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fellowshippers2005-12-04 08:38 am
geniusartist.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2005-12-04 08:38 am
Journal Writing (3)
Title: Journal Keeping (3)
Fandom: LOTR RPS
Pairing: EW/DM
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: I feel very obligated to let readers know that I will be touching upon sensitive issues in future parts. Nothing graphic. But be warned if you continue with the story.
Summary: Elijah's therapist instructs him to keep a journal. Nightmares, train rides, a forgotten traumatic event and one Dominic Monaghan are the subjects of his entries.
8.28.04
I see June 2x per week.
When I was first released, we saw each other every other day. And then spoke on the phone on the days that we didn’t. That was only for two weeks, though. I convinced her that I could do the minimum and stay fine.
I’m such a cliché. They found me passed out on my bathroom floor, an empty bottle and some stray pills nearby. June didn’t believe me at first when I told her that it was completely unintentional. Well, practically.
The nightmares were coming more and more frequently. Every night, by that time. I'd resorted to sleeping aids when I first started having them. Chamomile tea. See, I started light. Then over-the-counter stuff. I did Nyquil when I didn’t have a cold. Benadryl when it wasn’t allergy season. Tylenol PM when I rarely suffered from headaches. The Tylenol PM was pretty effective, for awhile at least. But the problem, really, wasn’t falling asleep. It was staying that way for the entire night. And I don’t remember when that last happened.
I accidentally discovered the codeine pills rifling through my mom’s medicine cabinet for her own bottle of headache-plus Tylenol. They were in a prescription bottle, marked something or other, additional ingredient codeine.
I was a child actor. I’m not ignorant to various forms of narcotic. Codeine is Gerber compared to what I know people I’ve worked with used to relax, release, relate. Damage control.
So, I didn’t need to go to Wikipedia to know that codeine: a) helps to make things hurt less, at least physically, and b) will knock the shit outta ya with a dose or so.
I took a couple that night and slept like a baby. For about three hours. Spent the rest tangled in sheets, sweaty from all the tossing and turning.
Next night I took a couple more. Knocked out, as predicted. When I woke up again several hours later, I just popped another two pills -- my plan B -- I had handily in reach on my bedside table.
And so it went.
By the time I got around to ingesting an entire bottle, I didn’t realize I was taking so much. And that I had taken so much.
It was like smoking cigarettes, I guess. One, two, five here. There.
Ooops.
June believes me mostly. I still sense her reluctance when we get around to talking about it. Or dance around it. My lead, of course. It’s like I keep telling her, we’ve gone over this already. I’ve told you everything. Let’s move on, shall we.
After my stomach was pumped and they insisted I be held overnight -- which I didn’t really think was all that necessary, but it’s fuckin’ LA and I was Elijah Wood and they needed to protect some piece of Hollywood asset, because I know this kid, some regular Joe, who did actually try to kill himself by shoving an entire pharmacy down his throat and the hospital had no problem releasing him right after his stomach was cleared of any toxic or fatal poisons and they had him sign this release form that he was a-ok, numero uno, baby.
Oh, where was I.
Oh, right. So when I was still fine the next morning, the those-who-are-specialized-and-(apparently)-know-what's-best from the psych ward had a gangbang session with my family and I and “greatly encouraged” voluntary admittance. Just for a week. And they had a special ward for celebrity crazies. Same one that Winona Ryder checked into years before.
Hullo. Hobbit, Interrupted.
I insisted I was fine. But then mom was crying...
So I signed the papers.
We paid my publicist a lot of money to tell the press that I was away on vacation.
Right. It was ClubfuckingMed, happy hour twenty-four hours day.
Fandom: LOTR RPS
Pairing: EW/DM
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: I feel very obligated to let readers know that I will be touching upon sensitive issues in future parts. Nothing graphic. But be warned if you continue with the story.
Summary: Elijah's therapist instructs him to keep a journal. Nightmares, train rides, a forgotten traumatic event and one Dominic Monaghan are the subjects of his entries.
8.28.04
I see June 2x per week.
When I was first released, we saw each other every other day. And then spoke on the phone on the days that we didn’t. That was only for two weeks, though. I convinced her that I could do the minimum and stay fine.
I’m such a cliché. They found me passed out on my bathroom floor, an empty bottle and some stray pills nearby. June didn’t believe me at first when I told her that it was completely unintentional. Well, practically.
The nightmares were coming more and more frequently. Every night, by that time. I'd resorted to sleeping aids when I first started having them. Chamomile tea. See, I started light. Then over-the-counter stuff. I did Nyquil when I didn’t have a cold. Benadryl when it wasn’t allergy season. Tylenol PM when I rarely suffered from headaches. The Tylenol PM was pretty effective, for awhile at least. But the problem, really, wasn’t falling asleep. It was staying that way for the entire night. And I don’t remember when that last happened.
I accidentally discovered the codeine pills rifling through my mom’s medicine cabinet for her own bottle of headache-plus Tylenol. They were in a prescription bottle, marked something or other, additional ingredient codeine.
I was a child actor. I’m not ignorant to various forms of narcotic. Codeine is Gerber compared to what I know people I’ve worked with used to relax, release, relate. Damage control.
So, I didn’t need to go to Wikipedia to know that codeine: a) helps to make things hurt less, at least physically, and b) will knock the shit outta ya with a dose or so.
I took a couple that night and slept like a baby. For about three hours. Spent the rest tangled in sheets, sweaty from all the tossing and turning.
Next night I took a couple more. Knocked out, as predicted. When I woke up again several hours later, I just popped another two pills -- my plan B -- I had handily in reach on my bedside table.
And so it went.
By the time I got around to ingesting an entire bottle, I didn’t realize I was taking so much. And that I had taken so much.
It was like smoking cigarettes, I guess. One, two, five here. There.
Ooops.
June believes me mostly. I still sense her reluctance when we get around to talking about it. Or dance around it. My lead, of course. It’s like I keep telling her, we’ve gone over this already. I’ve told you everything. Let’s move on, shall we.
After my stomach was pumped and they insisted I be held overnight -- which I didn’t really think was all that necessary, but it’s fuckin’ LA and I was Elijah Wood and they needed to protect some piece of Hollywood asset, because I know this kid, some regular Joe, who did actually try to kill himself by shoving an entire pharmacy down his throat and the hospital had no problem releasing him right after his stomach was cleared of any toxic or fatal poisons and they had him sign this release form that he was a-ok, numero uno, baby.
Oh, where was I.
Oh, right. So when I was still fine the next morning, the those-who-are-specialized-and-(apparently)-know-what's-best from the psych ward had a gangbang session with my family and I and “greatly encouraged” voluntary admittance. Just for a week. And they had a special ward for celebrity crazies. Same one that Winona Ryder checked into years before.
Hullo. Hobbit, Interrupted.
I insisted I was fine. But then mom was crying...
So I signed the papers.
We paid my publicist a lot of money to tell the press that I was away on vacation.
Right. It was ClubfuckingMed, happy hour twenty-four hours day.
no subject
very compelling piece.
no subject