TAKE YOUR MEDICINE [o, Human Asylum Au]

[Dimitri]

His day was experimental drugs, group therapy, behavioral therapy, alone time, go to bed. Depended on who was out, but that was the routine they followed. Alone time was split between them, to give everyone equal time fronting. Sometimes someone else was at group therapy, and if it was Dagon, he dragged everyone else down with him.

10:30 to 11:30. Group therapy time. Dimitri heard there were new people today- he was both excited and nervous to meet them. It wasn’t that the people here were.... crazy. (Dimitri didn’t like looked at them that way.) They just needed professional help.

He tried to look his best today for the new people. He tended to look somewhere between dreadful and a bad bitch about to go to town. Really depended on who was out.
He hated Daisy’s dresses, but he had to make her happy.
He spiked up black hair and rubbed his mocha colored skin, reaffirming who was in control. Dimitri. He was Dimitri. He was fine.
The skinny male had odd green eyes and an uncharacteristic piercing in his left eyebrow.
God he hated that thing, but he was too scared to remove it.

He walked into group therapy- it hadn’t started yet but it looked like just about everybody else was already there.
He was asked to introduce himself first.

Your name. Your problem.  And one fun fact.

"Um, hi. I’m Dimitri. I have Dissociative Identity Disorder. I have seven other personalities and I like to watch tv."

// tldr it’s group therapy  currently, and I thought that was the best situation for everyone to meet in

[BUBONICPLAGUE]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; padding: 10px; height: auto; overflow: auto;"][div style="width: 400px; padding: 0px; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica;"]christ, he hated this place.

same thing, every day. every minute was on a schedule, and though it was relatively spaced out, it still drove him into a wall. he hated repetition. hated doing the same thing over and over. his medicine didn't help very much, nor did the fact that he was constantly being pestered by the nurses or other patients. if anything this place was making him worse. he was well-tempered. a good, patient man when he had been brought here. he only had a few issues, nothing that couldn't be controlled by a few therapy sessions, but it seemed he was too much of a burden. too hard to handle a man with psychosis, not to mention his blindness. it was bullshit; all of it. he was old enough to take care of himself, and yet here he was, being treated like a child more often than not.

he hated it.

a particularly bad mood hung low over bo today, obvious by the way he sat, arms folded and fingers grasping into his loose hospital clothing. his head hung slightly with his hair falling over his clouded eyes. eventually the room quieted; an exchange of words between the nurse directing the group this time and a voice he had heard once or twice before, but never paid attention to. dimitri with did. that was all he caught of the guy's words. he kept silent as a few others introduced themselves, then oh, what a surprise. his turn. the man clenched his jaw slightly and frowned. "bo. psychosis." he fell silent. fun fact? he wasn't very fun, from the way the others had talked about him. he leaned back in his chair and sighed. "i like dogs." there. good enough, right?

[guts]

When he was first admitted, Aizawa hated it just as much as the others, only thinking about possibly getting out one day. But with his problem, the chances were close to none. His family members didn't want to look after him, nor did he have any friends that he was close enough to, so he was stuck here. After a while, he eventually got used to living there, or at least as used to living there as one could get. He was still unnerved by the screaming at night and all the incomprehensible gibberish the other patients spouted.

Currently he was slouched over in his seat, asleep. He could have been mistaken for dead if it weren't for the soft rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. It looked uncomfortable, his head bowed and his neck stretching, arms limp at his side. Just when it looked like he would fall onto the floor, he jolted up, suddenly awake.

He regarded the other people with wary eyes, listening as they went on about themselves. He didn't bother to brush his mop of black ratty hair from his face as his turn came and he spoke. "Aizawa Shota. I have narcolepsy," of course he left out the part about clinical depression, and the nurse that was there with them didn't bother to correct him, or they just didn't know. He's quiet for a moment as he tries to think of a fun fact about himself. "I like to drink tea," and by that, he meant lemon juice. Just straight lemon juice. Why? Who knew, maybe because of the sourness and overall tang it had.

"SPEECH"

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