#axley

What’s the first thing your OC thinks about when they wake up in the morning?

like a whole hour of ‘why am I awake and what did i do to deserve this’ because it takes him a year to wake up in the morning. he is NOT a morning person, and it doesn’t help that he likes to wake up at 9 am but his stupid boyfriend’s alarm goes off at 7 every morning

Name one thing that is guaranteed to make your OC laugh.

VINES holy shit if you want to see a grown ass man lose his shit for half an hour straight just let him scroll through vine for a while

Does your OC make their own outfits/armor?

lmao absolutely not, any attempt would be pathetic. I think he used a sewing machine once and I’m sure the results were catastrophic 

Is your OC well-liked?

by the people who matter to him- yes, absolutely. he’s a pretty likeable guy in general. to the rest of the people who live around him, not so much. i mean he lives in a small-town sort of community and he’s a wealthy trans brown guy who sees ghosts so you can kinda see why. 

Does your OC prefer knowledge, or wisdom? 

i dunno, he really appreciates wisdom? like big Life Advice from people he looks up to will stick with him forever, but personally he’d probably rather be able to rattle off a bunch of niche information on a specific thing 

Would your OC be better at an obstacle course, or a standardized test?

I’ve figured it out now.

At first, I thought this thing- (I wish I could say what it is. I don’t know, and I don’t know what it looks like. I’ve seen it, time and time again, out of the corner of my eye, just a flash of a color I can’t quite place. I don’t know what it looks like, and I could never describe it physically, but I’ve seen it, and that’s all I know)

-Was feeding off me, off my energy.

I thought it was getting stronger as it slowly drained the life out of me, waiting until I finally died and it could take over.

But it’s not.

It’s feeding off my fear.

I’m not afraid of many things. Ask anyone who knows me and they’ll tell you the same thing. I was reckless and stupid and fearless as a kid, and that part of me never changed or went away.

The thing knows that, too.

It also knows, that when I was in my mid-twenties, I starting taking Zoloft for my depression.

My psychiatrist had told me it would make things better, after a few decades of feeling like everything was wrong with me and not knowing there was a way to fix it. And, because I’m not the smartest person in the world, I believed him. It took me far too long to realize something was wrong.

It didn’t really work for a while, even though it was supposed to. So I started taking more.

And more.

Before I knew it, all the symptoms of abuse were laid out in front of me and I realized I had really fucked up.

It did things to me. I was so in denial that I didn’t know how much it was hurting me until I reached a place I never want to be in again. I hallucinated, and accepted those hallucinations as the spirits that have been following me around for years now, and not something completely made up by my own mind. My depression would come back in short bursts even worse than before, and I remember wondering what it would be like to finally end my shitty and pointless life once and for all. I came close. I was 27, I think, when I very strongly considered shooting myself. The gun was loaded in my hand and everything.

I’m not sure what happened that day, but something saved my life that wasn’t… normal. Some people would call it a religious experience. I’m just glad it happened. I don’t like to think about it because if I think too hard maybe I’ll realize it was all in my head, just like everything else was back then.

I went back to my psychiatrist.

And then I went to rehab.

Twice.

And then I went back to my psychiatrist again.

He put me on Paxil.

We’ve been happy together ever since.

It’s been about thirteen years now. My depression disappeared, so did the suicidal thoughts and the mania and the anxiety and everything else that accompanied that hell that I was dragged, or rather walked calmly, into. And now that thing is here, and it’s become my new Zoloft. I haven’t told anyone yet, but I know what it’s doing now. It can reach my memories, it knows how scared I am of my drugs not working right again and taking me back to the place I was back then, and it’s using that knowledge against me. It’s mimicking it, acting just like the drugs did, and for some reason it’s even worse this time. It’s brought back the hallucinations and the insomnia, and I can feel my depression creeping back in. I’m angrier, now, and I’ve never in my life been a remotely angry person. I find myself having a difficult time remembering things, I have a difficult time caring, and it’s terrifying.

I try not to let it get to me.

But I’m only a person.

I haven’t told Jeanette, and I don’t know why I haven’t but I just can’t muster up the courage to mention it. Raum knows, but I know Raum doesn’t entirely understand. All of this is beyond him, or below him, depending on which way you look at it. And he’s trying, the best he can, to do everything to keep me all right.

But if I can’t keep myself all right, he can’t, either.

And I don’t want to pull him into this.

I don’t to pull Jeanette into this.

I just want to pull myself out of this, but the thing is pushing my head under the water and soon enough I’m gonna drown.

It’s all incredibly familiar, and if the thing is trying to scare the life out of me, well. It’s doing a damn good job so far.

This time, however, I’m going to keep fighting, until one of us kills the other.