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The inner workings of the mind can be impossible to navigate. Sometimes life throws around good hands, but more often than not, everyone is left with a different kind of terrible. Managing the mind feels more strenuous than the navigation; a plan can be set in place, but this doesn’t mean that life gets in the way. Usually, the overbearing weight of a mental illness feels like it clouds every sense a human encompasses: taste, smell, touch, sound, and sight.
The world feels foggy, making the ears feel clogged, the special smells of a boyfriend’s hoodie has suddenly disappeared, and everything tastes like a cheap coin from a reward store. It’s something that most of the world cannot wrap their heads around, let alone understand. From genetics to trauma, it feels like a death sentence before beginning life. It feels like a human being is nothing more than a puppet on a string, their demons being the puppeteer.
One important problem about mental illness is simple: it doesn’t care whether or not a holiday is coming.
Opening his eyes, he let out a soft depleted sigh. Ian felt the fog appear around his mind as he hazily looked around the bright room. In an instant, the world felt too bright, he felt too dim, and nothing felt quite right. He let his eyes close once more, realizing that it took too much effort to keep them open. Ian rolled over, sinking his face into a pillow quickly and sighed. Muffled into a pillow, he tiredly groaned, “Christmas. Goddammit.”
“What?” his husband, Mickey, shouted from the bathroom. He walked into the room, floss in hand and frowned, “Did you suddenly turn into the Grinch or some shit?”
Groaning in response, he pushed himself further into the pillow and felt his breathing become shallow, “No.”
“Shit,” he quickly threw the string into the bin nearing the master bedroom door. He walked over and nudged Ian lightly, “Hey, Red? Everything alright?”
Screaming into the pillow, he pushed his hands into his red hair suddenly and rolled over. Looking up at Mickey, he saw a kind face staring down at him, “Leave me alone for a while?”
“Ian… C’mon, it’s Christmas. We’re supposed to meet Lip and Carl for breakfast,” he gently nudged him, analyzing the dark circles around Ian’s eyes that formed overnight. “You… we can’t be late, man. Can’t you just…”
“Can I just… what?” He asked tiredly, but mockingly.
Taking a moment to respond, he sighed and scratched his eyebrow, “Get up and go? We can figure this out later…”
“No,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t think you understand, Mick.”
Lightly slapping his husband’s leg from above the blanket, he jokingly retorted, “Yeah, don’t understand shit. C’mon let’s go, Red. We gotta get movin’.”
“After all this time you still don’t get it,” he shook his head and sighed, pulling the blanket above his eyes. From under the darkness, he spoke in a muffled tone, “I can’t do it. I can’t get up!”
Mickey sighed hopelessly, wondering if there was any possible way to change his mind. He went to grab the blanket, tucking him in. Speaking softer, he leaned in and whispered, “We can chill for about an hour… Maybe you’ll feel better then?”
He shook his head and threw the blanket off himself. His complexion became paler by the second, attempting to avoid tears from spilling, “I don’t feel like doing it. I don’t want to do it. Go if you want, but I’m staying right here, Mick!”
Mickey simply sighed and stood up, “Jesus, man.”
Ian watched the love of his life shake his head and leave the room without a second thought. Blowing out a huff of air, he let his hands slap onto his head and covered his eyes. He felt the billowing return, a tightening in his chest and a shallow airway began to ensue. He let his thoughts drift into a wonderland from Hell as the minutes passed on.
It’s Christmas. Get the fuck out of bed and quit being so goddamn lazy, Ian. Nobody cares anymore. The thoughtfulness around being bipolar wore off long ago, stop harping on it. You’re faking; you’re sick in the head.
How dare you speak to someone who loves you that way? How can you possibly expect him to love you after that? It’s Christmas. CHRISTMAS. And you yelled at him. He left.
He. Left. You.
Why can’t you be normal for once? Why can’t you just stop being so fucking stupid and get up? You haven’t seen Carl in nearly a year. Get up.
Fiona’s coming home for the first time in nearly a decade. Get up.
Debbie’s going to murder you for not being there for Franny.
Lip’s going to be bored without you.
Mickey’s going to be miserable without you.
GET. UP. IAN.
Why is it so hard? Why can’t I function with my meds sometimes? Why do I even need to take them to feel okay? Why did I get this fucking shit from Monica? Things are bad enough as it is without her and Frank’s fucked up genes, they already had six children!
As the thoughts began to spiral, Ian sighed, wiping a tear from his chin. He looked over at the window, noticing the outline of the shadows from the sunlight when a door opened, “Change of plans, alright?”
Turning rapidly, jolting from his thoughts, he looked at his husband, wearing an atrociously pink apron, “What?”
“Breakfast in bed, on me,” he smiled heartily and carried over a tray of food. “It’s kinda burnt, and I doubt we’re going to eat it… BUT I did make coffee. I didn’t break the pot this time!”
Looking up tiredly and closing his eyes, Ian mustered all the energy in his body to lift himself up. He felt the bones in his arms pop softly, and winced, “Congrats, man. Thanks for the coffee.”
“Merry Christmas, asshole,” he smiled, handing him a blue mug.
Taking it from Mickey, he looked down at it and gave a lukewarm smile, “Not so merry Christmas to you, Mick.”
“I know you’re worried about your family,” he reassured lightly. “But don’t worry, I’ve got it covered.”
“You? Covered?” That’s rich,” he nodded, taking a big drink from the cup.
Standing up, he placed the tray on the nightstand, then sat by his husband’s legs, “You’re talking to the same guy that planned a wedding and an anniversary party without outside help. Of course I’ve got this shit!”
“Fair enough,” Ian let out a halfhearted laugh and set his drink down on the tray next to him. “When’s everyone leaving?”
Kicking off his shoes, he turned off the main light in the room. Mickey looked over and turned on a semi-broken lamp before climbing into bed opposite Ian, “Not til the New Year.”
“Ah,” he nodded and snuggled into his husband’s side quietly.
He wrapped his arms around the red head and sighed, “I know it isn’t long, but it’ll be a different day. And tomorrow, we can go and get your meds sorted out, alright? We don’t need to worry yet.”
“Isn’t that what you do though?” He questioned, looking up at him desperately.
Pondering for a moment, Mickey looked around the room before meeting Ian’s gaze, “I worry about you, sure. But I think that this is just one day, and one day doesn’t mean everything’s gonna fall the fuck apart…!”
“It’s not? Didn’t you leave earlier?” He asked hesitantly, taking in a small breath.
He shook his head and ruffled his husband’s hair softly, “Nah. Didn’t feel like leaving you on Christmas. It’s sappy and shit, yeah, but I took a vow. In sickness and in health or whatever the hell… Besides, Debbie annoys me, and I don’t wanna hear complaining that Franny doesn’t like the lip-gloss set she bought her. A win for both of us… Sorta.”
“Do you think she’s ever going to give up on the whole… “Franny is a pretty princess who loves pink and shit” stuff?” He questioned, sinking further into him and wrapping an arm around his waist.
Mickey laughed and looked down at him, “I don’t think Debbie will stop unless Franny puts a stop to it.”
“Hey…”
Catching his attention at the soft intonation, he looked back down, halfway admiring how brown his eyes are, “Hm?”
“D’you remember Franny’s one birthday where you bought her the gun?”
“Yeah?” He answered with a confused look, shaking him from any sappy thoughts he may have had.
Ian smiled lightly then frowned in realization, “It was such a good day. I only remember the good parts of it, but why can’t I feel like that today?”
“I’m not sure what your brain is doing here, but it’s okay. It’s fine if we have an off day. It’s okay to be depressed and shit sometimes. We’re taking care of each other, forever. Here. We’re family, and that fucking means the world to me, Red. I’m not leaving you high and dry just because your meds went out of balance,” he reassured him heartily, caressing the side of his head gently.
Ian nodded and leaned up, placing a chaste kiss on his lips, “I guess, but thank you.”
“We’re going to get through it, I promise. I don’t give a shit if it’s fucking Christmas or if the goddamn Pope is coming to our apartment. Which, by the way, still not used to the west side and it’s been five years, but! We are doing what we need to do, fuck everyone else. Alright?”
“Fuck everyone else? Mick, if you wanted an open-”
“Asshole, you know what I mean,” he laughed at his husband’s attempt at a joke in the darkness around them.
He nodded and gave a partial smile, “I love you.”
“Love you too,” he gave a slight tinge of a smile and kissed the top of his forehead. “That reminds me, I have something for you.”
Feeling a sudden wave of shyness, he awkwardly smiled, “You didn’t have to do anything, Mick. I told you that a month ago…”
“Shut the fuck up,” he smiled playfully and got up from the bed. Grabbing a small brown box from the closet, he’d returned to Ian with a warm look, “Here, Merry Christmas..”
He looked at him tiredly and sat up begrudgingly, “Thanks.” As he tore the brown paper, he felt himself become interested in the surprise in front of him. As he opened it completely, he looked at Mickey in disbelief.
“I noticed you stopped wearing your watch. Figured you could use a new one,” he smiled, grabbing his non dominant hand.
“Thank you,” he frowned and felt a twinge in his heart. “I was planning on getting yours today… I’m sorry.”
He shook his head, waving Ian off and smiled, “One day at a time, Red. One day at a time, alright?”
“Alright,” he nodded and leaned into him until it felt like the rest of the world melted away.
The rest of the holiday carried on similar to how it played out earlier in the day. Mickey brought Ian his medicine and some water happily, and Ian felt himself become lighter. It wasn’t changing the way that he felt during the day, but gave a sudden airy warmth around him to know that he wasn’t ridiculous for having bad days still.
He was human. A human that still deserved love and kindness despite what day it was without the crushing fear of letting others down.
Mickey called Lip later on, giving minimal details to how their morning went. They both agreed to try again for breakfast on New Years, knowing that today, despite the usual festivities, needed to be put on hold. And afterwards, Ian received the loving reassurance from his family that it was okay to still have a bad day.
He began the day overcrowded in his own mind, boggled by the fog surrounding him. Now, Ian ends the day in his own mind, seeing through thick patches of fog with a more secure support system, holding his hand and guiding him through it.
Love and family don’t change the inner workings of the mind, but in most cases, a sensitive helping hand can do wonders on a dark and rainy day. He still felt the darkness, but was now aware that he wasn’t as alone as he had thought previously. He wasn’t going anywhere, and similarly through the other bad days, this current day would end and a new one would begin.
Days like today are rare, infrequent, and often leave confusion behind, but he felt determined. Tomorrow, he would go on to speak to his doctor. The next week he would go on to see his family. Contrary to how he felt before, during the foggy morning that singed a Merry from the Christmas spirit, they didn’t mind rescheduling. Family is family to the Gallaghers, and no mental illness can take that from him.