✗ 25/35 ✗ DOB: January 16, 1980 ✗ DOD: N/A ✗ Patient at Institution ✗
[ neglect tw, murder tw, suicide tw, self harm tw, substance abuse tw, death tw ]
It’s hard growing up in a household where one’s more of an afterthought than an actual person, and Akos D’Amore knew that better than anyone. In truth,household barely fit with the environment he lived in, and had anyone asked for his opinion he would’ve given it a much better name: a warzone. His parents might not have fought with actual ammunition, but the verbal bashings they gave each other at the slightest inconvenience were more than enough to terrify him into keeping to himself. It didn’t help that his mother had a nasty habit of storming out in the middle of an argument, abandoning both himself and his father for periods of time that ranged from a few days… to a few weeks. Each time he wondered if it’d be the last time he laid eyes on her, and it was difficult for him to decide whether he was saddened or pleased. When he was barely six years old, in a last ditch effort to save their marriage, they decided to move away – both from what they believed to be the resting ground for their arguments, and the only solace he’d known: his precious few friends.
While the situation (temporarily) improved, Akos wasn’t the same. Instead of the friendly, talkative boy he’d been back in their old town (at school, anyway), he’d turned dreadfully shy, choosing to mirror his at-home behavior instead of risking abandonment again. To make matters worse, any improvement in his parents’ attitudes quickly faltered, and by the time he was in third grade, they’d sat him down to announce that they’d decided on getting a divorce. Joint custody was supposed to help him feel close to both of his parents, but in reality the constant moving around stressed him out, and with his parents both starting new relationships quickly after they’d separated, he found himself getting less attention than before. To combat his newest feelings of abandonment, he took to the woodlands – so long as he promised he’d be home by dark, it wasn’t difficult to get permission – using it as a way to forget that he’d been, well, forgotten. His primary interest was in poking at the dead animals he found, his curious nature having brought about questions on what living things looked like on the inside. While he knew it was a morbid pastime, he didn’t see any issue in his curiosity, and kept his parents ignorant of his newest hobby.
As he grew older, however, any stability he’d managed had begun to slip away from him, starting first and foremost in the few relationships he’d built in school. He became prone to fits of irrational anger and aggressiveness, pointed mostly at the people he was closest to, over trivial and otherwise unimportant matters. Along with it, he suffered from horrible mood swings, of which included both fits of anxiety, despair, and guilt at his actions while angry. While this alone was enough to cause his friends to begin distancing themselves, as soon as he’d noticed the change, a new tactic evolved within him: manipulation. Desperate to avoid even the slightest hint of abandonment, he’d turn to finding other ways to get his friends to stick around, which ranged from more subtle attempts to some markedly more dangerous tactics, namely threatening to harm himself – regardless of the outcome, self-harm had already become common at home. Ironically (or not), his desperate grab to keep any relationships only distanced him further from others, his peers not wanting to involve themselves with someone who seemed so difficult to handle.
To make matters worse, his former hobby of picking up dead animals had all but transformed into an all-out obsession – mentally, that was. He’d abandoned the actual act once he’d reached middle school, but as time had went on he found himself still plagued with violent and disturbing thoughts and images. At first, he’d figured it was merely a symptom of his obvious irritability, but he quickly abandoned the theory as it worsened and turned to the only version of self-medication available to him: alcohol. It seemed to help for a little while – at least, it aided in helping him forget that he cared – but its use wasn’t long-lasting, and soon he’d stopped using it to help and more for the addiction he’d fostered. It was, in fact, alcohol that drove him towards his first major outburst, in which the person on the receiving end wound up chopped to bits in a garbage bag, and flung into the dump. The murder was, however, entirely an accident on his part – he’d invited a stranger over in the hopes of connection, and, feeling abandoned when they’d tried leaving at the end of the day, had knocked him over the head with a barbell. He’d only meant to knock him out, but regardless of his intentions, assault and murder were now on his mental list of crimes.
Eaten away by guilt, he continued to drown himself in alcohol, though instead of lessening his antisocial tendencies like he’d wanted, it only caused his behavior to worsen. He was more prone to getting into physical fights and engaging in petty crime outside of his home, and within it he withdrew further from his family and remaining friends, isolating himself almost completely. With his worsened behavior came an apathy towards whether he was caught, and as such it was no surprise that his father finally caught onto the mess he’d become. Horrified at his behavior, he tried to crack down on his substance abuse habits and other unideal actions, but quickly realized that he wasn’t the man for the job, and instead of working to find someone to help, he sent him off to live with his grandmother. The old woman herself was only ever able to keep him from bringing tons of alcohol into the house itself, and never helped to improve his rapidly down spiraling. It was during the time he lived with her that three other occurrences of murder happened, two while severely dissociated, and one that was done impulsively during a period of withdrawal. Unsurprisingly, his guilt only worsened, and his self-harming tendencies rapidly shifted nearer and nearer to an actual suicide attempt.
His grandmother, tired of his ridiculous and unruly behavior, threw him back to live with his father, who in turn promised both to keep an eye on him, and to improve his own attitude. It was mostly a false promise, and while he tried to keep himself involved in Akos’ life for a while, he ended up falling into his old habit of leaving him to fend for himself. Hopeless and miserable beyond belief, he finally attempted suicide at the age of twenty-three, unable to deal with his situation or the grief he knew he’d caused. Fortunately or unfortunately, his father managed to get him to the hospital in time, and finally realizing the gravity of his son’s situation, sent him off to Michaelson’s, then known as the Broken Asylum, for treatment. He lasted two years in the chaotic facility until he finally couldn’t handle his (mostly untreated) torment, resolving to end his life in a way he knew to be foolproof: he’d antagonize a demon. True to his thoughts, his plan worked, though instead of an end to his suffering he was plunged straight into the depths of Hell and eventually transformed into the very thing that’d killed him, presumably doomed to roam the asylum halls for the rest of eternity. After Michaelson’s curse was broken, he was deemed unfit to leave and thus readmitted as a (living) patient in the institution, hopeful that he’d finally be able to treat the source of his distress. It was a hope that’d be broken quickly, if the Archdemons had any say in his fate.
+ Affectionate, Courageous, && Respectful
- Disorganized, Mistrustful, && Unreliable
