Dr. Frederick Chilton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
slightlyoffchilt) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2014-07-20 03:41 pm
slightlyoffchilt) wrote in maskormenacelogs2014-07-20 03:41 pm
Entry tags:
what have you got to lose --
WHO: Chilton and OPEN!
WHERE: All Around Heropa.
WHEN: July 8th to July 30th -- just indicate what day in the header please!
WHAT: This thus includes: psychiatric sessions, dinner reservations, coffee gallivanting, whimsical meetings of any any sort.
WARNINGS: Will update if necessary.
The sweltered gasps of summer whispered heavily onto his cotton button-ups and tailored blazers. Inspiring as the warmth and light might be (what better way to flesh out the contours of darkness?), Chilton struggled with his composure in the heat. And the heat flickered in more than mere temperatured conception; there was the metaphorical heat of sparring individuals, his own psychiatrist's history of violence and Borderline Personality Disorder, the cannibalistic ghouls of his past (and future) swaying back into his (endangered?) life. The stress was remarkable, plastering itself in the crooks of his neck, in the curve of his spine. There were fleeting fantasies, when he wondered if Christine had the right idea: escape Heropa for something more remote, something more brisk. But of course, that proposition was contrary to everything he had worked for -- Frederick Chilton was now an Attending Psychiatrist at his hospital, with a fascinating flow of imPort minds to analyze. This was a system he had wanted, the structure he craved. The brief hiatus from work he had taken lasted only three days, and even that was wholly in response to Karla Sofen's physical aggression (and consequential revelation). A minor setback. But with newer patients like Billy Kaplan (General Anxiety), Tommy Shepard (Anti-Social Personality Disorder), Erwin and Levi (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder), and now Godot (... in which the jury's still out), there was a cemented allure to remaining within Heropa's embrace. Not to mention his longer-standing patients, the individuals who suffered the verge of identity crises (his favorite crisis), like Doctor Connors and Kanaya. Not to mention his project with Danger, a situation that sparked new height of unethical relations. And certainly, his promised patients, the ones he was only starting to sink his fingers into their synapses...
There was no true impulse to abandon any of that. He savored every atom of that foundation.
The sun implored blistering antics against his back, and he weathered the heat graciously.
WHERE: All Around Heropa.
WHEN: July 8th to July 30th -- just indicate what day in the header please!
WHAT: This thus includes: psychiatric sessions, dinner reservations, coffee gallivanting, whimsical meetings of any any sort.
WARNINGS: Will update if necessary.
The sweltered gasps of summer whispered heavily onto his cotton button-ups and tailored blazers. Inspiring as the warmth and light might be (what better way to flesh out the contours of darkness?), Chilton struggled with his composure in the heat. And the heat flickered in more than mere temperatured conception; there was the metaphorical heat of sparring individuals, his own psychiatrist's history of violence and Borderline Personality Disorder, the cannibalistic ghouls of his past (and future) swaying back into his (endangered?) life. The stress was remarkable, plastering itself in the crooks of his neck, in the curve of his spine. There were fleeting fantasies, when he wondered if Christine had the right idea: escape Heropa for something more remote, something more brisk. But of course, that proposition was contrary to everything he had worked for -- Frederick Chilton was now an Attending Psychiatrist at his hospital, with a fascinating flow of imPort minds to analyze. This was a system he had wanted, the structure he craved. The brief hiatus from work he had taken lasted only three days, and even that was wholly in response to Karla Sofen's physical aggression (and consequential revelation). A minor setback. But with newer patients like Billy Kaplan (General Anxiety), Tommy Shepard (Anti-Social Personality Disorder), Erwin and Levi (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder), and now Godot (... in which the jury's still out), there was a cemented allure to remaining within Heropa's embrace. Not to mention his longer-standing patients, the individuals who suffered the verge of identity crises (his favorite crisis), like Doctor Connors and Kanaya. Not to mention his project with Danger, a situation that sparked new height of unethical relations. And certainly, his promised patients, the ones he was only starting to sink his fingers into their synapses...
There was no true impulse to abandon any of that. He savored every atom of that foundation.
The sun implored blistering antics against his back, and he weathered the heat graciously.
no subject
His fingers were tightening around his cup, just barely.
"Greater? Hardly. There is nothing great about me now," he murmured. "I rose from the dead by the slimmest of margins. My body is a heap of junk. It takes a pile of pills every morning, noon, and night to keep me chugging along."
He glanced at his cup of coffee, at the black liquid swirling within.
"Those who emerge from such bodily peril are called 'survivors' for lack of anything else. To win life back from the grasp of death is meant to be its own solace. But it isn't as though even a survivor comes out unscathed. Untouched. Unruined."
no subject
"All right," he said. "If you're open to the idea," began Chilton, as if he was acknowledging Godot's weight of consent in a tangible gravity. "I would suggest that we start you on a low dosage of antipsychotics."
It wasn't so extreme a measure -- or, at least, it sounded more dire when Chilton said it with a smile that it truly ought to have had.
"To stabilize your more extreme emotional drifts, I mean. Perhaps Lithium? Suitable for depression, mania -- there are significant studies that demonstrate the use of the medication for --" and the psychiatrist cleared his throat, reeling back his pitch. Perhaps overt enthusiasm wasn't the idea posture, right now.
"Your existential crisis appears unique," he finished.
no subject
Wasn't that a morbid thought.
He didn't respond to the question of his openness on the matter, focusing instead on the last bit.
"The use of medication for what?" he asked. "And what do you mean, 'unique?'"
no subject
"Existential crises are a normal habit of sentient awareness -- and that is not what I'm accusing you of suffering from, Mr. Godot. Not at this point," he said, couching in the words. He didn't want to necessarily immediately contradict what he had just said.
"In essence, what I detect is existentially seeded, but it isn't limited to a normal, circumstantial crisis. This isn't inspired by a midway point in your life, and while it may have at least superficially manifested with your life and death experience, I believe that in fact the experience merely triggered what you always had the potential for," said Chilton, his lengthy explanation delivered with a professional softness in his voice. He always handled his patients with a caring tone, it help to distract from his truer intent.
"I would require your consent to continue any further, of course."