess I still need to try more, and apparently mental stimulation through training can be good for anxiety and hyperactivity both so I should really be working on extremely basic commands on my own probably??

shit that's right I also need to figure out if I want to get her on VCA Care Club and do research for pet insurance that might be better than the one we had for Scully

get myself back into a better Planet Fitness habit, because I didn't go at all this week and I've definitely dropped off in the last few weeks, which is partly because I've been busy with other things INCLUDING THE GIANT EARTHQUAKE but partly because the main reason I was good about it before was that I literally tricked myself into wanting to work out so I could listen to The Adventure Zone, and once I caught up on that, nothing else I've tried (MBMBAM, occasional TAZ updates, Night Vale) has quite filled the gap of "hilarious goofs + suspenseful long-form narrative" that makes me actually want to work out, so...either I need to figure out how make myself go without that motivation (mixed success so far or I wouldn't be talking about it or feeling guilty about it) or find another podcast I want to binge. and try to figure out if there's any point to asking them to stop playing so many news channels (especially Fox two or three times and fucking OAN once) at the TV bank for the cardio machines, because that is...honestly another thing that makes me not want to go

related: somehow find a way to make myself do my core exercises regularly, because slacking on those and slacking on Planet Fitness is probably part of the reason my headaches and neck and general constant exhaustion have maybe been worse lately, AND ALSO start regularly doing the exercises that are supposed to help with my newish hand/wrist pain, all of which sucks because a big ol' theme here is me having a hard time forming un-fun new long-term habits (exercise, going to bed earlier) that are crucial for improving basically every part of my life and not worsening the health problems i already have

TYPE UP MY DAMN NOTEBOOKS and organize everything so I actually know how much I have in my current WIPs; now that my computer is back there's no excuse for not doing this

also like...write. in general. now that I have a Christmas-related idea I'd kinda like to do and I also want to do a Yuletide treat, and maybe Avengers: Endgame isn't really a deadline for lots of other fics but also it kind of is

actually organize my backups so they're not a disaster and it's not a crisis next time I have computer problems (plus like, I'm going to need everything backed up when I upgrade)

research and buy a CPU, motherboard, SSD, and maybe new PSU, ideally without spending a horrendous amount of money

make more progress in SWTOR because there's no guarantee how long it's going to be around and tbh it's ridiculous I haven't finished all the class storylines despite having been a subscriber for like. SEVEN YEARS

unfuck my iTunes library YET AGAIN

find a therapist, because I've probably been needing one for a while but a huge theme in all of this is being overwhelmed because I have too much to do and don't know how to deal with it, and then getting into guilt and self-loathing because I dealt with it badly and it got worse, and I'm increasingly sure it's my not-really-diagnosed-or-treated ADHD starting this old, old cycle to begin with and that means it's even more important to find a therapist who will actually. do stuff. with the ADHD. instead of just kinda...dropping it.

slight problem though, adding yet another regular appointment means less time for...everything else and that doesn't exactly help with being overwhelmed, so it's like...a disincentive to pursue it

the only thing I really want to do:

sleep for about a year

[littleoldrachel]

Fifth chapter is up! Read it here on ao3, or here on ff.net, or under the cut.

***Shoutout to a real life angel @mysticalightwood for sending me the loveliest message about this lil thing and making a rubbish day so much better <3***

100 Ways to Say I Love You

Summary: In which actions speak louder than words, Sirius and Remus sort of fall in to a relationship, and even though neither of them have said those three all-important words, they both know it anyway.Or: 100 Ways to Say I Love You by Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

Previous |  chapter 5/100 - “I’ll walk you home.” | Next

Based on this post by p0ck3tf0x

Tw for mentions of anxiety, mentions of depression, some real intense self-hate, a blink and you'll miss it reference to past self harm, ANGST.

Remus plops himself down in to an armchair, hissing slightly as his muscles shriek in protest. Alice grimaces sympathetically from where she’s curled in her own squishy chair, and Lily drops in to the final seat with a sigh.

She raises her mug of almond-milk hot chocolate, and clinks it against the others’. “The three spoonies ride again!” Alice lets out a little whoop, jingling her silver ‘I’m epileptic!’ bracelet, and Remus smiles behind his cup, unable to match their enthusiasm, because his stomach is killing him. (His whole body is tender and fiery just beneath his skin, but the cramps are fierce and relentless. He surreptitiously cradles his hot mug against his belly; the heat that seeps through his shirt helps a little, but not enough. The chatter and buzz of the café are doing nothing to help his headache either, and he wants nothing more than to crawl in to his bed with a hot water bottle and stay there for the foreseeable future).

“How are y’all?” Lily asks, taking a huge bite of her Danish, and groaning around the mouthful. “This is fucking delicious.”

Alice shrugs a little. “Not terrible, الحمد الله. Haven’t tranced in like, a month?”

“That’s great,” murmurs Remus. “Did you get your meds adjusted?”

“Yeah, they’re better now, I’m less sleepy all the time. The weight gain’s a pain, but,” she pulls a face. “Every time I complain about it in front of my parents, I’m told that I should be grateful that they can even treat it, blah blah blah.”

Lily scoffs. “Spoken like a true Able.”

Alice makes a noise of agreement in her throat. “Anyway. How about you, Lils?”

Lily pulls a face, cramming the last of the pastry in to her mouth. “Had a bit of a flare last week. Also, J made his own ice cream – what a nerd, can you believe he makes his own? – and obviously, I couldn’t resist, and my UC did not appreciate that at all. But this week: so far, so good.”

“It’s only Monday,” Remus points out.

“And I am trying very hard to be positive. What’s gotten in to you, Mr Grumpy Guts?” Lily retorts.

Remus flushes a little guiltily (selfish, selfish, selfish). “Sorry… I’ve had this stomach ache for like four days, and everything hurts. I just – sorry.”

“Oh no, habibi, don’t do that,” Alice shakes her head, and Remus is momentarily distracted by the way her pink, glittery hijab sparkles under the warm, café lighting. “You’re absolutely allowed to be grumpy. Anyone would be.”

Lily nods in agreement. “We don’t have to apologise for our illnesses making us moody here, remember?” She stretches out a hand to Remus, and he smiles back at her, squeezing his fingers. “There’s something else the matter though,” she says, and her eyes narrow as she scrutinises him. “You look awful. And not in an I-can’t-stand-up-straight-and-shower-because-everything-hurts sort of way.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“She’s right,” chimes in Alice, and somewhere, beneath the pain in his gut, Remus feels the stirrings of panic, and even further below that, the churning shame-rejection-disappointment-sadness that he’s been suppressing for the last few days. “Uh oh, what’s that face?” She shuffles a little closer to him, laying a protective hand on his forearm. Remus takes a deep breath, staring down at his hot chocolate, and it trembles a little in his hands.

“I did something really fucking stupid.”

There’s a silence, and then Lily says – her voice low and urgent – “Remus, are we talking I’m hurting myself again kind of stupid, or I’m not taking my meds or – “

“No!” Remus says quickly, hating himself that these are even things that they have to worry about. “Nothing like that.” He feels Lily relax, and Alice lets out a barely-audible sigh, and the ball of self-loathing that wraps around his heart tightens a little more. “I… uh...” he runs a hand down his face, and whispers through his fingers, “I sort of kissed Sirius?”

“What?” Alice yelps, and Lily jolts, going rigid once more. “I have so many questions. When? Where? Sort of? What??”

Remus can’t meet their eyes, as he lowers his shaky hands, and begins twisting them anxiously, pinching at the skin on his wrist. “At the party thing. Last week.”

There’s another pause as they digest this. “Sort of?” Alice repeats. “What does that even mean?”

He lets out a sigh, feeling the guilt-shame-self-hatred writhing low in his belly, and a sharp pain twists through his stomach. (He deserved that, he deserves that and worse for fucking everything up. Sirius hasn’t texted or called in five days since it happened, and the thought of seeing him again makes him feel dizzy and nauseous with nerves… though there’s a smaller part of him that isn’t sure why he’s making this such a Big Deal – it’s not like he hasn’t kissed Sirius before; Sirius is affectionate, and they’ve been friends for long enough that this shouldn’t be causing such turmoil).

“We were kind of just… sitting next to each other, and then he squeezed my hand, and just… didn’t let go? And then I kissed his hand?” He goes to hide his face once more, but Alice catches his arm and holds it fast.

“You kissed his hand? What is this, the 1600s?”

Remus is burning – the pain in his stomach is a boiling, bubbling mess, the pain throughout his body sets his skin on fire, and now, the flush rises over his cheeks – hot, hot, hot with embarrassment.

“Lils, you’re being weirdly quiet,” Alice continues. “Any input?”

Lily has sat back in her chair, and is studying Remus, though not harshly. “This explains a lot,” she says eventually, and Remus’ already roiling stomach lurches.

“What do you mean?” he asks, a little too desperate and raw. “Has he said anything?”

“No,” Lily says carefully. “But he doesn’t have to. He’s been in a kind of… daze? J and I thought it was because of the new job – anxiety, you know? But this explains it.”

“Shit,” Remus murmurs. “Shit, shit, shit.” He draws his legs to his chest, curling up as small as his aching body will allow. (He wants to drop off the face of the planet, or sink in to a deep, dark hole, or fade entirely from existence-)

“Stop spiralling,” Lily says sharply. “It’s not a bad sort of daze. That’s why it didn’t add up. He’s… happy, I think?”

Remus looks at her disbelievingly. “Please don’t lie to me to make me feel better. Not about this-“

“Look,” Alice cuts in. “What did he say when you did it?”

Remus swallows and looks down. “Nothing… it was just silence and then I ran and I’ve ruined everything.” He buries his face in his knees, because he doesn’t have the courage to face either of them right now, and he especially doesn’t deserve their kindness.

“How have you ruined everything?” asks Lily calmly, and Remus snaps his head up incredulously.

“Are you kidding? Now he knows that I – that I – “

“Yes?” Alice says gently, when he tapers off.

“That I – hngh, never mind,” Remus can feel a lump in his throat, and the words are trapped beneath it, unable to escape. The burning sensations throughout his body have reached the backs of his eyes, but he refuses to cry – he will not cry. (This is why this is a Big Deal – this is what makes it different to any other time that Sirius has kissed him).

“Noooo, don’t do that.” Lily grabs his hand back, and strokes the back of it with her thumb reassuringly. “Go on.”

Remus wrenches his gaze to her face, and then feels an icy bucket of dread-horror-panic tip over him because she knew. The tears spill over his cheeks before he can stop them. “You knew,” he mumbles, “shit, shit, shit, is it that obvious?”

“Is what obvious?” persists Alice, taking his other hand.

“That I like Sirius!” Remus bursts out, and then shrinks in his seat as a couple of heads turn in his direction.

“Oh, praise the Lord!” Lily whispers, a smile splitting across her face.

“You finally admitted it!” Alice says, radiant with how wide she’s beaming.

Remus feels – overwhelmed. He’s horrified that this secret that he’s kept so close to his heart for so long was apparently blindingly obvious, he’s terrified by the implications of everyone knowing, he’s still a mess of guilt, shame, and embarrassment. The odd sense of relief at sharing this burden juxtaposes painfully with his utter panic that he’s shared this burden. It’s been his secret (or apparently not a secret, but still), and only his, for as long as he can remember – for weeks, months, years even, and a secret that’s outlasted every other crush he’s had on men, women, people just as kind, brave, smart, funny, gorgeous as Sirius.

(Except that there’s nobody quite like Sirius – not many people are capable of making Remus feel so good about himself just by being around them, not many people give him the confidence to feel like he can accomplish anything he puts his mind to – not many people make him feel like enough, just as he is. But Sirius does).

He doesn’t know what to do with this tidal wave of conflicting emotions, and he tries to suck in a shaky breath, to combat the tears that are trickling down his cheeks, but it’s like he’s lost all control.

“Shh shh shh, you’re alright,” Lily’s gentle voice cuts through his meltdown, and he’s startled to find that she’s moved directly in front of him, and is pulling him in to an embrace. He buries his face in to her shoulder – disoriented, but agonisingly aware that he needs to get a grip – and forces in a few calming breaths like his therapist has taught him. As Lily releases him, her face tense with concern, Alice presses a tissue in to fists that he didn’t realise were clenched.

“S-sorry,” he whispers, wiping his eyes on his sleeve, whilst still struggling with the whole even-breathing thing.

“We didn’t mean to push you,” Alice says, and Remus shakes his head a little too violently; it twinges sharply at the movement.

“It’s just been – a shitty week, and I’m loopy with the pain and – everything – I – argh,” Remus scrubs at his eyes, smearing the tears on his cheeks, and presses until he’s seeing stars. (Sirius is a star, his mind supplies unhelpfully, and he snaps his eyes open again). “I’m a fucking mess.”

“Yes,” says Lily, easing herself back in to her chair. “But we love you more than life itself. Now, we need to talk about this.”

“Whyyy?” Remus whines, hiding his face again, “I’m fine just burying my head in the sand and pretending it never happened.”

“I think we just saw that’s not true,” Alice says quietly.

“Agreed,” says Lily, “so. What’s so bad about Sirius knowing that you have Feelings for him?”

“Because nothing can ever happen and so it will make our friendship super weird – it’s already making our friendship weird, and-“

“Why can nothing ever happen?”

“Because he’s – everything,” Remus waves his hand, unable to explain quite what Sirius is – but knowing that Lily and Alice will understand anyway, because they adore Sirius just as much as he does. “And I’m-“ he gestures vaguely at himself, “this.”

Alice slaps his arm – gently, obviously, because she’s thoughtful and good and Remus loves her so much – and says sharply, “careful now. It sounded a lot like you were about to be down on yourself.”

Remus sighs, “I just mean that compared to him –“ Lily raises her eyebrows and Remus changes track sharply. “My life’s not going anywhere, and sometimes it feels like I have nothing going for me, and I know that’s not true, and I’m working on it, but I can’t help it, and – I just – Sirius deserves everything.”

When he finally looks up, he’s not entirely unsurprised to see Alice and Lily staring at him. What is surprising is the near unbearable sadness in their eyes.

Lily’s voice is heavy and a little tired, “one day, Remus, I swear to God, you will see yourself the way we all see you.”

“You deserve everything too,” Alice adds, the corners of her mouth tugging down uncharacteristically.

“Can we not?” Remus loves his friends – unquestionably, unshakeably; they are the best part of him, and he is frequently overwhelmed by the thought that these incredible, wonderful beings love him too. But sometimes it’s not a good overwhelming, and right now, he’s uncomfortable enough as it is, and any more of their unbounding affection, and he’s going to start crying again.

Lily makes a slightly frustrated noise, but lets it go, and Alice purses her lips a little. “Okay. So, ‘worst case scenario:’ Sirius knows that you have a crazy big crush on him. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Remus frowns, because Alice and Lily are two of the smartest, fiercest women he knows, but they’re asking the most inane questions. “He gets weirded out, our friendship is ruined, it splits the group and everyone sides with Sirius.”

“Habibi, never.” Alice looks aghast. “If you really think that we would all abandon you over something like this, then we’re failing you as friends.”

“You are just as important to us as Sirius,” Lily says firmly, and Remus screws his eyes shut. (He’s screwing this up, just like he’s screwed up his friendship with Sirius. He doesn’t want to talk about his shitty self-worth, he doesn’t want to have to explain to them all the reasons why Sirius will absolutely never reciprocate his feelings; all he wants is to curl up in bed with a hot-water bottle and feel sorry for himself).

He’s vaguely aware that Lily and Alice are silently communicating whilst his eyes are shut – probably in BSL, James paid for everybody to have classes the moment Peter joined their group – and he’s resigning himself to yet another pep talk about how loved he is, but –

“Okay, what if this is a classic example of your anxiety working everything up, and he doesn’t actually know, and everything stays the same?”

Remus opens his eyes in surprise. “That’d be the best solution,” he says, like it’s obvious, because that would be ideal, right? That’s what he wants, isn’t it?

There’s a pause, and Alice and Lily exchange another Look, and Remus realises he’s missing something significant. He sort of wants to ask what it is, but his stomach is hurting worse and worse by the second, this conversation is draining more and more of his energy – not a good sign considering he has work later.

“I promise we’ll drop this if you promise us that you’ll talk to him,” Lily says finally.

“Soon,” adds Alice.

The thought of hashing all this out with Sirius makes Remus’ anxiety spike, and his head spins a little even as he finds himself nodding in agreement. It seems to satisfy his friends for the time being though, because the conversation shifts to their jobs – Lily and Alice take lead of the conversation, whilst Remus leans back in the armchair, focusing on breathing through his nerves and massaging his stomach through the pain. (Neither do much to ease his suffering).

He loses track of time – it’s only Alice nudging him and reminding him that he needs to get going for work that forces him to his feet.

“Thank you for putting up with me,” he says, pulling his arms around himself, and his heart warm a little as the two of them scoff.

“We love you so much, sweetheart,” Lily murmurs before he leaves, and he nods, pecking her cheek, before turning to Alice.

“Don’t lose hope. Things will work out, إن شاء الله,” she presses a kiss to his other cheek, holds him tight in her embrace for a moment longer than necessary.

(His friends are the best things in his life; he will never stop being grateful to them, and he can only pray that this thing with Sirius isn’t about to fuck it all up, because it will tear him apart if it does).

It’s not a long shift – only four or so hours, but Tom tries to convince him twice to go home in that time – and every time he catches sight of his reflection in the pint glasses, he has to resist a shudder, because he’s all blotchy and clammy and a fucking mess. He has a minor moment of panic when his brain is too foggy to comprehend a customer’s order, but Tom rescues him (“if you won’t go home, lad, then you’re gonna at least take a fuckin’ break,” and Remus spends the entire fifteen minutes in the breakroom curled in a ball on the floor).

Closing finally – finally – arrives, the last of the regulars slope off, and Remus begins wiping down the tables and bar top, moving slowly to accommodate his aching everything. The soft music – usually obscured by the noise and bustle of the pub – drifts over the empty room, and he’s so fucking tired.

“Can I get a drink?”

“We’re closed,” says Remus automatically, before he tenses as he recognises the voice. Sirius is leaning across the bar with his playful smirk, and he looks – fantastic, of course he does. (And Remus is pale and sweating with how much pain he’s in, and the bags under his eyes are now taking up most of his face, he looks – dreadful, of course he does).

“Hey,” says Sirius, his smirk fading in to something a little more cautious, and his gaze flickers over Remus concernedly.

“Hi,” Remus says, because, in spite of Alice and Lily’s best efforts to prepare him for this moment, he doesn’t have a fucking clue what to do now that he’s actually face-to-face with Sirius.

Sirius clears his throat, clearly just as aware of the awkwardness as Remus. “How’ve you been? S’been a while.”

Remus grips the underside of the bar for support, feeling a little weak with panic. He knows Sirius is anxious too – he’s picking at his cuff with one hand, and he keeps adjusting his stance from one leg to another, and Remus doesn’t know what to say.

“Oh… uh, I mean, you know, busy…” he winces at his own excuses, looks down at the glasses he’s wiping dry, desperate for some sort of distraction. “How have you been?” He chances a glance back up at Sirius.

He’s frowning, studying Remus – taking in the way his hands are shaking slightly with the effort of putting the glasses away, at the way he’s cradling his stomach with his arm. He takes a breath, and meets Remus’ eyes squarely. “Not that great. Anxious as heck. Missed you,” he chuckles self-consciously.

Remus’ throat is dry and his stomach is churning, but if Sirius can be brave enough to be honest, then fuck it, so can he. He swallows, “I missed you too.”

“Then why didn’t you text? Or call, or something?” Sirius blurts, and the way his eyes widen shows that he didn’t mean to say that out loud. Remus sees Sirius’ fingers clench around his thigh – a sure-fire sign that he is Anxious -  and his fingers itch with the urge to reach out and take it, to help in some way. But he can’t. He doesn’t have that right.

He can’t hold Sirius’ gaze any longer. He looks away, breathing through his own anxiety, and forces himself to be honest. “I think – I – uh, I made things weird between us, didn’t I?” His chest tightens painfully as he admits it out loud, hate-guilt-shame tearing through him.

“What makes you say that?” Sirius’ voice is careful and measured, and Remus wants to scream, because Sirius is actually going to make him say it – he can’t he can’t he can’t –

He can’t do it. Lying to Sirius makes him feel like the scum of the Earth – he is the scum of the Earth for even considering it, but what choice does he have? Lily and Alice were wrong – he doesn’t deserve Sirius, nobody deserves Sirius; Sirius is too good and amazing and wonderful, and Remus could never give him the life he deserves.

(This is for the best).

(Right?)

He keeps his voice as light as possible, forces a smile to his lips, which probably looks a little too-brittle, but he can always blame it on his fibro. What’s one more lie between them? “Not sure really… it’s not like we haven’t kissed before – I just, on the hand, it’s a bit weird, right?”

(His heart is doing something wrong and painful – a different kind of pain to the pain shooting up and down his body, but no less real. This pain is buried deep, a sort of tearing in his chest, like someone is actually trying to rip his heart out and squeeze the bloody tatters out through his ribcage).

(This is how his heart breaks).

There’s a pause. It’s tense and wrong and overwhelmingly bad. And then –

Sirius laughs, only it’s wrong, there’s something wrong – Sirius’ laugh should be delighted and joyful and loud and this, this is none of those things; it’s forced and uncomfortable and a little awkward, and Remus’ heart aches a little, because he doesn’t know how to fix this. He’s fucked up, he’s ruined everything, he’s in so much fucking pain and he’s fucking exhausted and he can’t – he just can’t.

The sob rises in his throat, even as Sirius is choosing his reply. “A little, I guess. But that’s no reason to go all AWOL on me, okay?”

Remus ducks his head to hide the tears forming on his lashes, and nods. “Sorry – I won’t do it again.”

“Please don’t.” Sirius’ voice is too soft and tender and full of something that Remus can’t place – the sincerity though nearly breaks his resolve to not tell Sirius everything, and he bites down his lip hard enough to taste copper to stop himself from spilling it all.

He nods again, not trusting his voice, and takes a few deep breaths, licking at his lips where they’re oozing blood.

“Are you nearly done here?” Sirius asks, and the change of subject is both relieving and distressing.

“Gotta finish with the sweeping,” Remus mumbles to the floor, and the thought of that much movement makes him want to give in to the tears completely and just sob on the floor.

Sirius claps his hands. “Go sit. I’ll sweep.”

He’s already marching towards the cleaning cupboard by the time Remus is stumbling for a reply. “No – I can – you shouldn’t-“

Sirius is back, broom and dustpan in hand, and he presses his spare palm against Remus cheek gently. “Remus. You look like shit. You’re obviously in pain. Please, for the love of God, humour me and go sit down.”

Remus wants to argue. He really intends to, except he finds himself wandering in a zombie-like state towards the soft sofa seats, and watching through half-open eyes as Sirius makes short work of the sweeping. (Another reason he doesn’t deserve Sirius).

A shadow falls in front of his face, and then there are warm hands in his, helping him to his feet. He staggers a little, and an arm slides around his waist, supporting him until he’s steadier. “I’ll walk you home,” Sirius says quietly, and it’s not a question, but Remus still nods his assent, too tired to argue with him.

The walk back (and Remus insists on a walk, because he absolutely cannot spare the cash for a taxi, and Sirius had already done too much for him this evening) is a sign of how strong their friendship is – it’s quietly pleasant, comfortable, in spite of the recent tension, everything is exactly as it should be. And yet, something has changed between them, Remus is sure of it – there’s something different behind Sirius’ eyes, something more in his smile, and Remus desperately wishes he could place exactly what it is, if only he weren’t so bloody tired. Sirius keeps up a stream of only-slightly-nervous-chatter, and Remus lets it wash over him, too focused on his own pain and self-loathing and guilt to really focus on what he’s saying. (Ironically, the thought of his self-absorption only adds to his self-loathing and guilt, and he knows vaguely that this is going to spiral, that he is Not Okay).

(He misses the way Sirius’ smile is a little sad, his eyes a little disappointed, as they say their good nights in front of Remus’ apartment block. He has no way of knowing that the second he disappears through the door, Sirius is on the phone to James – “Prongs, I thought you said he felt the same, I don’t understand, I thought – I hoped –“. He’s busy crashing fully-clothed in to bed, the guilt and the pain and the shame digging their claws tightly in to his body, and pulling him away from a restful sleep).