Shattered but Strong

Chapter 3

The kitchen was quieter now. The dinner plates had been cleared, and the usual buzz of family chatter had faded into a low hum of comfortable silence. Brian sat at the table, his fork moving listlessly over the remnants of his meal. The rich aroma of dinner still lingered, mingling with the faint scent of dish soap from the recently washed plates. His gaze was distant, unfocused, as though his mind had drifted far away, tethered to thoughts he usually kept hidden—thoughts about his mental health that had been stirred up during the earlier conversation.

Jesse, sitting across from him, noticed the subtle way Brian’s jaw clenched, his eyes locked on the plate in front of him. The shift in the room was palpable, the air heavy with unspoken words. There was something on Brian’s mind, something deeper than the casual confessions he had made earlier.

“Brian,” Jesse’s voice was gentle, cutting through the stillness, “You said you’ve got other things going on... What do you mean by that?” His words were tentative, careful not to push too hard, but he could sense the weight behind Brian’s silence. He had seen glimpses of Brian’s internal struggles before, but now it seemed there was more to uncover.

Brian slowly looked up, his eyes meeting Jesse’s, a flicker of hesitation in his gaze. For a moment, it seemed like he might deflect the question, but then he let out a long, steady breath, as if bracing himself for the conversation. “Yeah,” he said, his voice rough, like it was carrying more than just the weight of his words. “I’ve got... more than just the BPD.”

The room seemed to tighten as the family’s attention shifted towards Brian. Dom, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, now stood a little straighter, concern etched into his face. Letty, ever attuned to the shifts in the atmosphere, set her glass down and exchanged a glance with Mia, who still held a dish towel in hand by the sink.

Brian glanced around the room, his family’s eyes on him, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t feel the need to shield himself. “I was diagnosed with C-PTSD,” he started, his voice steady but heavy with the weight of his revelation. “Complex PTSD, in case you don’t know. It’s different from regular PTSD—it’s not from just one event. It’s... years of stuff. Stuff that piles up, builds on itself.”

Jesse nodded, his expression soft but encouraging. The rest of the family was silent, listening intently, each of them processing his words in their own way.

Brian continued, taking a deep breath. “Growing up, I went through a lot of... trauma. And when it happens over time, your brain starts to rewire itself. C-PTSD isn’t just flashbacks or nightmares. It’s like your body’s on high alert all the time. It’s like... nothing ever feels safe. And sometimes, my brain doesn’t let me trust what’s real. Everything feels like a threat.”

He paused, letting the silence settle, his words hanging in the air. It felt like an unspoken confession, a release of something long held in the dark. “Sometimes, I’ll just... snap. I’ll freeze, or I’ll fight, even when there’s no reason to. It’s like I can’t stop it.”

Dom, brow furrowed, took a slow breath, his voice gruff but filled with genuine concern. “I never knew, Brian,” he said. “What can we do? How can we help?”

Brian gave him a small, grateful smile, but it was tinged with exhaustion. “There’s not much you can do when it happens. It’s all internal. But understanding helps. If I’m distant or zoned out, it’s not because I’m mad or ignoring you. My brain just... gets stuck sometimes.”

Letty leaned forward, her expression thoughtful. “That sounds exhausting, always being on edge like that. Is there anything that helps?”

Brian nodded, his tone softening as he spoke about the small ways he coped. “Yeah, sometimes. Therapy helps a lot. Grounding exercises, stuff that brings me back to the present. Reminds me I’m not in danger anymore.”

Jesse’s fingers traced the edges of his sketchbook, deep in thought. “And drawing helps, too, right?”

Brian’s expression softened, a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Yeah, it helps. When I draw, it’s like I’m controlling the chaos in my head. Putting it on paper makes it feel less... overwhelming.”

The conversation paused, the weight of Brian’s confession settling over them. Jesse, ever the curious one, was still processing. “You said there’s more... what else?”

Brian hesitated before continuing, his posture shifting as he spoke. “I’ve got OCD too. Obsessive-compulsive disorder. My brain gets stuck in loops. Thoughts I can’t shake. I’ll repeat things in my head, or do things over and over, like tapping or checking the door, and if I don’t, it feels like something bad will happen. To someone I love.”

Dom’s frown deepened, his arms still crossed. “That sounds... draining. What kind of things do you do?”

Brian stared at his hands, flexing his fingers as he spoke. “It could be anything—checking the door ten times before I leave. Tapping things a certain number of times. My brain tells me if I don’t, something terrible will happen. I know it’s irrational, but that’s how OCD works. It doesn’t let you reason with it.”

Mia’s voice trembled slightly. “That sounds... really hard, Brian.”

Brian gave a humorless chuckle. “Yeah, it is. But you learn to manage it. Therapy helps. Cognitive-behavioral stuff, trying to rewire the thoughts. It’s a work in progress.”

Jesse, his heart heavy with empathy, leaned in. “And there’s more?”

Brian shifted again, more closed off this time, as if bracing for the next part. “Yeah. Schizophrenia. It’s not something I talk about much because... it scares people.”

Dom’s expression shifted to one of concern. “What do you mean? Are you hearing things?”

Brian nodded slowly, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face. “Sometimes. It’s not like the movies. More like whispers. Shadows in the corners of my vision. I know they’re not real, but when I’m stressed, they get worse.”

The family exchanged uneasy glances, trying to absorb what Brian had been carrying all these years. The room felt dimmer now, the weight of his words pressing down on them.

“Schizophrenia’s complicated,” Brian continued, his voice quieter now. “It’s like my brain doesn’t always interpret reality the same way as everyone else. I can’t always tell what’s real and what’s not. But I’ve learned to manage it, mostly. The meds help, but it’s still a daily battle.”

Dom, his protective instincts kicking in, took a step forward. “Brian, why didn’t you say something before? You’ve been dealing with this all by yourself.”

Brian shrugged, his expression weary. “It’s hard to talk about. Especially the schizophrenia. People hear that word, and they assume I’m dangerous or crazy. But I’m not. I’m still me. Just with a few extra hurdles.”

Letty, ever pragmatic, asked, “Is there anything we can do to help?”

Brian met her gaze, a faint glimmer of gratitude in his tired eyes. “Just... be patient. If I need space, give it to me. If I seem off, just know it’s not because I’m mad. It’s just my brain doing its thing.”

Jesse leaned forward, his voice softer than before. “You’ve got us, Brian. We’re in this together.”

Brian smiled, a genuine smile that didn’t quite reach the tiredness in his eyes, but it was enough. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel like he was carrying his mental health struggles alone.