Casey Andre MacDonald (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lifethrualens) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
dreamlikenewyork2015-09-20 06:57 pm
lifethrualens) wrote in dreamlikenewyork2015-09-20 06:57 pm
@ muserevival | 101.1. Muse Prompt - Lyrics
HERE @ muserevival
"I'm just so fuckin' depressed
I just can't seem to get out this slump
If I could just get over this hump
But I need something to pull me out this dump,
I took my bruises, took my lumps
Fell down and I got right back up
But I need that spark to get psyched back up
In order for me to pick the mic back up"
• Beautiful, Eminem
Instead of dealing with the fact he wasn't coping with his dad's birthday, or letting his family or boyfriend help him deal, Casey decided to go and get shit-faced instead. No, it wasn't a mature way to handle it. It wasn't rational. It wasn't thought out. It was just plain stupidity, and at the time, he just didn't care. The pain inside had been gradually getting worse as the week, that felt like a fucking decade, went on. He couldn't handle anyone around him, because they all wanted to talk about the fact it was Dad's birthday and they should honour him.
Shit hit the fan when Callum, the one most likely to push because it was just his nature, tried to insist they should all go to the cemetery together on the day and pay their respects. Casey snapped. He knew he did. That fight or flight kicked in on his twin, and this time the fight won over. He and Callum had the biggest fight of the life. What Callum hadn't told anyone was that Casey actually hit him. Punched him in the face. What he didn't know what that Callum had been using Autumn's stage concealer to hide the bruising. That was when Casey went completely into shut-down mode and just didn't want to deal with anything that week.
He just missed his dad so fucking much, it was like a burning hot pain that wouldn't stop.
Post-traumatic Stress Disorder wasn't a nice thing to live with. Casey was clinically diagnosed with it after their father's death. A massive heart attack at the wheel, their dad flipped the car with Casey in the passenger's seat and he died on impact. If the car hadn't flipped, or he had the heart attack anywhere else but behind the wheel, he might have survived. Instead, Casey witnessed the whole thing. He lost consciousness in the accident, but then he came-to trapped in the car, his dad dead and covered in blood beside him.
Psychologically, he had been scarred. That was no secret. He had such an awful breakdown at the funeral, he ended up sedated in hospital when he collapsed. He had never truly dealt with their dad's death, and this week was always going to be hard. It was hard for all of them. But Casey didn't want to go to the cemetery. He didn't want to see a headstone with his dad's name on it. He didn't want to put flowers there for his birthday. He didn't want to be anywhere near death, when it still lived so vividly in his mind when he got caught in bad nightmares, or had random weird flashbacks whenever he heard the sirens of an ambulance.
Booze wasn't the answer, but on the eve of their dad's birthday, it certainly helped him dull the pain that seemed to hit him ten-fold that evening. He loved his family, he loved his twin brother as part of him, but even they couldn't stop help the way this was making him feel. He took his wallet and phone, and walked out to find the nearest bar where he could get trashed without drawing attention to himself. He walked for a long time. He went into sort of a trance, where his mind was both whirring with thoughts without really letting anything become locked on one thing. He ended up in a bad neighbourhood without realising it, but it was the first place he came across a shitty bar where he could sit in a corner and just drink until he switched off.
If only he could've thought rationally enough to cockblock his actions. If his brother and sister knew, they would've attempted to reign his plans in. Callum probably would've personally plied him with as much booze as he wanted, if he wanted to get drunk but do it where he was safe. He wasn't safe. In fact, he ended up tripping in a gutter about half a block from the bar where he fell and knocked himself out. He was soon robbed of his valuables and even his designer label shirt, belt and shoes. Having pushed the people he loved away, no one had reason to realise he was anything but buried in bed in his own misery.
The next day, he would officially be reported as a Missing Person.
muserevival"I'm just so fuckin' depressed
I just can't seem to get out this slump
If I could just get over this hump
But I need something to pull me out this dump,
I took my bruises, took my lumps
Fell down and I got right back up
But I need that spark to get psyched back up
In order for me to pick the mic back up"
• Beautiful, Eminem
Instead of dealing with the fact he wasn't coping with his dad's birthday, or letting his family or boyfriend help him deal, Casey decided to go and get shit-faced instead. No, it wasn't a mature way to handle it. It wasn't rational. It wasn't thought out. It was just plain stupidity, and at the time, he just didn't care. The pain inside had been gradually getting worse as the week, that felt like a fucking decade, went on. He couldn't handle anyone around him, because they all wanted to talk about the fact it was Dad's birthday and they should honour him.
Shit hit the fan when Callum, the one most likely to push because it was just his nature, tried to insist they should all go to the cemetery together on the day and pay their respects. Casey snapped. He knew he did. That fight or flight kicked in on his twin, and this time the fight won over. He and Callum had the biggest fight of the life. What Callum hadn't told anyone was that Casey actually hit him. Punched him in the face. What he didn't know what that Callum had been using Autumn's stage concealer to hide the bruising. That was when Casey went completely into shut-down mode and just didn't want to deal with anything that week.
He just missed his dad so fucking much, it was like a burning hot pain that wouldn't stop.
Post-traumatic Stress Disorder wasn't a nice thing to live with. Casey was clinically diagnosed with it after their father's death. A massive heart attack at the wheel, their dad flipped the car with Casey in the passenger's seat and he died on impact. If the car hadn't flipped, or he had the heart attack anywhere else but behind the wheel, he might have survived. Instead, Casey witnessed the whole thing. He lost consciousness in the accident, but then he came-to trapped in the car, his dad dead and covered in blood beside him.
Psychologically, he had been scarred. That was no secret. He had such an awful breakdown at the funeral, he ended up sedated in hospital when he collapsed. He had never truly dealt with their dad's death, and this week was always going to be hard. It was hard for all of them. But Casey didn't want to go to the cemetery. He didn't want to see a headstone with his dad's name on it. He didn't want to put flowers there for his birthday. He didn't want to be anywhere near death, when it still lived so vividly in his mind when he got caught in bad nightmares, or had random weird flashbacks whenever he heard the sirens of an ambulance.
Booze wasn't the answer, but on the eve of their dad's birthday, it certainly helped him dull the pain that seemed to hit him ten-fold that evening. He loved his family, he loved his twin brother as part of him, but even they couldn't stop help the way this was making him feel. He took his wallet and phone, and walked out to find the nearest bar where he could get trashed without drawing attention to himself. He walked for a long time. He went into sort of a trance, where his mind was both whirring with thoughts without really letting anything become locked on one thing. He ended up in a bad neighbourhood without realising it, but it was the first place he came across a shitty bar where he could sit in a corner and just drink until he switched off.
If only he could've thought rationally enough to cockblock his actions. If his brother and sister knew, they would've attempted to reign his plans in. Callum probably would've personally plied him with as much booze as he wanted, if he wanted to get drunk but do it where he was safe. He wasn't safe. In fact, he ended up tripping in a gutter about half a block from the bar where he fell and knocked himself out. He was soon robbed of his valuables and even his designer label shirt, belt and shoes. Having pushed the people he loved away, no one had reason to realise he was anything but buried in bed in his own misery.
The next day, he would officially be reported as a Missing Person.