pirateangelbaby | Admitting You Have a Problem

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ic,
loki

Admitting You Have a Problem

He'd been doing so well before all this. Or at least he thought he had. He'd stopped stashing ale and mead in his living room by the barrel, spent less time drinking and more time going outside and actually trying to tackle the mountain of paperwork that's been building up in the administrative center, even if he hadn't gotten very far. Sure, he'd still drank, but more out of habit than the need to do something, anything with himself. He'd started to get his life back, little by little, struggling to find a new normal and establishing a new routine.

But then Loki left, and there's been no word since.

The children are a delight to have around, and there are times when he feels it's easier to rally himself for their sake, to make sure they're fed and bathed and cared for. As have the ravens, who are growing like mischievous little weeds, both reliant on him and yet also soothing him at times when he is feeling low, hopping into his lap and insisting on being stroked and pampered.

But he is making it up as he goes along. He doesn't know what he's doing, or how much longer he'll need to pretend that he does. And now that he's paying attention, he can tell that there is something still wrong with him, because he's going through his reserves much faster now than he was a few months ago. And he doesn't want to know what will happen if he runs out.

The children are safely under Solvi's watchful eye, under the pretense of helping her around the house while she cares for her baby. Huggan and Miskunn are napping atop a bookshelf, and Thor carefully closes the door behind him as quietly as he can when he leaves. If he's fortunate, maybe he'll be back before they awaken, and they won't scold him for venturing out without them.

By now, he knows his way to the Viper's Pit well. One of the only Nexus establishments to serve drinks strong enough for gods, it's been his primary companion on his descent into his illness, and the steps he's taken to struggle back up. Thor hopes that the other Loki hasn't noticed how many of those barrels have been being shipped to Asvera; he's tried to avoid being there at the same time as the young trickster. Not because he does not want to see him, but because he knows something is not right, and Loki is far too perceptive not to realize that Thor is trying to hide how little he knows what he's doing.

He shouldn't be there now, Thor hopes. He isn't usually, this time of day. The thunderer opens the door to the tavern, and heads inside to pick up the order he'd called ahead.

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It's hard to break the habits of a lifetime. Putting on a strong facade for the people has long been part of Thor's life, long before he was king. To admit anything else would be weakness to be exploited by Asgard's enemies, or to erode the people's faith in their leadership. Even now, there are days when Thor believes he only remains in his people's good graces because his descent into darkness was alongside their own.

He's been trying, though. Trying to normalize the aftermath of the trauma they've all endured as a culture, to be open and honest about the illness it's caused in him, to show his people that they do not need to suffer alone. Perhaps this makes him a hypocrite.

His grip on the glass tightens a little, looking as though she's punched him in the gut. Did you ever let go of the heaviest burdens? "Could you, if you were me?"

It's a fair question, one she has more experience with than others might think. Their burdens are different and hardly a good comparison for everything Thor has been dealing with, but it gives her the empathy she needs to take this opening and ease it open.

"No. I carry everything with me that I've done, even those things that are gone and far beyond my reach." She tilts her head ever so slightly as she watches him. "But I don't hide those hurts under habits that will kill me. I have, and dreams know I have days when I don't turn away from things that harm more than help, but I've grown enough to carry the weight without always hurting myself in the process. I can talk about those things that hurt, let others in when I feel the pain the most."

Now, she thinks, is the time to finally say it. Gently, but the tides are in the right direction for them to make progress in this journey.

"Asgardians are a hearty people, but even they have their limits. A house that smells of ale says you may have reached yours." She looks him over with soft, worried eyes. "A friend who's seen you struggling hopes she can help."

Thor is so certain that this is supposed to be a conversation about his feelings, 'bottling them up' as humans often say, and so the tack that she takes with her final statements catches him completely off-guard. Don't most homes smell of ale, when it's time for a meal? And she brought him this gingered ale, as well. But this is a problem to her?

Bewilderment creeps into his eye and he chuckles nervously, lifting the glass to drink from it. What has gotten into everyone all of a sudden? "All Asgardians drink." Sure, he's been drinking more than most, but he needs it.

"To excess?" she counters. "A home may smell of ale if there's open drinks at a table, but unless you added ale to your coffee, there's none in front of us right now." Amelia's certain she would have noticed the smell if that were true, but at least by being honest about what she brought with her, she can attempt to push more understanding onto Thor. She knew this was a problem before she arrived, so she avoided bringing anything that could make it worse.

"I don't understand why you're attempting to hide the truth we both know. I'm not going to judge you for it, because everyone has struggles and faults. There's no shame in that." If there were, she might have died from shame years ago. Her lips press into a thin line as she continues. "But I worry for you, for your health, if you continue to deny what's happening."

"None...?" Thor gives another look at the drink in his hands, a pink flush to his cheeks above the scruff of his beard. Did she trick him? Or is he a fool for not knowing?

Flustered, he sets it down heavily on the table. "I'm not hiding anything. I'm fine. Don't I look okay?"

He doesn't. He looks distressed and a little betrayed, and more than a little desperate. Desperate for this to all be normal, for her to laugh and change the subject to something more comfortable, for a real drink.

"None." It wasn't her intention to mislead Thor; She simply didn't realize until they were sitting down together that he didn't know what ginger ale was. True, she used this to her advantage, but she wanted to make sure he ate or drank at little something of substance while she was with him. Terrible as it may be, Amelia won't apologize for it until he's in a better place to hear it.

"No, you don't." She frowns softly. So many emotions are written on his face and in his body language. Some of it is her fault, certainly, but this is so much deeper than what she's forcing him to confront today. On top of that, he looks ragged and unhealthy in ways that betray how long this has been a problem. "That you would try to convince me otherwise, that you've convinced yourself otherwise, scares me."

If she were to leave now, what would happen? Would he go straight for a drink? Would he do something worse after feeling so attacked? Her chest clenches at the thought and it requires more effort to force a breath into her lungs. She can't focus on thoughts like that right now or she'll fall apart, too.

"Admitting you have a problem is difficult," she affirms, hoping this will help Thor vocalize the real issue. "It forces you to address and fight things you've been hiding from. It hurts and you'll want to fall back into habits that are best left behind. But with help, and with all the strength you already have, you can overcome it. I promise you it's possible."

There is no rain in the forecast, yet from outside, there is a low roll of thunder across the horizon. Thor clenches his hands into fists, metal fingers scraping against each other on one side, the other silent save for the rustle of his shirt sleeves. "Don't you think I've tried?"

It comes out harsher than he means, frustration at being interrogated over a glass of something that isn't even real ale, that he doesn't even realize he's admitted to recognizing the problem.

"I can't give it up. I need it."

His frustration is palpable in multiple ways. Amelia takes a breath to steady herself, to fight the way her eyes begin to water and form tears at their edges. It's so much more difficult than she imagined it would be.

"Why? Why do you need it? What does it do for you that you couldn't do for yourself with time, patience, and care?" What makes alcohol so special that Thor would run from Loki and hide his drinking for months - years? - without end?

"I don't know!" Thor has rarely excelled at talking about his feelings, not when they hurt, when he feels backed into a corner with nowhere to go. It has been a struggle to accept what Eir has told him about depression and post-traumatic stress, that it does not make him weaker, and those are things that he understands. This is something else, something that cannot be blamed on his illness. This is something he should be able to control, a choice he can make, and yet...

...and yet...

Amelia has him dead to rights, and he cannot bring himself to get angry with her, to throw her out of his house and destroy the friendship they've built. The old shame snakes its way into his chest again, that insidious little voice inside that tells him that he's a failure and he might as well accept that. He's gotten very good at ignoring that voice, but right now it's all but impossible to muster his defenses against it. "I can't stop myself," he admits, so quiet that she might have missed it, if not for the attention she refuses to avert from him.

No matter how Thor yells or recoils, Amelia doesn't flinch. She's been the brunt of anger and hurt in the past, rightfully or no, and she'll hold onto it as she has so many times before. It feels different this time, knowing as she does that he's upset with himself and not her. There's something else to it as well, a pain she feels sit deep in her chest as she watches her friend crumble in front of her. She wishes it wasn't this way. She wishes she could ease his pain with soft words and promises of better days ahead. But life isn't that simple and what's happening now will take work to get through. Work Amelia is determined to help Thor with - if he'll accept it.

She lets him speak in peace, the silence between them tense but necessary as they both process what's been said. "Doing what you should isn't always easy," she agrees in a soft tone. "We all fail. We all struggle. No one is above that. No one is required to do it alone, though."

Slowly, cautiously, she extends a hand to him across the table.

"This is your battle. How you move forward is your choice. If doing it on your own is too much, help is within your reach." She offers him a small, sad smile. "I don't know this problem personally, but I know how difficult it is to break terrible habits. I can be here as you find your feet again." Her face takes on a somber edge as she continues. "You won't hurt me by taking what I'm offering, but I won't force it on you. The path ahead will be difficult and I only want you to be as prepared as you can be."

He doesn't look at her, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, aware that she's reaching out but he doesn't move to take her hand, his own hands fidgeting against each other, a nervous gesture she has seen from him more than once during his darker days. Even with the truth out in the open, it makes him feel exposed, vulnerable, seeking for a way to deflect her attention away from this rot that's been spreading at his core and not finding any.

"You don't understand." How could she? Even Thor does not understand, despite himself. He struggles to put it into words, not sure even to himself what he can say of it. "I tried... just one night. I didn't make it. I need it. Like you need to breathe."

It never used to be that way. Something's changed, and he doesn't know where it all went wrong.

"Loki won't give me any more." It feels like confessing a terrible secret, one that should never see the light of day.

"I hear you," she says simply. He's right to think she doesn't understand - addiction like this has never been in her life - but she understands the need to stay with a habit that's destroying you. The need to hold onto something even when you know it can, has, and will only bring you and your loved ones pain. The need to hide and pretend everything is fine to hold onto a façade that's been in place for so long that letting it down feels impossible. It helps her stay steady as she watches him crumble, piece by piece, to the foundation of his being so he can start again.

Her hand rests gently against the table between them, unmoving as she watches her friend with worried eyes.

"I know. He told me so himself." Amelia hopes this won't be too much for him to hear. She doesn't want to drive him back to denial, but this is a truth that needs to be shared. "He worries for you, about what the ale and mead is doing to you. He didn't want you to be alone - and neither do I. So I'm here to help however I can, even if all I can do for now is listen."

It's not denial that flickers across his face when she admits her source. It's betrayal, a wounded look as if she's slapped him, shame that his friends are talking about him behind his back. Thor is not sure which is more humiliating, knowing that they're talking of him in hushed whispers or the fact that he's backslid so much that they feel the need to. He'd thought that he had a handle on things, and having it shoved in his face that his progress has slipped away from him is a hard reality to accept.

"Talking won't make this... this need go away," he says, struggling to make her understand, to put his thoughts and feelings into words even though doing so at all contradicts what he just claimed. "It won't bring Loki back, or anything else I've lost. It won't make me feel as though I know what I'm doing, with the children, with the village. I'm... so tired of waiting and worrying."

She knew it would be hard for him hear the truth about Loki, but it's far better to have it out in the open than to hide it. Someday, maybe, he'll understand it was concern for him rather than accusation that caused Loki to reach out to someone when his own attempt to get Thor help failed. If not, Amelia will do what she can to shift the blame onto herself. Loki did what was right, there's no reason he should suffer for it when she's the one sitting across the table breaking Thor down now.

"So focus on what you can do instead." Her tone is neutral, despite how harsh the words are. "The worries and waiting won't end, but focusing on them won't address the need you feel either. Neither will telling yourself that it's a hopeless cause and the battle isn't worth fighting."

She frowns, trying to think of the best way to phrase the rest of her thoughts. "No one expects you to know how to do everything. The lives of everyone in Asvera have changed so much over the past year. Everyone has had to adapt, change, and grow, and they've done it with the help of those around them. You are king, but no king can do everything. The best rulers delegate and ask for help from those they trust. You allow yourself to do this with certain parts of your life, but not others." Her gaze fixes on his in an attempt to make this next part stick. "Every king is also a man, and all men need help from time to time. No one can force you to accept the help they offer, but if you won't take the hands extended to you, you must extend yours instead."

If Thor won't seek help or attempt to help himself, his first failure will be as a man and not a king. Amelia doesn't want to see her friend fall in this way, but as an outsider to his pain, what else can she do but repeat her offers of help?

She may know Thor better than he thought she did, he realizes. Because it's not just the kingship that looms over him at times. The days that Thor had spent as a mortal man shifted his world off its axis in ways that he's still grappling with, coming to terms with himself as a man first and foremost. Not as crown prince, not as king, not as a god. Not as an older brother. For nearly all of his life, Thor has defined himself by his ties to others, what expectations they have of him because of his birth, his talents, his family.

Amelia has none of those. Yes, she knows him as a god of thunder and growing things, but perhaps he has been more transparent as the man beneath those things than he'd thought. And that man is her friend, regardless of how many lightning bolts he can throw.

Accepting help is hard, and asking for it is even harder. Even after all that he's been through, Thor's pride is still his strongest fault. He wavers, hesitant, wishing that he had something stronger in his glass to bolster his courage. But then, that would be exactly the problem she's trying to convince him he has, wouldn't it? It's being caught between a rock and a hard place.

"So what am I to do? Just... get rid of what I have?" he asks, waving vaguely toward where the last of his stores are kept.

Finally, they have progress. Amelia's body relaxes the smallest amount as Thor takes his first step forward.

"In some way or another. You could donate it to Asvera or sell it back to Loki as you please. You could even take it outside and dump it, if it wouldn't be too much to ask of yourself." Getting it out of the house, at the very least, is a good first step that will allow them to take other steps. It won't remove the temptation entirely, but it will make it easier to deal with it when the need can't be fulfilled so easily. With Loki no longer selling to Thor, it'll be much harder for her friend to simply replace what he gets rid of today. Hopefully.

"After that, you'll need to make adjustments to your routine. Finding ways to stave off the desire for alcohol will take time, but finding ways to use your time that feel fulfilling should help." Here she pauses and openly sighs a little, her expression a little regretful. "I'm not sure what would be most useful to you in that regard. You'll have to decide for yourself what is best. It'll take time and patience, both of which I'm offering freely, should you decide you want them."

It's not much and it's far from everything she wishes she could offer Thor, but it's still something. This is a completely new situation for her and she knows she'll stumble a little as she helps her friend. But if he makes it to the other side of all this, that's all she particularly cares about.

Thor is not remotely confident that this will work. It hadn't before, why would this be any different? Maybe he'll let her try, and he'll fail, and that will be the end of it. The alternative frightens him in a way he can't articulate, which makes no sense even to himself. It should be less frightening to reclaim what he used to be, surely? And yet the alcohol has been a crutch for long enough that it feels like... like... losing a limb.

His prosthetic fingers curl into a loose fist.

Donating his stores sounds reasonable, but he visibly bristles at the idea of dumping the precious mead. "I can't just waste it! It's dwarven, it's not being made anymore." Dwarven, not Asgardian, but a product of the Nine Realms and one whose makers are gone. Asgard has lost so much of its culture that voluntarily discarding even this small part of it is something he won't even consider.

Time and patience, she says... Thor has far too much of one and not enough of the other. He looks down at his hands on the table, drumming his fingers nervously against it. This isn't going to work. He just knows it. "I can't... sleep without it. Not without dreams."

"Then don't do that," she counters, calmly. "I meant no offense with the suggestion." Loki didn't specify what alcohol it was and she was too worried to think about asking. Her focus was, and still is, on Thor himself. Everything else is secondary.

Her smile falters as he talks about his trouble sleeping. This is a pain she knows far too well. To know he's suffering from dreams, too, hurts a little more than she's ready for and she has to stop to collect herself for a moment before she can speak again.

"Dreams aren't the good things most people make them out to be," she says softly. She slowly draws her hand back to her chest, holding it there for a moment before she presses it onto the table next to her other. "When I closed my world off from the Nexus, I suffered from the most terrible, wonderful dreams. Dreams of my friends' successes, my family's health and prosperity, and wishes... I didn't know I had fulfilled. It hurt to see these things, to know they could be true and I would never see it for myself. That I chose to give up the chance to protect them when no one asked me to do so." It still hurts, but she needs to continue with her story if she's going to help Thor with it.

"I barely slept for weeks until someone gave me a tea that prevented me from dreaming." A soft sigh falls from her lips as her gaze drops to her hands. "I hated taking it. I felt weak for needing it even as I enjoyed the benefits of it. Every night I forgot to drink it or told myself I didn't need it, I'd suffer from the dreams and go right back to it and feel both relieved and frustrated the next day. But, eventually... I was able to use the energy and peace of mind from not dreaming to process what I'd done, to push through what was hurting me so I could move on. I took it less as time went on until, one night, I didn't need it anymore."

Slowly, she looks back up at her friend. "Maybe that's why you started the drink. I don't know and the actual reason for it doesn't matter. Your dependency on it is hurting you. We can find something else to get you through the dreams while you work on everything else, but the alcohol has to go if you want to move on from whatever drove you to it."

She didn't mean it like that. Thor knows this, and yet he can't bring himself to apologize for snapping at her, too agitated by the frightening prospect of committing to sobriety for good. No more drink, no more muffling the nasty thoughts that steal into the corners of his mind and tell him things that he cannot shake, no more drowning out the memories and nightmares that haunt him. Instead he wrings his hands, staring down at them, the knuckles of his living hand pale from how hard he's gripping the other.

Rain patters down on the roof, a soft tempo drumming against the shingles.

But when she starts speaking, he listens. Surprised to hear that this is a hurt she knows, that she knows something of this type of pain, the strange pull to be dependent on a potion to take it all away. Not quite the same. But close. Enough that there is a resonance, a familiar footstep on the path.

"How? How did you... move on?" He's tried telling himself that he's doing just that, trying to put the past behind him. But he can't will it into being true, like if he hopes hard enough, it will all go away. And Eir has not learned enough of the human understanding of the mind to help, her skill more in potions and poultices and spellwork than psychology.

His question brings up so much self-doubt and shame over her own weakness that she has to look away from him again. The full truth - I haven't really moved on. - is more nuanced than she thinks is helpful here, so she has to think about how to answer. How does she explain the complex nature of coming to terms with something but not fully letting it go when she's never actually settled on answer for herself?

"Time. Feeling grief and pain for more days than I can count. Talking about it with others. Accepting that what I'd done was done and that I'd never allow anything to change it. Reminding myself... that I can have hope about those I left behind, that their lives are everything I was seeing in my dreams and more." She reaches up to pull her fingers through her hair pin to ground herself and exhales a shaky breath. Hearing the musical sound it produces helps soothe her anxiety, but it also reminds her of a moment that was more important than many others when she was still dealing with the worst of the pain.

"About a year and a half after I'd closed my world off, when I was still using the tea to sleep a few times a week, I faced the pain head on. To free myself of the physical burden, I followed the ritual of my family when someone dies. I walked to a nearby lake with each of their names in my hand, written on scraps of paper, and I burned them. I gave their physical presence in my life release to the sky and the water as ash, locked myself away for a week to write out all of the best memories I had of each of them, and allowed myself to dream again. The dreams were still so intense, so real that I almost didn't last the week, but every morning I woke and could compare them to what I'd written. I could know that what I'd seen was only what my heart wished for and not truth, and it let me, slowly, accept the still wonderfully terrible dreams as simply that."

Slowly, she pulls her fingers away from her hair pin to quiet the sounds it's been producing while she confessed her secrets. A few people know some of these details, but no one still in her life knows them all the way Thor does. Her lips press into a thin line as she exhales again, but she doesn't look up at him. This all still sits heavily on her and the next part of her story isn't likely to make him feel better about his own situation.

"All of it remains with me," she tells him, her voice softer now. "That pain is still there and I still cry at the loss I've inflicted on myself from time to time. The dreams come on occasion and sometimes I have to make the tea for a night so I can sleep and deal with everything with a clearer head. But I can do that because I've dealt with what's causing me to reach for it." She shakes her head a little and sighs. "Whatever is causing you to drink is what you need to deal with first. The reliance on alcohol is caused by whatever is truly hurting you. And to figure that out, you need to talk to those around you about what you're feeling. If you're not willing to do that, I don't know if you'll be able to move on."

Time. Something that Thor has all too much of. It's been nearly a year since the last battle of the Avengers, only two years since Ragnarok. A blink of an eye, and yet an eternity all the same, with thousands more years waiting ahead of him. He feels at once as though it is not enough, and yet frighteningly long. Even knowing that his friends and family have gone on to golden halls and green fields, their absence wears a hole in the tapestry of his own life, loose threads still grasping for what was once there.

He envies Amelia a little, even though he knows that he shouldn't. He too has had good dreams of those who are gone, memories of childhood, and woken to discover himself alone. But even those are preferable to the images that still sometimes haunt him at night. His hand slides up to wrap around his upper arm, where metal meets flesh, beneath the fabric of his sweater.

"Sometimes I can still feel it," he says, not really wanting to speak of this at all and yet wanting her to understand why he cannot simply decide to let go. "I... dream of the attack, sometimes. Watching them die in front of me." Only a year ago, he would not have been able to speak of such things without a panic attack, and even now he can feel that tightness in his chest. But he has learned how to help himself, and he stops and breathes, focusing on the kitchen and the woman sitting across from him, concern written into her face.

She can feel it as he speaks, the pain that sits so deeply in the body it can be felt in the bones and blood. It makes her chest tighten, her heart race, her face pale. What Thor went through is far more traumatic, his loss more visceral than her own, but she understands the struggle of seeing death like that over and over. It brings up memories of the last time she watched someone slip away in front of her, but she forces the thoughts back and out of her mind with a small shake of her head and focusing on words to help Thor.

"What happened that day was terrible. I truly can't imagine seeing or living through something like that." How to phrase this next part without sounding like every person she hated listening to while she was working through things? "Seeing it again and feeling everything you did that day is normal, I think. I've been through similar. It's always going to hurt, but you can learn to live with it if you address why it still comes to mind as often as it does." She tilts her head ever so slightly, her expression somber. "I suspect you already know and aren't ready to face it, if you're bringing it up to me now."

Thor gets flustered at that, not quite distressed or upset but agitated nonetheless. "I... don't know what you mean." She said she wanted him to talk about it, and he doesn't. But other than ejecting her from his home, there seems to be no avoiding it, this mortal woman stubbornly standing in the way of his path to muddling his mind until the ghosts are quiet for a time.

Norns, his head hurts.

He lets go of his arms to run his fingers through his hair, nervously combing the tangled locks back, only to have them slump onto his shoulders again. "There's no... no reason. It's the illness." Not weakness, not his fault, that's what he's been told and it has been a terrible battle to accept that. To accept that an injury of the mind is no more shameful than the breaking of a limb, no matter how it was received.

"No? Then why do you cling to it as an excuse for everything?" It's more accusatory than she means to sound, but they're too close to him actually opening up for her to back down. "If you had nothing to hide, you would tell me the truth about this. You would've told Loki the truth, too."

She pauses to take a short, noisy breath and exhales it in a huff. Her frustration is more at herself than at him right now, but he's not going to know that. Without her anger in check, Thor will end up in a deeper hole than he started in. Taking this brief moment to collect herself makes it easier to continue, though her tone is still more clipped than she'd like it to be. After all the pushing she's done, it's difficult to see him hold himself back.

"Nothing will get better until you make the effort. I know this is difficult. I know how much it hurts and how much hate and shame you can feel for yourself. But I can't take the step for you. If you really want this, you need to try. If you want to move on, you have to admit what's holding you back."

Thor doesn't want to do this anymore. He didn't before, but now a ember of anger and hurt smolders in his chest, harsh words thrown at him that strike deep like little knives. "You call me a liar?" he demands, and he is not certain which hurts more - the accusation, or knowing in his heart that she speaks the truth. He hasn't been honest, not even with himself. No matter how hard he tries to pretend that he's fine.

He's been getting better. He has, truly. But not enough. Not nearly enough.

Frustration leads him to pull a little harder on his hair, ignoring how it makes his head ache all the more from the abuse. Thor accepted long before today that he is a coward, and yet having it thrown out in the open hurts just as much as all the terrible things he's ever told himself. What does she want from him? To hear him admit it? "What would you like me to say?" he asks, this time sounding less like a demand, more of a plea. "That I am being haunted by my own failure? I know this. I would give even more of myself if I could do it over again. But I cannot, and I know this, too." Yet knowledge and acceptance are not the same thing, and Thor still struggles to find the path from one to the other. "I have lost more than any man should ever have to. And now I may have lost even more." The words slip from him without being bid, the dark fear that he's kept close to his heart in Loki's long absence, that insidious little voice that whispers in his ear that perhaps Loki will not return at all.

The fight goes out of him, then, and his shoulders slump as his hands come to rest on the table, empty. "I can't lose anything else," he whispers.

Edited 2020-12-27 22:56 (UTC)

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