[boozsey]

(i’m not built for love, i’m not good enough)

[dima-volkov-blog]

How many girlfriends/boyfriends have you had?

  “I had a few flings with both men and women in high school. Never been in a serious relationship. It would be cruel for them when I left for months or years at a time. I heard my squadmates call their significant others and it was distracting for them and that gets people killed. I always thought it would be nice to have someone to hold at night, but many have said that I’m too damaged to be loved by anyone but my family.”

[dima-volkov-blog]

How's your week been so far?

“Been tired. Met a few people that didn’t feel threatening which was a strange improvement from a few weeks ago. No one has made fun of me yet. Gotten the scars hidden pretty well. Still waiting for my first therapy session.”

[dima-volkov-blog]

Meet anyone interesting?

“I guess. I never got their names but I’m surprised they even spoke to me. Most people are either scared or too pitying to approach me. It’s strange. I’d like to meet more people.”

[dima-volkov-blog]

What was childhood like for you?

“Average. I was born in Russia but we moved to the States when I was two.”

 Waking up in the morning, ready to head to school. He remembered his mother’s soft smile as she placed a bowl of cereal at the table. “Good morning  rybka.” She was still adjusting to the English language. His father would sit at his office desk typing up a new screenplay, his coffee already grown cold in the bright pink mug reading ‘#1 Dad’ on it. He couldn’t wait to see his friends. He glanced out through the window at his brand new bicycle, navy blue with black accessories. He was the luckiest kid in the world.

“I haven’t seen them much lately. the military took a lot of my time and when I wasn’t deployed, I was training.”

  They had been there when he woke up at the hospital. It was an honorable discharge, but his mother’s soft smile had turned into sadness. Her blue eyes held pity and sorrow over her damaged son. Her artificial nails traced over the countless bandages on his arms, blood already forming ugly patches all over the white textile. She brushed the long, dark hair from his eyes softly, catching his bloodshot, bruised eyes. “Good morning, rybka.” Her English was perfect now, but she never let go of that endearment.

[dima-volkov-blog]

What got you thrown in here, what was your last straw?

 “My childhood friend tried to hug me when we met again after three years.” 

The noise, the laughter. A suffocating grip around him. Rope. Chains. A putrid smell of vomit and blood. The heat of the sand beneath his bare feet. A pool of crimson seeped into it, solidifying the grains together. Sunlight coming through the thick metal bars on the grimy, blurry window. Crying and screaming from the other rooms in the house. Children, women, men. Americans, his friends. The torment of tortured people, their voices hoarse and close to death. Silence. A door opening. Dark eyes and a menacing grin. 

“I heard later that I snapped and attacked him. If we would’ve been alone I think I would have killed him. My family admitted me after that. They knew what was going on.”

[yikesforever]

[dima-volkov-blog]

. . .

[henycavil]

26-27/? favourite pictures of sebastian stan (◕‿◕✿)

[angels-dagger]

Can you?

I can’t

[dima-volkov-blog]

rolandtucker :

Roland nodded. He already knew all of that, and it all crossed his mind just a few seconds ago. “C-can I be honest?” He sniffled, wiping his eyes. “I h-hate my r-roommate. I r-really don’t want to go. I d-don’t t-think I could walk either.” He was sure his legs would give out if he stood, and he really didn’t want to embarrass himself just yet.

Dima hoped DEARLY that his roommate would be better than the one THIS boy was talking about. HOPEFULLY, his roommate wouldn’t mind getting WOKEN UP by SCREAMING and PANICKING. “What’s your roommate like?” CURIOUS. That’s what he was. It had been a long time since anything but HATRED and EXHAUSTION weighed on Dima’s mind. He was about to offer CARRYING the smaller man but bit his tongue and sat down at the desk. Luckily they had gotten his medication RIGHT and this wasn’t going to cause him any trouble.

[dima-volkov-blog]

finneganmartin :

The scuffle of nurses and the crash of the young man’s collision with the desk drew Finn’s attention. One of the nurses waved him over and pulled him aside. “He could be good now. Just keep an eye on him, alright?” Finn nodded and reassured her that he’d keep an eye on the new patient. His stomach clenched as he watched the other man try and get up unsuccessfully. How frustrating this all must be. Intake seemed like a frightening thing. As the nurses left, Finn made his way over to the young man. He knew his size would be even more intimidating from where the boy sat on the floor so when Finn got close he crouched down next to the patient. “I don’t think you could help anyone, man.” The orderly smiled softly. “You look a little woozy. Could I help you to the couch? Maybe get you some water?”

Dima kept his icy glare on the man as he approached. He felt like a cornered RAT, but as the staff member crouched Dima could BREATHE again. “You don’t know WHAT I can do.” Dima knew all too well he WASN’T able to FIGHT, but being told he couldn’t help ANYONE struck a flame inside of him. He had helped EVERYONE before being admitted. He had DEFENDED his COUNTRY. The clenched JAW didn’t ease at the staff’s smile, lips STAYED pursed and unemotional. Of COURSE he was woozy. “The nurses fucked up the DOSAGE.” Dima managed to bark through his defenses. He FORCED himself to move, to get up. He didn’t WANT to be WEAK. Papers CLATTERED from the desk, falling on the other side as the Russian FOUGHT his way up, getting to his legs. “If you MUST help. Where is my ROOM?” He gritted his teeth. He could take a SHOWER, was OFF the drowsiness settling in. He was NOT going to sleep even if the NURSES wished so.

[dima-volkov-blog]

alyssa-stafford :

it hadn’t been her intention to stare. just like she imagined it hadn’t been his intention to cause the scene that he had. truthfullly, first impressions counted for so little in here so she supposed he was lucky in that regard. out in the world, out in “functioning society”, that kind of display would’ve made a pariah of him. in here? it just made him easier to understand. and she did. understand him, that is. or at least what laid him so low. the way he’d reacted S C R E A M E D ptsd. that was something she knew a thing or two about herself. approaching him slowly, she faltered mid-step when he addressed her and stopped just short of reaching him. a bit of sympathy flared in her at the sight of him, recognizing the suspicion in his tone and his eyes. alyssa didn’t fault him for it. she knew all too well what it was like to question the intentions of everyone around you, to snap closed the shutters of your soul and peer out warily behind a raised slat. “i was about to ask you the same thing. if you needed help, that is. i’m not going to touch you or anything,” she assured, holding both hands out in a placating manner. if he was like her, then unsolicited touch was the last thing he wanted in moments like these. “just wanted to make sure you’d be okay.”

There was PITY in her eyes? Dima couldn’t tell anymore, the difference between UNDERSTANDING and PITY had blurred a long time ago. His gaze flickered to her HANDS, she WASN’T going to touch him. Her concern was STRANGE. Or was it the PITY? Dima didn’t know. Not KNOWING made him anxious, what were her MOTIVES of being NICE? “Thank you.” Dima spoke quietly, dragging himself upright from the floor while keeping his eyes strained on her movements. She had one of the BRACELETS. She wasn’t a NURSE, she didn’t have NEEDLES or PILLS on her. THEY hadn’t needed those OVERSEAS either, so the knowledge of her being UNARMED wasn’t a big relief. “Who are you?” He asked once his posture had stabilized from the shaking and twitching. She wasn’t a THREAT, he tried to convince himself. NO ONE here was a threat, not YET.

[dima-volkov-blog]

laurenmedici :

“And you’re sitting on the floor.” She wasn’t going to deny staring, having witnessed most of his entrance. “Do you want help getting into a chair? It’ll probably be more comfortable than down there, especially if you pass out. Though then they’ll probably take you to your room.”

“I’m NOT going to pass out.” That’s what Dima HOPED. He didn’t know how much they had dosed him WITH, but he fought the sedatives as HARD as he could. He was NOT going to fall asleep. Sleeping was BAD. “THANK you for your offer but I THINK I’ll manage.” Truth be told, he COULD have used help to find his ROOM, but his pathetic ARRIVAL got him stubborn.  

[dima-volkov-blog]

shieldingkaren :

It was too early for Karen to be able to function properly but here she was, taking off her jacket and changing into something more comfortable to supervise the patients around. Words spread like wildfire and shed heard rumors about the new arrival, the female orderly figured she could help him get situated. She walked over to where the entrance was only to find him down slouched which was enough to make her furrow her eyebrows. “Are you okay? Cmon get up.”

He TRIED to get up already. Another attempt and he DID, arm locked flat against the desk to kept the SWAYING under control. “Don’t tell me what to DO.” He grumbled, frowning. She was STAFF. It made Dima feel easier, yet his stance DIDN’T change. Ready for a fight, to fend her OFF if she tried to GRAB him. The nurses seemed RELIEVED that she was HERE, perhaps a GUARD. “I’m up. I’m OKAY. Are you here to take me to SOLITARY?” Dima looked to his side at the NURSE who was complaining about her broken FINGER. She deserved it, she had taken the NEEDLE. 

[dima-volkov-blog]

clcbberinheath :

Her session had just been wrapped up this afternoon–the typical talks about progress and childish complaints regarding new medication, whatever, whatever, the psychiatrist looked just as bored as she had been–and instead of going straight into her work out or check up or power sleep routine, Heather figured it’d be nice to venture the building a bit and see what had been going on. There had been a lot of patients whom she hadn’t familiarized herself with, maybe she could introduce herself to a few and–wee, there was one on the floor now. His voice annoyed the shit out of her, but she could tell the man was probably new and confused and distraught. “Uh–nah? But I can help you.” She contemplated offering a hand, but that could’ve been a bit too much. “Sup, broski? Do you need a nurse or some shit?”

Why did she seem CAREFREE? Dima felt like his HEART was going to explode and she was making JOKES? “No nurses.” He SNARLED, forcing himself up from the floor as to not seem WEAK. “No nurses, maybe SOME shit.” His body was SCREAMING for alcohol, a numbing agent to keep his MIND in check - Dull the scratching behind the repressed PAIN. “Did I UPSET you? You seem UNCOMFORTABLE.” Dima scanned her, his eyes STILL red from the TEARS that threatened with his panic attack. “Are you DISTRESSED?”

[dima-volkov-blog]

vglycherries :

This felt like such a major setback to Chris - he’d gotten to the point where he could sometimes eat and not feel a bit of guilt, but right now he felt terrible and he absolutely hated it. With so much progress made, everything was back to where it started. Even though he felt awful about it, that still didn’t make him care very much. The only thing on his mind was the fact that they couldn’t force him to go in and eat without getting physical with him, and he knew that they most likely wouldn’t because he was a screamer and they’d never hear the end of it. “I like the garden.” The blonde said sheepishly, reaching up and brushing some hair back from his face. He felt bad about snapping like that, but after so many people had tried to make him go in, he couldn’t handle it anymore. He didn’t even want anyone too close to him at the moment. Pushing himself up slowly, Chris took a moment to steady himself before nodding. “That sounds nice. Maybe they’ll leave me be.”

A surprised tilt of the head was Dima’s response to the man getting up. He hadn’t EXPECTED him to join the outside adventure, but company was something therapists were SUGGESTING Dima would seek himself to. He still had DIFFICULTIES conversing like proper people, yet he was determined to try. the halls echoed from his footsteps as he walked. It was calm with most of the patients in the cafeteria. “Why don’t you like the cafeteria?” Dima inquired calmly. STRAIGHTFORWARD. There was never a need to be sensitive. Nothing irritated him MORE than people who TIPTOED around issues, babying the issues.