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strangetrip2019-05-14 03:57 pm
st_illfleshandblood) wrote in strangetrip2019-05-14 03:57 pm
Entry tags:
OTA: First, I'm gonna drink this, and then I'm gonna throw up.
CW: severe alcoholism.
Jackson had not, for lack of a more colorful expression, been doing well lately. Not since his stint as an android. At first he'd turned to sex, and Corbie. It was about reconnecting, he had told himself. About feeling again. Being returned to his original self was a goddamn gift, no two ways about it.
But maybe it wasn't all good and rosy, because he kept reaching for knowledge that his mind could no longer hold onto, and his frustration was growing with each passing day. So of course, he'd started drinking even harder than he usually did. Drunken hazes anesthetized his brain, smoothed everything over until nothing mattered but the next swill of liquor down his throat. And there was only one way to get through his increasingly terrible hangovers, and it wasn't Reid's god-awful concoction. Good old hair of the dog, of course.
By the time Jackson found himself suturing his own temple with trembling hands, after passing out and knocking his head against a table corner, he had to admit that he might have taken this too far.
So he'd gone the only stupid way he could: cold turkey. Treated himself through the shakes, and now he was finally on the other side of that. His mind was clearer than it had been in a while, but it still wasn't enough to be half the man he'd been when he had been changed. Perhaps not man, exactly - definitely not man, exactly. Doctor, absolutely. He had managed to retain it all, all the knowledge in all of his books, and it had all made sense. He had been able to apply it. To help. Clarity, precision, efficiency. The speed of his thoughts, the acuteness of his senses.
Now he was left floundering again, caught between what he had learned in his lifetime and what he was trying to make sense of from his books. He refused to think that he was too old or too stupid to learn as much as he needed, now matter how sluggishly he thought, how fuzzy the world seemed. He was too stubborn, by far, and his obstinacy would see him through.
That was how Jackson ended up taking a rather radical route to understanding and memorization. Some markers, the clinic walls, and his books. Drawing anatomical schemes, outlining the steps in one surgery after another, listing drugs and their posology. Laying that information out, actively rephrasing and rearranging it in a way that would hopefully help it all stick with him.
He fully expected the Inn to do its thing and wipe the clinic walls clean during the night, but that wasn't an issue, on the contrary. It meant that he could start over in the morning. But for now, the clinic looked an awful lot like a madman's den, with Jackson ready to play the part, his hair mussed up, his clothes rumpled, and exhaustion darkening circles under his eyes. The smell of tobacco lingered in the air, and the ashtray on Jackson's desk overflowed with cigarette butts, when he was usually so good about stepping outside for a smoke. He hadn't wanted to step away today, and they so rarely got patients anyway.
Jackson had not, for lack of a more colorful expression, been doing well lately. Not since his stint as an android. At first he'd turned to sex, and Corbie. It was about reconnecting, he had told himself. About feeling again. Being returned to his original self was a goddamn gift, no two ways about it.
But maybe it wasn't all good and rosy, because he kept reaching for knowledge that his mind could no longer hold onto, and his frustration was growing with each passing day. So of course, he'd started drinking even harder than he usually did. Drunken hazes anesthetized his brain, smoothed everything over until nothing mattered but the next swill of liquor down his throat. And there was only one way to get through his increasingly terrible hangovers, and it wasn't Reid's god-awful concoction. Good old hair of the dog, of course.
By the time Jackson found himself suturing his own temple with trembling hands, after passing out and knocking his head against a table corner, he had to admit that he might have taken this too far.
So he'd gone the only stupid way he could: cold turkey. Treated himself through the shakes, and now he was finally on the other side of that. His mind was clearer than it had been in a while, but it still wasn't enough to be half the man he'd been when he had been changed. Perhaps not man, exactly - definitely not man, exactly. Doctor, absolutely. He had managed to retain it all, all the knowledge in all of his books, and it had all made sense. He had been able to apply it. To help. Clarity, precision, efficiency. The speed of his thoughts, the acuteness of his senses.
Now he was left floundering again, caught between what he had learned in his lifetime and what he was trying to make sense of from his books. He refused to think that he was too old or too stupid to learn as much as he needed, now matter how sluggishly he thought, how fuzzy the world seemed. He was too stubborn, by far, and his obstinacy would see him through.
That was how Jackson ended up taking a rather radical route to understanding and memorization. Some markers, the clinic walls, and his books. Drawing anatomical schemes, outlining the steps in one surgery after another, listing drugs and their posology. Laying that information out, actively rephrasing and rearranging it in a way that would hopefully help it all stick with him.
He fully expected the Inn to do its thing and wipe the clinic walls clean during the night, but that wasn't an issue, on the contrary. It meant that he could start over in the morning. But for now, the clinic looked an awful lot like a madman's den, with Jackson ready to play the part, his hair mussed up, his clothes rumpled, and exhaustion darkening circles under his eyes. The smell of tobacco lingered in the air, and the ashtray on Jackson's desk overflowed with cigarette butts, when he was usually so good about stepping outside for a smoke. He hadn't wanted to step away today, and they so rarely got patients anyway.
Re: Jackson & Sunny
This point was different.
"You are, however, already making yourself a shittier doctor overall. I'm sure Butters has already reamed you over the effects of secondhand smoke at some point, so, y'know, thanks. But this space," she waved a hand to indicate the room, the disorder, the madness that was clearly settling in, "is supposed to be a safe space for patients whether you have any or not and it is most definitely not that in this state. Someone who needs help is probably either going to avoid coming into this room or be afraid while they're here. Afraid of you for making it. And you, you're making leaps in logic to statistically improbable things on slivers of evidence when you know that's not and is never how this works."
She sighed and flicked some of her braids over her shoulder. "You remember the first time I needed your help? I was embarrassed enough that I wanted to just fall right through the floor. But you were, in a way, kind about it. And I needed that as much if not more than the medication. You're in no state to give anybody that right now."
Re: Jackson & Sunny
There was something almost like drowning in his eyes for a brief instant, a swell of rising panic immediately stamped back down as he turned to gather his books. And a couple of markers.
Re: Jackson & Sunny
Re: Jackson & Sunny
Not that they were ever much needed, but it would be just like life here to send patients into the clinic when nobody was around.
Re: Jackson & Sunny
But he really should not be alone.
So she let her face settle into a flat stare. "What, so you're just going to retreat and let others do the work for you? Oh, no. We're gonna clean this mess up. I'll help you carry your books after."
Properly, it should have been 'you're going to clean this mess up.' She had nothing to do with it. But aside from being something to do, it allowed her to keep an eye on him in a way he might accept and getting the room back in order would help him at least some.
Re: Jackson & Sunny
Whatever books he had in his hands were the ones he would be leaving with. Now. Ambling along like he wasn't running away, but he was.
Re: Jackson & Sunny
She shrugged. "All right. And for God's sake, take a nap." She pulled out her knife. No one knew exactly how cleaning up worked around here and someone might need this space later. Certainly whoever had the next shift would.