trapped behind those pretty blue eyes
CHAPTER TWO
<< chapter one | chapter three >>
AO3 LINK
Summary: Dan recalls Phil’s spiral down into a psychotic fit. I tried to make this as brutally honest as possible but there’ll be more fluff in later chapters.
Quote: I feel like such an imposter. I've felt like that so many times since I started youtube but now it's worse than ever. Now not only am I pretending to be funny, smart and interesting enough to deserve the attention of six million subscribers but I'm also caught not being adult enough or responsible or I don't know, something enough to be able to take care of Phil during the one time he couldn't take care of himself.
Genre: heavy angst
Word count: 2069
Triggers: mental illness, schizophrenia (implied), near death, suicide attempt (kind of, not really), kissing, vomit, termites, hallucinations
Hello Internet,
I haven't posted any real danisnotonfire videos over the past two weeks but I think that's fair, considering. Phil comes home tomorrow. This is the first time I've really tried to form any cohesive thoughts but I do have a bunch of little clips that I filmed in minute or two spurts while everything was happening. I guess I'll string those together rather than have to reiterate everything I said. I know it's unprofessional but I've spent so much time trying to be mature and in control recently that I don't want to make a neat video, okay?
- - - wednesday Hello Internet
I tried to visit Phil today but he was in too much of a drugged up stupor for me to really talk to him. His left wrist was bandaged where they say he bit at his wrist hard enough to make it bleed, muttering something about letting them out. They sedated him and wrapped up his wrist. It hurt to see that even here he could get hurt. What was even more disturbing was remembering how afraid Phil is of blood. I can't imagine what horrors exist in his mind that made biting his damn wrist open seem like his only option.
They're starting him on clozapine. It's an atypical antipsychotic, which got explained to me really slowly. I could feel the doctor trying to think about how she could break it down for the 6'3 man-child dressed in black skinny jeans with tear rimmed eyes standing in front of her. I could tell she thought I was hysterical, which was slightly true, but I still wanted to try to understand everything. Since now I'm in charge of Phil's destiny or whatever I had to sign off that they could basically give him any medicine they thought he needed.
I feel like such an imposter. I've felt like that so many times since I started youtube but now it's worse than ever. Now not only am I pretending to be funny, smart and interesting enough to deserve the attention of six million subscribers but I'm also caught not being adult enough or responsible or I don't know, something enough to be able to take care of Phil during the one time he couldn't take care of himself. This is nothing like his overdramatic colds where I just have to make him tea. I don't have anything to compare this to. The doctor and my mirror can see right through me, I'm just hoping the sedatives blur Phil's mind enough to think that I'm worthy of being in charge of his care.
PJ came over and cleaned the kitchen for me then made me eat some soup. He just left. I think I'm going to try not to dream about the way that the white bandage on his wrist was ever so slightly tinted pink even through all the cloth.
- - - thursday Hello Internet,
When I went into the hospital Phil freaked out. I'd never seen the blue in his eyes look as stony as it did there, with his face contorted into the type of rage that I never dreamed of associating with Phil. I don't know why he was so angry at me, or what he saw me as. I don't understand any of this but he screamed at me to fucking go back to hell. I can count the amount of times I've heard Phil say fuck on two hands and one of them was during a tongue twister that kind of tricks you into saying it and at least six of the others were bedroom related.
It's kind of a joke, me trying to get Phil to swear. I guess I win. He's swearing. I just never imagined Phil could be like this. After a while of him shouting they made me leave. I don't know if I wanted to stay or not. I wanted to be there for Phil, yes of course, but seeing him so angry with me for something that I can't even begin to understand made me nauseous.
I've been on tumblr all evening, trying to distract myself. First I read over all the information packets on psychotic episodes that they gave me but then I just wanted to not think. It didn't really work but I didn't have another choice. Anyways I'm going to try to sleep.
- - - friday I'm drunk.
Oh yeah, Hello Internet,
I'm drunk.
We had some tequila and I needed it to be able to think about today.
I thought I was nauseous yesterday but that was nothing compared to today.
Phil hid behind his bed when I came into his dorm there. I tried to say hi and he just–
He yelped and shook and begged me not to touch him. I ran out of the room. I couldn't stay there. I know that this is so much worse for him than it is for me but that doesn't help me keep any food down. Watching someone that you love as much as I love Phil in this much pain, and to think that you're causing it is indescribable.
I want to say that I'm going back purely for Phil but I don't know, I just don't know. I was always the selfish one, wasn't I?
- - - saturday Hello Internet,
I went to visit Phil today, obviously. He seemed to recognize me at first and dragged me into his room. I was so excited that he was excited to see me, as selfish as that is, so I just let him prattle on about how the doctors here are trying to poison him. I couldn't even argue with him because I didn't want him to be mad at me. We talked for the entire hour I was allowed to be there. Well, more like he talked and I tried to resist jumping over the table and trying to hold him until the world fixes itself.
I just want to hold onto him, but I know that he's too skittish and scared and I tried to touch his forearm and he jumped so hugging is out of the question. He used to love hugs, you should have seen him once the cameras stopped rolling, he's the sweetest, most huggable person there is. Or he was? I don't know. I don't want to admit that my Phil is gone but I can't find him either.
- - - sunday Hello Internet,
I wasn't allowed to visit him today so Louise dragged me out to see a movie. It was nice, but I can't help but feel guilty for enjoying something when Phil is stuck in that awful place with those awful misfirings in his amazing brain. I know this isn't fair, and by I know I mean Louise scolded me for half an hour about being too hard on myself but I don't know.
Anyways.
- - - monday Hello Internet,
The clozapine worked! Sort of.
When I went to see Phil he was coherent. He told me he loved me. He then tried to stand up, to hug me no less, and passed out. Apparently, the medicine can make you extremely dizzy. Normally they would keep him on this anyways, at least until they could switch him to something else, but once he hit the ground he started convulsing and they realized that he was having a really dangerous reaction. Instead of fixing his brain it started causing seizures, so they had to take him off.
It hurts so much knowing that he had a moment of clarity and I'm the one signing the damn paper telling them that, no, I want them to hurl him back into that terrifying place he tried so hard to escape from. The doctors told me that it was the right thing to do, but still. I'm sending him back into that terrifying place.
- - - friday They switched to risperidone on tuesday and I've been allowed to stay for longer visits, so I haven't been making these little updates every day. I feel like I'm flying. He's not perfect, to be completely honest he looks empty, but empty is better than afraid. Right? He's telling the doctors that he feels safe and I know he's not back yet, but his wrist is only a scar now and he's not shaking with fear. He's okay, or he's becoming okay. I don't know, but he doesn't look so scared and he recognizes me. He's a little cold, but the doctors say if he stays stable we can add some antidepressants.
I'm still worried about him but I want him stable and if they say that this is stable then it's good enough for me. And he can come home tomorrow!
- - - monday Phil's asleep. There's something wrong with him. He hardly talks. He's functioning so well, so the doctors are telling me that nothing is wrong and I don't want to argue. He just looks like someone's lobotomized him. It's eery, but none of the doctors will listen to me saying that something's wrong because he's doing all the things that he needs to do, checking off all the little boxes on their charts, but something is very wrong.
- - - wednesday Phil's in the hospital again. He tried to slit his fucking wrists. He's physically fine now, I found him before he got too far so he's back in the psychiatric hospital. Apparently, the voices are still there. I'm so angry that no one listened to me and now he has six stitches in his arm. Now the doctor explained to me that the vacant looks were probably from the "mask face" side effects from risperidone and that picking up on that could have clued us in on Phil's reaction.
He kept talking but that was where I stopped listening.
Clued us in.
US
I knew and he wouldn't listen to me. I should have fought, Phil deserves someone to fight for him.
- - - thursday Now he's on a mix of seroquel for the disease that they're now comfortable calling schizophrenia, (I didn't even have time to be upset about that scary diagnosis when everything was already so scary), and prozac for depression and anxiety. I protested that before this Phil wasn't depressed but a nice nurse explained to me that antidepressants are often used as a stepping stone for schizophrenic patients and once they stabilize and start to recover some of them can be taken off of everything but the antipsychotics.
I don't understand how the old nurse, Leah, can be so sweet and optimistic. It seems like being around sick, terrified people and their upset, terrified families would suck the life out of you but she's been amazing since Phil first came in. I couldn't imagine ever wanting to stay in this place. I still pray, not even to god but just to the universe I guess, that this was all a bad dream and that Phil would just kiss me awake or trip in the kitchen so I could come catch him stealing my goddamn cereal.
But until then we have to learn how to survive because there's no other option. That was what Leah told me when I'd started sobbing while asking her why she came back and I guess it's true. Whenever something horrible happens you just learn to live with the unimaginable. That's what I'm trying to do here.
- - - monday Today is the first day I've visited Phil since thursday. Friday they said he was still adjusting to the withdrawals and that it would be better for me to leave but then on saturday I came in and he was in group! I never thought I would be this proud of Phil for sitting in a room playing an empathy game with ten other hospital patients but I'm so proud. Usually, he would panic part way through or just refuse to go.
Today when I visited him he seemed the most normal that I'd seen him for months. He was still anxious but he complained about the food and asked about his houseplants. I caught him watching something behind me intently but he didn't freak out about it.
Leah told me later, after the doctor gave me a bullshit answer, that he might still experience these hallucinations for a little while but him learning that they weren't real and not reacting to them was incredibly important. She explained to me that recovering was going to be more than just medication and gave me a few more links to read up on.
- - - tuesday Phil is coming home tomorrow! This time, even if he still has symptoms, he seems like himself. It's hard, for me at least guys, not to be cynical but this time feels different. I'm obviously nervous but I'm so excited to be able to interact with him without nurses doing their safety checks every ten minutes. I've definitely learned that hospitals are helpful but I can't imagine anyone goes back to feeling completely normal there.
I haven't felt at peace for months now and I still don't, at all really. I don't actually have a great way to end that sentence. I normally edit out those types of lines or reshoot but I haven't been editing these so I guess I'll just say, I'm not at peace but at least he's coming home.
Thank you so much for reading! This narrative is really close to my heart and based off of real experiences and I think it’s important to show mental illness without romanticizing it too much. That’s what I really tried to do here.