Sweet Emotion

Chapter 20

***Tw: Mental breakdown and very brief mention of suicide attempt and drug abuse***

Footsteps pattered as Joe ran down the hallway screaming at the top of his lungs. His hair was wild and uncombed, and he was completely barefoot, having discarded the non-slip socks he'd been given in his bathroom bin.

"STEVEN!!!" he screamed, pushing people out of the way as he charged towards the exit. "STEVEN!!!" Hot tears blinded him as desperately pulled at the locked double doors, yearning to get out. He was using all the strength he had in his body, but still he remained trapped.

Joe had been in the psychiatric ward for several days now, and it was driving him bonkers. He hadn't seen or talked to any of his bandmates or family, only being kept company by the tweeting of birds and fellow hospital staff. Being stuck in a white room didn't help either; it made him sick seeing the same shade of white everywhere he looked. As for Steven, he had already been informed of what had happened to his best friend. His heart had shattered when the devastating news was broken to him, and it still remained in pieces.

"STEVEN!!!" Joe howled, kicking and slamming at the doors. "BABY!!!" he finally cried, his knuckles turning red as he started punching at the door. He had to see Steven and see that he was okay, but escaping this awful locked ward now seemed impossible.

Last time he'd tried to escape, he'd had to be restrained, and he dreaded that that would happen again. Having his ankles and wrists cuffed to his bed and restraints pinning his body down made him feel more like an animal than a person. His red palms slid down the doors as he gave up. This was no use. He was surrendering.

Joe slumped down onto the cold floor and curled up into a ball, beginning to sob. All he wanted was his bunny. His sweet, little bunny that was his rock and who he couldn't do without. He flinched when he felt someone's presence and a hand touch his shoulder.

"Joe, what's the matter?" one of the nurses spoke as she kneeled next to him. Her voice was soft and soothing, making him feel a little at ease. "You know you're not allowed out of the ward."

Joe looked up at her, his eyes red from crying. "I- I know, b- but my best friend is here recovering from surgery. I want to see him, please," he begged, breaking down in tears again. He started crying harder when the nurse rubbed his back comfortingly.

"Come on, sweet, I'll take you back to your room."

Joe sniffed and slowly picked himself up of the floor, aching both mentally and physically. He awkwardly followed the kind nurse who was escorting him back to his room, hiding his face from everyone who observed him.

"Can I have some benzodiazepine?" he asked rather abruptly, rubbing his arms. "For anxiety relief," he added quickly when he got a concerned look.

Joe wasn't anxious, he just needed relief.

As the needle pushed into one of his veins, he sighed happily and laid back, smiling as he waited for the administered drug to do its work.

~

"So Joe, how do you feel today?" the psychiatrist asked gently, her clipboard balanced on her lap as she sat in the chair Steven had once sat in.

Joe shrugged. He felt so empty inside that he didn't know how to feel anything but despair. "I feel okay, I guess. I'm not happy, and I'm not sad, I just feel eh." He wrung his hands, looking down at his lap. There was something he desperately had to admit. "But I'm just so sick and tired of feeling sick and tired every day. It's the same routine every day; wake up, do some lines, have a beer and make music," he let out an exasperated sigh. "I just want to wake up and not have to get high to get through the day, you know?

I want to get clean, but it seems so out of reach. It's like trying to find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow: no matter how far you walk, the rainbow is always going to be the same distance away from you, so you'll never find the gold."

Joe gave himself a little smile, proud of the analogy he'd made.

Wise words he thought.

"That's very true."

The harsh scribbling sound from the pen that made notes filled both the room and his head. He wanted to shout how insane he felt and how the irritating noise of ink being dragged across paper made him feel worse, but he stayed quiet.

"Now, have you had any more suicide attempts or abused any drugs?"

Joe slowly nodded, holding his knees close to his chest. "I haven't tried to commit suicide, but the other day I asked for some anxiety medication," he admitted in a small voice. "I wasn't anxious, but I just wanted to feel some relief." He looked up from his hunched position, his eyes big. "To make the pain go away."

"Uh-huh. And what about these suicidal thoughts that you've been having? Do you know why you're having them?"

Joe gulped, his face heating up. He felt...well, he didn't quite know, but it'd be a relief to finally get all this off his chest.

"Y- yes. M- my girlfriend u- used to h- hit me and h- hurt me," he stuttered, finally opening up a bit more. "And s- sometimes after a big argument she'd lock me out and I'd be left homeless for a day or two."

"Right. Do you have any family or friends nearby that you could've stayed with when this happened?"

Joe shook his head. "My family live back in Lawrence, in Massachusetts, and my friends...well, we were all going through a rough patch together, so I moved out for a while."

When he was done talking, he felt as if a weight had lifted off his chest. Finally, someone had listened to him.

"Okay, that's all for today. I'll come and see you again tomorrow."

"Perfect."