comeoutwrong: (☾ looking back)
For all that they tried to be cutesy and non-threatening, there was something about this place that incited a certain distinct unease. )

[[NFI and NFB cause of distance, and as usual warnings for Effy and her issues. Welcome to the Skins idea of psychological care.]]
comeoutwrong: (☁ little bit mental.)
Everyone has their ways of dealing. )

[[ Warning for mental instability and mentions of substance abuse. The door is closed, but the post can be open if anyone particularly wants to deal with her. ]]
comeoutwrong: (☁ by the bed.)
Sleep, still not the easiest thing to come by, and when it finally did, the timing was all off, leaving Effy crawling her way to consciousness in the early afternoon. Not that it mattered, really, since it was a weekend anyway.

There was the surfacing of the realisation she should probably get up, get dressed, go out, do something... But not really the inclination. Too many other things spinning around in her head. A brief investigation down the side of her bed revealed the bottle she kept there was empty. Well. There went that solution. Shit.

Eventually, she made the effort to slip out of bed and turn up her music loud enough to almost drown out most of the snippets of conversation in the back of her head making her twitchy, and slid down to sit on the floor, back against her bed and head dropped back against the mattress. Picking up bad, floor-sitting habits. Wonder whose fault that was.

[[Door is closed, post can be open with the warning the girl is extra messy and broken. ETA: aaand I should probably tack on an extra WARNING for delicate subject matters ahead: discussion of alcohol abuse, mental health issues, etc.]]
comeoutwrong: (☁ under the bed.)
Effy's head was still full of the fogged up confusion as she ran back to the dorms, and her mind was barely starting to wrangle the stray thoughts and overriding fear into something manageable by the time she reached her room.

There was trippy and there was wrong, and that had been all wrong. Under her hands had been a person, and in her head there was a misshapen monster, and there was blood and fear. But bits and pieces were starting to slip back into reality through the haze, and she almost didn't want that. Someone got hurt.

Desperately needing something safe, she firmly closed her door and dropped flat on her stomach, scooting into the enclosed space under her bed while she tried to gather her thoughts and recover her control. She might be there for a while.

[[The Fog might've worn off, but she's still a little unstable. It can be open should anyone have a reason to stop in. Following this once it's played out.]]

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Elizabeth Stonem

October 2012

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