... no, but he feels like the second scene of the Crow every time that he jerks awake suddenly and rips the blankets away from his face because he can't breathe and can't figure out where he is. Which is... basically every time he wakes up.
Coffee has a kinder and briefer existence, and, in the long run, it will get to be a part of the ocean someday.
Robbie can tell that Terry is watching, or he thinks he can. In reality, he's paranoid and constantly thinks that everyone is watching him. It doesn't matter if he's on the subway, where he could be literally on fire and no one would look up from their phone. It's worse today, but he's trying, really striving, to not wonder why Terry is here and who called him. Is it a coincidence, or did they have an appointment today? Robbie can't remember.
Forgetfulness is a sign of depression. He's found library books on all of the words that got thrown around the Thunderbolts about him. It's also a sign of PTSD.
It's not a sign of OCD, but he never had that anyway. He just never corrected the doctors who examined him as to why he had to memorize so many numbers.
But it's been bothering him since he walked past Terry's office and realized that the Doctor was in. He should have made a note or something, because he can't ask anyone. The only two people who might know are Terry, ruled out because actual therapist, and Vance, ruled out because armchair therapist. All he can do is try to wait it all out. Eventually, Terry will suggest they get started, or he won't.
"I'm not." Terry is way ahead of Robbie in the smiling department. Robbie isn't even making an attempt at that; he's having enough trouble with saying 'I'm not' like a human being or at least not with a flatter affect than Siri. He shovels a mountain of cereal into his mouth and mumbles around it. "I don't do the shopping. I just hit enough buttons on the coffee machine until stuff came out. It could be coffee, it could be oil. Who knows in this place?"
Better. Definitely hitting the right cadence at the end.
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Coffee has a kinder and briefer existence, and, in the long run, it will get to be a part of the ocean someday.
Robbie can tell that Terry is watching, or he thinks he can. In reality, he's paranoid and constantly thinks that everyone is watching him. It doesn't matter if he's on the subway, where he could be literally on fire and no one would look up from their phone. It's worse today, but he's trying, really striving, to not wonder why Terry is here and who called him. Is it a coincidence, or did they have an appointment today? Robbie can't remember.
Forgetfulness is a sign of depression. He's found library books on all of the words that got thrown around the Thunderbolts about him. It's also a sign of PTSD.
It's not a sign of OCD, but he never had that anyway. He just never corrected the doctors who examined him as to why he had to memorize so many numbers.
But it's been bothering him since he walked past Terry's office and realized that the Doctor was in. He should have made a note or something, because he can't ask anyone. The only two people who might know are Terry, ruled out because actual therapist, and Vance, ruled out because armchair therapist. All he can do is try to wait it all out. Eventually, Terry will suggest they get started, or he won't.
"I'm not." Terry is way ahead of Robbie in the smiling department. Robbie isn't even making an attempt at that; he's having enough trouble with saying 'I'm not' like a human being or at least not with a flatter affect than Siri. He shovels a mountain of cereal into his mouth and mumbles around it. "I don't do the shopping. I just hit enough buttons on the coffee machine until stuff came out. It could be coffee, it could be oil. Who knows in this place?"
Better. Definitely hitting the right cadence at the end.