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Earlier that day, Percy had bade his mothers farewell, as the cold gates of the California Asylum for the Genetically Enhanced closed around him. He had felt the last pieces of his powers ebb away, an aching void left behind in their place. There would be no teleporting to escape, no ease of communication with every language at his fingertips - no borrowing the astral from Dorian, no panic attacks that mimicked the behavior of a Poltergeist. He was just like everyone else in this place; incomplete. 

The first few hours consisted of orientation to the program - a unique approach to rehab, primarily after school outpatient, with just a few days of inpatient at the start. If all went well, he would be released before the holidays had ended, and be able to spend a few nights of Hannukah with his loved ones. The medical examination had proceeded relatively quickly, as while he was theoretically supposed to spend the next few days detoxing, James Kingston had already purged his system of any lingering toxins. The last thing on his schedule, before he was due to eat lunch and have an hour to himself, was to meet with his therapist. 

Unfortunately for him, they had already met. 

Percy knocked thrice on the door to Dr. Whitehall’s office, and waited nervously. The clothing standards in the asylum meant that most of what he normally would wear was unacceptable - so instead, he had on a pair of loose fitting sweat pants, a simple t-shirt, and a [url=https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/019b3df3-dd3f-77b2-baf8-db963129a2e4.webp]rather oversized light blue Kirby sweatshirt[/url]. 

Dr. Whitehall had been a bit surprised to hear that a former client of her’s had been admitted to CAGE. She was a bit more surprised to hear that it was Percy and that part of his treatment plan had been rehab. While she was thankful organizations like the ones she worked for offered substance use aid for minors, it was still surprising to hear of a youth who used substances as a means of coping.

She read the literature, of course. Adolescents were using drugs or alcohol far more than in past years due to ease of access. Marijuana was a major one given its legality and plentiful avenues of obtaining it, but it was also just as likely to see one use harder substances. Alcohol was also freely accessible given that the youth’s parents more often than not had cabinets stocked with the stuff.

Dr. Whitehall finished her notes when she heard the knock. She stood up and maneuvered herself over to her sitting area. Two comfortable armchairs and a couch were situated in the middle and a coffee table with various things on it like magazines, books, and some fidget toys. [color=968dd5]”Come in,”[/color] she stated warmly. Once Percy walked in she gave him a warm smile. [color=968dd5]”Welcome Percy, please take a seat where you like. Can I get you something to drink?”[/color]

[color=ed1c24]“Isn’t that why I’m here?”[/color] Percy said a bit sharply. He entered the office and noted that it was somewhat different from the last time he’d been there. Whitehall had redecorated. He took one of the armchair seats, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. 

Dr. Whitehall noted the sarcastic response and let it slide. If it had been another client she may have called them out on it. Defensiveness disguised as humor. She sat down on the other armchair. [color=968dd5]”All right, why don’t you tell me why you’re here?”[/color]

[color=ed1c24]“My family believes I’m an alcoholic,”[/color] he said succinctly. He didn’t go into the details about how he had been caught hungover by his boyfriend’s father, and he had told his mothers during the week they were competing in the Contest of Champions. He didn’t say why he drank, or why he didn’t believe he qualified as an alcoholic…. Or at least, he desperately hoped that he didn’t. He hoped that his mame was right - that he wasn’t quite there yet. He hadn’t meant to come in defensive and abrasive, but it had happened all the same. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to go home. 

[color=968dd5]”Well, we don’t often admit people here based on beliefs. Typically, there is evidence of something going on. The quicker we admit that, the quicker treatment will go, and the sooner you will be out of here. So, why does your family believe you are an alcoholic?”[/color]

Percy raised an eyebrow. [color=ed1c24]“You don’t often?”[/color] But he shifted in his seat uncomfortably. She was right, though. He wanted to leave. So he needed them to decide that his treatment was complete, which should be… well, he could handle it. He wasn’t an alcoholic yet. This was no different than going to the doctor for something preventative. He had done harder things during his time at Margaret Carter, and he would do harder things still. This was just a blip, just a bump in the road. 

[color=ed1c24]“My boyfriend’s father caught me hungover. He told my mothers… and they decided to send me here. But I’m not - I’m not an alcoholic. Not yet. I have it under control. I can… I can stop.”[/color]

Dr. Whitehall made some notes on the tablet in front of her. [color=968dd5]”Ah, I see. You have complete control of your consumption of alcohol despite being well below the legal age limit of it. Tell me Percy, how often do you drink and, when you do, how much do you consume?”[/color]

He glared slightly at the comment. He did, in fact, have complete control. He was smart enough to be able to use it as a tool. There was no danger in becoming addicted. His risk was low, and he could stop whenever he wanted to do so. But… he winced internally as he realized where he had started - just a shot or two - and where he was now… [color=ed1c24]“Once a month or so,”[/color] he estimated. [color=ed1c24]“…A third of a bottle of bourbon.”[/color] 

[color=968dd5]”And what is your goal when drinking? Do you do so to get drunk or do you use it as a way to cope with what you are feeling, like stress or anger?”[/color] Dr. Whitehall needed little help to ascertain how Percy was feeling. He knew, deep down, this was a problem, but his strong emotional denial was overpowering it. He also felt nervous, most likely because he was in a facility that would, in fact, call him out on his bullshit.

Percy paused for a moment. He didn’t really see the difference between those two options. He would get wasted in order to manage feelings that threatened to overwhelm him. It allowed him to dull his emotions, to shut them off for a while, and escape. [color=ed1c24]“It’s a tool for when I’m overwhelmed,”[/color] he said, sidestepping the two options. [color=ed1c24]“It… it dampens things down.”[/color]

Dr. Whitehall nodded. [color=968dd5]”That makes sense. Alcohol is a downer, which means it dampens things like emotions. But it also means it dampens other things like our ability to reason and make informed decisions. It doesn’t solve anything, it is merely a bandage and not an effective one.”

“I want to revisit how your moms found out. You mentioned you were caught hungover. What prompted you to drink then?”[/color]

He pointedly looked away from her. It had been a week or so since the incident. A week or so since he had been so consumed with nerves and anxiety over meeting Dorian’s family, whether or not they would approve of him, whether or not he would be acceptable, that he had been unable to sleep. The fear had kept him wide awake and moving, a sea of emotions he had threatened to drown underneath the waves of. It had been easier to drink, easier to dull things out so he could let his mind slip from that space, to refocus onto gentler things. 

[color=ed1c24]“My ability to reason was fine,”[/color] Percy grumbled. [color=ed1c24]“I was meeting my boyfriend’s family the next day, and I was… I was nervous that they wouldn’t approve of me. I couldn’t sleep. So I drank. Nothing bad happened. I didn’t get hurt. No one else got hurt. I don’t drive a car, so I didn’t need to worry about getting into accidents. I just stayed in my room. It was perfectly safe.”[/color]

[color=968dd5]”I notice you got defensive almost immediately, as if you expected me to judge you for that decision. Despite appearances, I’ll grant you, this is a judgment-free zone. It is understandable to be nervous when meeting a partner’s parents. A lot is riding on that. You want them to like you, but you want to be sure they like who you really are and not some image of someone they expect for their child. I imagine that was a lot of pressure.”

“Have you ever had a panic attack before Percy?”[/color]

He frowned. Had he ever had a panic attack? [color=ed1c24]“Can you define it?”[/color]

[color=998dd5]”It looks different for everyone, but some common signs include feeling a tightness in your chest, difficulty catching your breath, an increased heartbeat which could lead to sweating or headaches or shakiness. People find it difficult to control the worry they are feeling. They may feel cold or hot. It typically doesn’t last long but I know some people say it feels like they are having a heart attack. Similar symptoms.”[/color]

Oh. 

He had definitely had a panic attack before. He had had one during the last fight of the Contest of Champions, when Dorian had merged with Billy and Danni to become some sort of cosmic deity. He had had one later that same day, when a figure from his past had suddenly appeared, and given him a hug. There were others that came to mind too, ones that were less public. He had had one the night after Arcade attacked them all, in the quiet of his room. He had had many in middle school, usually spiking after a particularly vicious bout of bullying. 

He nodded to Dr. Whitehall. 

[color=998dd5]”It’s very common for people who have panic attacks to get worried about having another one so they often look for quick solutions or fixes to it. I am not suggesting that is what you are doing, but a common one is using substances. The thing is with those quick solutions is that it might be good at first, but it isn’t permanent. It’s like with medication. Our bodies grow adjusted and then it becomes less effective.”

“While there is no cure for panic attacks, there are ways to minimize them, to use different coping mechanisms in the moment to help mitigate the symptoms. That is, if you want. Having panic attacks is scary, but it is a natural way our bodies react to stress. It doesn’t make you weak or a failure. It makes you human.”[/color]

[color=ed1c24]“Technically I’m not human, I’m a mutant,”[/color] he mumbled. He didn’t know why he felt the urge to be such a contrarian, to criticize every little detail that he could. He knew that Dr. Whitehall meant well by him, and knew that she had helped a lot of people he cared about before. It should have been simple to just cooperate with her - but being honest with her felt suffocating, felt like the walls in the room were closing in around him. Lashing out, even just a little, helped him to feel a little more in control - a little more like he could leave whenever he wanted, that he wasn’t being held here. That he didn’t have a problem - that it wasn’t too late. [color=ed1c24]“But I don’t drink all the time. So I don’t need to escalate it,”[/color] he argued, lying to himself. It was easier to pretend it had never changed, that he was still the master of his own mind. 

[color=998dd5]”I’m a mutant too. And oddly enough we share a lot of similarities with the average human being, such as panic attacks. Drinking doesn’t always look like how it does on tv or in movies. You know, the person at the bar every night getting drunk and stumbling off or the ones in the parking lots screaming at every person. More often than not those who have drinking problems tend to look like every other person on the street. Some hide it better than others. Some make excuses for it. Some even convince themselves they need to do it or that it isn’t as bad as it seems. And maybe it isn’t. But it gets bad. And it continues to spiral until that person is at the edge and either stumbles forward and gets hurt or is able to pull themselves back.”

“But the only way to work on it is to admit there’s a problem. Otherwise there’s no amount of talk therapy or medication or what have you that will do any good.”[/color]

He was silent for a moment, thinking. He knew his mothers believed he had a problem, his boyfriend’s father believed he had one, and his boyfriend, too. The pained look in their eyes as the subject was ventured had crushed him. Even if he didn’t believe there was anything wrong, they did. And he never wanted them to look at him that way again. He didn’t want to make his mothers cry, he didn’t want to break Dorian’s heart. 

But… could he really be an alcoholic? He was too young for that - too smart, too careful. He… wouldn’t he know if he was addicted? He fidgeted in the chair again, remembering what the ice caves in Jotunheim had shown him, when Leah had been separated from him and Dorian. The vision hadn’t been one he wanted to take in. It sent a shiver down his spine just to recall it. He had seen himself, angry and alone - lashing out at the people he cared about, becoming angry and violent - the increasing need, the bottle whose bottom would never be drained. It consumed him, bleeding his soul, aging his body prematurely. And when his life came to an end, there was no one there to mourn him - he’d died in an alley, his fingers still clutching the bottle. He shut his eyes for a moment, taking a steadying breath. 

[color=ed1c24]“Wouldn’t I know?”[/color] he asked, his voice very quiet, very small. [color=ed1c24]“If I’m addicted?”[/color]

Dr. Whitehall took a moment. [color=968dd5]”You might think so, but addicts don’t see themselves as addicts. If they did we would have a lot of people in rehab or treatment. Addiction is unlike other mental health diagnoses because it relies more so on the person going through it to admit they have a problem versus any doctor or therapist telling them. If someone is depressed, they may not know and go seek out help and are then diagnosed with it. An addict may be told they have an addiction, but it is up to them to determine if that is correct or not. And though there is empirical evidence of addiction running in families, we are also noticing a large trend of it coming up in people with no history of it. Likely due to ease of access as well as stress.”[/color]

He nodded slightly. And then Percy frowned again. There was a contradiction there he wasn’t fully comfortable with - that addicts didn’t see themselves as addicts, but needed to affirm that they did indeed have an addiction. The idea caused his stomach to twist up into knots. His thoughts flickered back to the conversation he’d had with his mom, his mame, back in New Orleans - how his mame’s voice shook as she asked him what was happening, as she confessed to him that she had failed him once again, and how much it hurt that she could not reach him. He shut his eyes once more, and kept them closed. But all he could see was the heartbreak on her face. 

[color=ed1c24]“So… if I am an alcoholic… what am I supposed to do?”[/color] his voice shook. 

Dr. Whitehall paused a moment. The first step was always admitting there was a problem. Even tentatively. [color=968dd5]”If you were an alcoholic, I would recommend starting to find ways to cope with high emotional moments that alcohol was the go-to, with the understanding that quitting cold turkey never works. Gradually we would wean you off alcohol. I could also gather a lit of places that offer AA services or AA-adjacent if you wanted to find support there, though I recognize that’a hefty step. But there are groups that allow for family and loved ones to join so if you wanted I could find ones where your mothers or even your boyfriend could come with, if you wanted.”[/color]

[color=ed1c24]“But I’m underage - isn’t that illegal?”[/color] Percy asked, surprised. The legality of the situation hadn’t stopped him from drinking before, but he hadn’t expected the therapist at CAGE to tell him he could still drink. He doubted his mothers or boyfriend would be thrilled about that idea. He had come here anticipating that he’d be told he could never consume alcohol again, that he would spend the rest of his life as the designated driver - or teleporter - at parties and holidays. 

The idea of being able to bring his mothers and boyfriends to Alcoholics Anonymous meetings was also surprising - but intriguing too. He didn’t know if Dorian would want to come with him to those meetings. He hadn’t taken the news he was going to rehab very well. Percy tensed at the memory - how crushed and disappointed he’d been. His interest in bringing Dorian to an AA meeting was selfish. It would make it easier for him. But he was afraid it would make it harder for Dorian. 

His mother Dominika would go if he asked, he knew as much. And yet, he also was aware that he wouldn’t find much comfort in her presence. He loved his mother dearly, but she approached the world as problems to be solved. He didn’t need her trying to fix him at an AA meeting. So that left his mame, Naomi. She would want to go, even if it broke her heart. She would set herself on fire to keep Percy warm. He wanted her there. He did. He wanted to be able to hide behind her, just as he had when he was small. 

But it wasn’t fair to her, just like it wasn’t fair to Dominika or to Dorian. He couldn’t - he wouldn’t ask that of them. 

[color=ed1c24]“I don’t know if I can ask them to go with me to an AA meeting,”[/color] he said quietly, looking down. [color=ed1c24]“I already hurt them too much.”[/color]

[color=998dd5]”Let me be clear, I am not advocating for you to continue drinking and I think we are already beyond concern for legality. The fact you got help before potentially being arrested is a small blessing. That is why I encourage finding ways to manage your emotions using other methods, but addiction is not a one-size-fits-all-solution methodology. It works different for everyone.”

“And I think you may be underestimating your loved ones. They may be hurt, sure, but I am willing to bet their love for you outshines any potential harm that may have occurred. But it is your choice.”[/color]

Percy’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Hadn’t she just said the plan would be to wean him off of alcohol? A small bit of frustration bubbled up within him. He wanted to protest that he never would have been arrested but… all of the alcohol he consumed had been stolen. And while his powers had only achieved consistency now due to the intense training for the contest, they had never failed him before when it came to swiping a bottle. The realization made him feel nauseous. Alcohol had been enough motivation to give him fine control when other things had failed. He felt the sudden urge to scream. 

He bit the inside of his cheek, and then tried to take a steadying breath. Maybe Dr. Whitehall was right. Naomi had gone on sabbatical from Columbia just to be here for him, and Dominika was spending every waking hour in the lab, researching quantum entanglement. Dorian had even been writing letters for him, filled with flowery language on wax sealed parchment. And of course, he’d accompanied Leah and him on the impromptu trip to Asgard and Jotunheim. 

He scrunched up his face, as his heart began to pound. [color=ed1c24]“Okay,”[/color] he mumbled. He took another breath. He felt the familiar energy swirling up inside him, but there was no power to direct it to - no teleport that would let him run away and reject this reality. If mutant powers shaped personalities, his had shaped his avoidance. [color=ed1c24]“So I am… an… alcoholic.”[/color]

Dr. Whitehall set her tablet down on the end table next to her. [color=998dd5]”I am very proud of you Percy. Admitting it is always the first step. If you want we can get into what next steps would work for you or we can take time and process things, give you the space to be where you need to be to move forward. Afterwards we can discuss next steps and the time frame so we can get you on a good treatment plan and out of here as quickly as possible.”[/color]

Percy was quiet for a moment. It had been harder than he’d realized to say that - he felt so fragile all of the sudden, so vulnerable. As if a crack had started to form underneath the pressure, and one good blow would be all it took to force him to come apart. He didn’t know what he wanted to do. He felt like all of his nerves were shot and fried, like he was about to collapse. 

He extended his silence for a while. Just breathing and avoiding eye contact with the doctor. It might have been seconds, minutes - he didn’t really know - before he spoke again. 

[color=ed1c24]“I don’t know how I move forward from here,”[/color] he admitted, and his voice cracked. [color=ed1c24]“I don’t… I don’t know…”[/color] He felt so very small. 

Dr. Whitehall moved a bit closer, not enough to invade Percy’s personal space, but enough to provide support in case it was needed. [color=998dd5]”Percy, I want you to take five deep breaths for me. After that I want you to do another five deep breaths. Then the first step towards getting better has begun and the only way to go is forward. You have help, you have support should you need it. And if you stumble, then we pick ourselves back up and we keep going.”[/color]

Percy scooted slightly over, to maintain the distance between them. But he did as the doctor instructed. He breathed in. He breathed out. He breathed in. He breathed out. He breathed in… and he crumpled, his chin wobbling as tears began to flow, tears that he couldn’t stop, that he couldn’t handle. 

Dr. Whitehall pulled a tissue box closer to them and allowed Percy to let it out. The fact he was so young and dealing with this was an emotional gut punch, but it still gave her some hope, especially knowing his family and friends were behind him in his support, that he would pull through, even if the journey itself would be ongoing.

[hr]

The next morning, Percy was due back in Dr. Whitehall’s office. He’d had the unfortunate pleasure of having gotten to know one of his fellow patients, a deranged twink named August. So in some respects, he was glad to be here in Maeve’s office. At least the danger of being licked was greatly reduced. His eyes were a little red and puffy. He’d spent more time the previous day crying than he would have liked to admit. 

Dr. Whitehall finished typing up some progress notes in time for the next session with Percy. It was a rough go at first, but he got there in the end. Deep down she figured he knew it was a problem, but it can still be scary to admit it. No one likes to admit weakness, even ones that can be understandable.

The room was the same as before as she waited for him to arrive. Hopefully this next session they could get into some of the root causes for why the addiction even started.

He knocked on the door thrice, before slowly heading inside. His eyes swept around the room, noting that its decor had not changed since he’d been here last. He remembered what Dr. Whitehall had told him before, how she changed the room’s environment to suit her patient. He looked much the same as the day before too, still wrapped up in his boyfriend’s gaming hoodie like a security blanket. 

He didn’t know if Dr. Whitehall wanted to speak first or not, as he took the same seat he had in the previous session. 

[color=998dd5]”Hello Percy, welcome back. A lot happened last session so I’ll leave it up to you if you want to process anything we discussed or anything you felt or if you want to move on to something else. Also, if you have questions about what this treatment process will look like I am happy to answer. First things first, though, how are you feeling today?”[/color]

Percy nodded slightly, taking in the information from Dr. Whitehall. He had quickly realized a significant amount of his time in rehab was spent going over logistics - what treatment would look like, when it would happen, who was appropriate to reach out to, and so forth. He suspected that was the primary reason they had for holding him there for a few days of in-patient - just to speed run through the bureaucracy. 

As for how he was feeling… the word that came to mind was [i]itchy[/i]. He could still feel the remnants of August’s tongue on him, as well as every accidental bump and brush from patients and staff. Their voices were too loud, their stares too long, and the insistence some of them had on making eye contact was excruciating. It didn’t help either his difficulties in absorbing himself in a book, given the limited languages he had to draw on - or the pins and needles feeling of being exposed to power dampeners for this long. He was lucky he would only be here for a short period of time. He didn’t want to know what would happen if he was subjected to them for years. 

His automatic answer would have been to inform the doctor that he was fine. 

But he had gotten into this mess by lying to others - by lying to himself. 

[color=ed1c24]“Not great,”[/color] he admitted, focusing on Dr. Whitehall’s ear rather than her face - a trick he’d learned to make people think he was maintaining eye contact. [color=ed1c24]“The power dampeners make my body feel numb, but in a sharp way, almost. And I find the constant touches and chatter here at the asylum overwhelming, like nails on a chalkboard.”[/color]

Dr. Whitehall was not surprised by the power dampeners causing irritation. For those not used to such things, it could feel like a part of you was being actively suppressed. There was a reason for them, though. [color=998dd5]”The dampeners do have that effect, I apologize. They are a necessary evil here. If you want I can see about prescribing something to help. Nothing major, just some medicine to help mitigate their impact on you. Up to you, of course.”

“When you say touches and chatter, what do you mean exactly? Is someone touching you that shouldn’t be? The staff or some of the patients? The staff should be respecting personal boundaries if that is the case, but we can only do so much about the other patents unless we are told. Have you had this feeling before outside of CAGE?”[/color]

He didn’t want to take any medicine from here. He’d seen enough of his fellow patients to want to steer clear of it all. If he couldn’t have his powers, he at least wanted to keep his wits. As for Dr. Whitehall’s question about who was touching him… his thoughts flashed to August. The licking, placing his head in his lap, pressing up against him, slapping his crotch. He could have told her right now and ratted him out, but the way the other boy had seemed almost… scared? He’d told Percy he needed help. He was also fairly certain he wasn’t supposed to have brought in erotic books to CAGE anyway, so he stayed silent. Mutually assured destruction. 

[color=ed1c24]“They’re just accidental brushes,”[/color] he lied. Some of them had been, yes. The head, not so much. [color=ed1c24]“It’s no one’s fault.”[/color] He wasn’t a snitch. 

The other question was easier to answer. [color=ed1c24]“Yes. My entire life.”[/color] It hadn’t been as extreme the entire time, of course. He hadn’t always had to take a deep breath before hugging his mothers. He hadn’t always felt like he’d been shot when someone gave him a clap on the back. That had come later - that had come with Chase. 

Dr. Whitehall noted the emotions coming off of Percy. He wasn’t being honest with her, but there was probably an underlying reason for it. Worry, concern, fear. She made a note to have staff keep an eye out more on who interacts with Percy moving forward in terms of the other patients. She had a feeling she knew who it was, but left it at that. [color=998dd5]”Can you give me a sense of what it feels like when you are physically touched. What emotions are drawn up? Any physical manifestations? You mentioned feeling itchy. Is it an actual itch or just an internal feeling of it?”[/color]

Percy frowned. It was another question where he really didn’t see the difference between the two - an actual itch or an internal itch. He felt itchy either way. He didn’t know how to decouple them. [color=ed1c24]“It depends. Sometimes it’s like I’m being set on fire - like all of my nerves are screaming. Sometimes it’s like an electric shock. Sometimes it’s just an itch, one that builds until I’m ready to jump out of my skin to avoid it. Sometimes it feels like being struck, even if the touch was light. The light touches are the most painful ones.”[/color]

[color=998dd5]”It sounds like allodynia, which is more medical. However, from what it sounds like it sounds like stressful things maybe increase it or make it more prevalent. In which case, touch sensitivity makes sense too. Especially if you are relaying that it feels painful or like burning. The next steps then would be to help mitigate such things for the mental side. Lower stress so touch doesn’t become as concerning, but also lifestyle changes if that matters like wearing gloves. The other side would require going to see a special neurologist to help with the medical side. I can make some recommendations for you and your family.”

“And I would encourage you to be fully honest with the staff here, Percy. If someone is bothering you, whether intentional or not, it won’t be fixed by staying silent. We don’t punish people harshly here, but if another patient is touching you and you do not want them to, then we can see about separating you and them. We don’t want to withhold you from interacting with others if it's helpful, but when it stops helping, that’s when we need to step in.”[/color]

Allodynia. He’d never heard that term before. Irritation flashed through him again - he ought to have been able to pick apart its meaning. There were root words in it, he knew, but he had become so accustomed to his powers over language that he hadn’t thought about them in a while. The word rattled around in his head, and his fingers clenched. He tried to force the irritation aside, and instead focus on what Dr. Whitehall had suggested. Lower stress and gloves. Alcohol had been his means to lower stress. And while gloves were nice, he knew he’d be constantly taking them off for Dorian. 

[color=ed1c24]“No one is bothering me,”[/color] he reiterated. [color=ed1c24]“… What does allodynia mean?”[/color]

[color=998dd5]”Well, truthfully, I don’t know. I’ll admit I am not well-versed in neurological disorders, but I am sure we can have someone find out for you, if you think it would be helpful.”[/color]

Dr. Whitehall marked down to go speak to August after this. She didn’t need confirmation to know he was the most likely culprit. He wasn’t in trouble, but if Percy was unwilling to mention anything, even stuff that wasn’t pushing physical boundaries, it meant August was extending himself too much. He was doing better, somewhat. A gentle reminder to ask permission first and when people said no, they meant no.

[color=998dd5]”And no, alcohol does not count as a stress minimizer since that is how we got here. You need better ways to manage it in the moment.”[/color]

He frowned. Dr. Whitehall suspected he had allodynia but couldn’t tell him what that meant? He ran through her words in his head again, trying to see if he had just misunderstood her. [color=ed1c24]“If you think I might have that, I would like to know what it is,”[/color] he clarified. 

Percy tensed as the doctor suddenly brought the conversation back to his alcohol consumption. He hadn’t been about to suggest it as a way to minimize stress - even if that had been how he used it in the past. The comment stung. He clenched his jaw slightly. He didn’t know what to say to that - nothing kind, at least. 

[color=998dd5]”Then I will seek out a specialist in that field and they can come talk to you. Apart from that is there anything that comes to the top of your mind on how to make you feel more comfortable here regarding that sensitivity? “[/colr]

He blinked slightly. He was just going to have to let it go, then. He forced himself to consider her next question. Besides alcohol, the newest strategy that had presented itself had been Dorian wrapping him up in a telekinetic barrier. But his boyfriend couldn’t always be there. [color=ed1c24]“You mentioned strategies to reduce stress. What did you have in mind?”[/color]

[color=998dd5]”It depends on what you are most comfortable with. I know of some mindfulness techniques that can help that involve deep breathing and centering yourself, but not everyone enjoys doing that. We could do some grounding. If you are fine with it, we can even do some body reset exercises. Those are little things you do, like rubbing the middle part of your hand between your thump and pointer finger or the bridge under your nose that reset your body. That would depend on you being okay at your own touch.”[/color].

His own touch had never bothered him. He didn’t want to imagine what his life would be like if even that started to feel too much - if his own skin made him nauseous, ready to curl into a ball and cry. The thought of it filled him with dread. He hadn’t always been like this. The notion of an even harder life… He did his best to set it aside. Breathing and centering - it sounded like meditation then. He was never very good at keeping his mind still, his thoughts tending to race, working themselves up into a frenzy. The body reset might be more achievable. [color=ed1c24]“Do you need to quiet your mind for centering? I’m not very good at that,”[/color] he admitted. [color=ed1c24]“How does the body reset work?”[/color] He didn’t understand how rubbing the middle part of his hand would be soothing - or the bridge under his nose. 

But he couldn’t rely on alcohol. He’d promised his mothers and Dorian that he would get better. So he had to try these strategies, even if he didn’t see the point in them.

[color=998dd5]”A quiet mind would help, but that’s what mindfulness is for. The practice of it is supposed to help you learn to turn your brain off for a bit. It doesn’t mean you won’t have thoughts or reactions, but it is more accepting of them and moving on anyway. As for the body reset, it’s part of the body’s regulation. Part of it stems from areas like acupuncture and others its neurological. There’s points on our body that connect. One of the things I sometimes encourage clients is the use of senses to reset the mind. Like taking a hot shower or holding some ice or sucking on a sour piece of candy. Those can all help reset the mind when you feel anxious as it gets your mind to think about something else.”[/color]

Percy couldn’t help but feel skeptical. He had always seen acupuncture as part of a spa treatment, the sort of thing the idle rich would spend their money on at the same time that they had their eyes covered in cucumbers. He had never really thought of it as an actual treatment method, or about how it would operate in the body. But he had seen feats of magic and alien technology before him, so he couldn’t dismiss it entirely. Maybe Dr. Whitehall was right and there were points on their bodies that connected, that there was energy that moved and pulsed. So the use of senses, then. He didn’t really like to suck on sour candy. But there were other things he enjoyed sucking on. 

[color=ed1c24]“I see,”[/color] he was willing to give it a try, even if he didn’t feel enthused at the prospect of mindfulness. [color=ed1c24]“If mindfulness doesn’t work for your clients, what else do you try?”[/color]

[color=968dd5]”There’s other options depending on what interests you. Journaling can help relieve stress by allowing you to vent emotions, but not everyone enjoys writing. There’s music with some interventions to help relieve tension. We can explore schools of theory within psychology to find what suits best. I often use Cognitive Behavioral therapy which states that there is a cycle between thought, behavior, and emotion and that breaking the cycle can help ease behaviors we don’t want. We can also explore some Dialectical Behavioral Therapy also. I’ll be honest, a lot of therapy is trial and error because every person is different. What works for one won’t necessarily work for the other. That’s why it’s important in the work we do that you inform me if what we do is helpful or not. It won't hurt my feelings if we try something and you don’t like it. This is about what’s best for you.”[/color]

Percy did, in fact, enjoy writing. It was his preferred medium for communication. He had been non-verbal in his early childhood, and found that it was easier to express himself with a pen and paper than with his voice. He regularly wrote letters to his mothers, and the margins of his favorite books were covered in cramped, scrawling notes. He’d never specifically done journaling, however. Music was also interesting. He hadn’t played his piano as much lately as he would have liked to, but he always found it calming to lose himself in the notes. He didn’t know what dialectical behavioral therapy meant. Cognitive behavioral therapy seemed too abstract from the description for him to have a deep opinion. 

[color=ed1c24]“I am interested in journaling - I really like to write,”[/color] he offered. [color=ed1c24]“I also enjoy playing piano. Those seem… those seem more achievable to me than rubbing my thumb on the back of my hand, and I do not know what dialectical behavioral therapy is.”[/color] But the first two options felt possible. He could journal until his hand gave out, and he had a keyboard at school due to the impracticality of having a piano in his dorm room. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t be assigned a new roommate too, so he could play whenever he pleased. 

[color=968dd5]”How about this: we start with some journaling prompts and some music interventions and next session I can go over the types of therapy there are and if one sounds more preferable, we can explore it together.”[/color]

He nodded. What sort of journaling prompts was she going to give him - [i]list ten reasons why you drink?[/i] [i]Describe a time in your life you felt broken and sad?[/i] As much as he had just said that he was interested in journaling, his stomach still churned at the thought of it. It was so much easier to keep using the strategy he had been using - even as it threatened to consume him. [color=ed1c24]“What are the prompts?”[/color] Would she be reading his journal entries? Would she grade them the way his mame graded his essays before he could even hand them in at school?

Dr. Whitehall stood up and walked over to the bookshelf and picked up one of the books there. It was a book about a man’s journey through addiction, one that started when he was 8 years old. It walked through the struggles of engaging in drinking so young, the impact it had on him, the toll on his friends and family, and the perseverance of struggling everyday with it and learning to overcome it. [color=968dd5]”This is a memoir about addiction told from someone who had it when he was very young. I happen to really like it because it’s equal parts dramatic and hilarious, he uses a lot of humor throughout. But it’s insightful. For your journal prompts I would love it if you can read the first two chapters, but you can read more if you want. Then I want you to write about how you feel about his experiences. Then I want you to write some thoughts on what you think his friends and family are going through. After, if you’d like, you can write some thoughts about the similarities and differences between the two of you. If you like the book you can borrow it and finish it. If not, we’ll move on, but I happen to think you’ll get some enjoyment from it.”[/color]

Percy was visibly surprised. His assignment for therapy was to read a book and journal about his thoughts on it? He already did that for fun. There was a reason he owned multiples of all of his favorites, his annotations had made some of them practically unreadable - and he had quickly filled up at least five notebooks just this semester alone at Margaret Carter with further thoughts and musings. So his immediate reaction was that this assignment was [i]easy[/i]. Therapy wasn’t going to be challenging at all if it was like this! If he’d known this was the assignment, he wouldn’t have been so terrified to come here, so insistent that he didn’t need it. He could get through all of those tasks in an hour, maybe a little more if the book was really engaging, really stimulating. 

He took the book from her, studying the cover as the rest of the assignment really sank in. The purpose wasn’t just to read a book and write about what he’d read. The prompts were reflective, deeply personal - a style of analysis that he did not often partake in. Sure, he’d made notes about his feelings on love and romance and how they were reflected in his favorite heroes, but never about his pain - never about the things that drove him to drink - never about how they might affect others in his life. He swallowed slightly, as he turned the book over. Maybe this task actually wouldn’t be so easy. 

But he had to try. He had to try to get better. 

For them. For everyone who loved him and cared about him. 

He nodded, before looking up at Dr. Whitehall. [color=ed1c24]“I think I might, too.”[/color]