Lt. Sheila Bailey - Floating (Yael)
Aly Drolet
OOC: Warning for talk and description of dissociation as well as slight negative talk/thought towards self or others. All thoughts and opinions are that of the character.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-SgyhUdJ_TY
((Starbase 118 Ops - Counselor Yael’s Office))
I've been reading books of old
The legends and the myths
Now standing in front of Yael’s office, approximately five minutes late, Sheila’s heart started pounding. The fear from her dream, his presence still plaguing her, a thought that her appearance might be too much, a grouping emptiness, a sensation that had cropped up over the last few days. All of it had led to more dissociation. A sensation that she was no longer present, that she was floating off into space. Currently it wasn’t at an extreme, a place where she no longer felt real, yet she was nearly positive that she would end up there by then end of the appointment; that was if she ended up talking about it as she was planning to. Despite it all, despite the ache of silence, the overall hurt from plain not knowing, she reached up and rang the chime for Yael’s office.
Yael: Good morning. Apologies for the early hour.
Achilles and his gold
Hercules and his gifts
Once she was called in Sheila slowly entered shifting her weight, trying to get rid of the ache she felt. Here she moved to sit on the couch she had occupied all those weeks ago when she had first come in seeking Yael’s assistance. And even if the couch did give her a comforting support no amount of shifting could get rid of the present ache. Here it was likely the early morning hour that made her joints sting more. Or the slight unease with her environment. Sadly there wasn’t much she could do. Of course she could end up mentioning the dissociation to Yael but it would do nothing for the physical pain which was often just as much of a trigger as her past trauma. On the whole it made her eyes unfocused as she worked to engenge in the present conversation.
Spider-Man's control
And Batman with his fists
Bailey: Sorry for being late. Overslept a little.
Yael: It’s no problem. ::pausing:: May I offer you a drink? Though, my replicator has been a little *unpredictable* of late, so I can’t guarantee anything.
Bailey: Oh, if you’re offering I’d like a cup of lavender chamomile. Warm, not hot.
Nodding Yael stepped over to the replicator.
Yael: Ah, you’ll make what *she* wants, I see. ::he said to the replicator, then took the warm cup to Sheila before sitting across from her in the fluffy chair:: Warm, as requested. So. Tell me how you’ve been.
And clearly I don't see myself upon that list
Sheila waited then. Still shifting about in her seat where for a moment she did turn the upside of her left up, the former spot of a bad burn, to run her finger over the now smooth slightly purple skin. And running the tips of her fingers over the skin made them tingle, practically a buzzing sensation as if only the tips of her fingers were vibrating while the rest of her body was still. Yet with each back and forth movement she was able to take deep breaths willing herself to stay calm. Now however the room was buzzing as well telling her that the silence was dialing up to ten. Loud painful silence. Though when Yael returned she turned her arm out of their view. Willing herself instead to fill the growing painful silence before it swallowed her whole.
Bailey: Thank you. ::Picking up her glass and taking a sip:: I’m doing alright. Not at my worst but not my best either. Been processing over a nightmare I had a few nights ago. Right before the party.
Yael: They seem to be happening a bit less now? How… did you respond to it?
She had responded better this time. Though it was the first dream that didn’t make her want to panic despite seeing him. Even then she had woken up abruptly, middle of the night, falling out of bed. It had left her breathless for a bit. Yes she was still having a small bit of lasting trouble from her recent sickness but this was different. Sheila often found it hard to breath, as if deep breaths pained her; though if she was to actively check her oxygen levels as a doctor she would bet herself that they would be within an acceptable range. Nevertheless she had known she needed to do something. Though after last time she couldn’t go as far as she probably wanted. Hence why now she had a new bolder appearance.
Bailey: No, I didn’t do that this time. I choose to do something a bit more constructive. Dyed my hair, ::here she lifted up a few strands of bright fiery pink hair:: and last night I went and got another tattoo.
Now was when Sheila turned her left arm back over to show Yael the tattoo. It covered the spot where her burn had been. And Sheila realized that from far away the ink might have looked like a bruise. Yet instead the ink was shades of darker purple, darkest in the center and dotted around were specks of white to mimik stars.
Yael: I’m glad you’re channeling the negative energy into more artistic measures.
Bailey: I feel as if both were better decisions than what I did last time.
Were they? Hair dye was one thing but another tattoo? Funny enough she had almost enjoyed the pain of it this time. And if she wasn’t careful she might end up covered in ink before the year was through. The thought made her shudder hard. She would want to expose all that ink, show it off and in a sick twisted way that was not at all appropriate. She shook her head.
Yael: ::giving her a happy expression:: And they suit you. I’m loving the fashion choice as well.
But she said, where'd you wanna go?
How much you wanna risk?
And Sheila kept shaking her head for a good long while, least it felt like that. It was the dizziness of dissociation creeping in. Yeal’s approval too, if it could be called that, made her wonder how he would have reacted. Likely it would have made her too confided in his eyes, made him love her more. No she was not going to think on that. If she did intrusive thoughts would easily slip past her control. This whole thing wasn’t about him and what he thought. It was about her and how she was going to handle it.
Bailey: I’m glad..I was worried for a second.
Yael: Perhaps you missed your calling as an artist, or fashion director? Though we would miss you in Sickbay.
I'm not lookin' for somebody
With some superhuman gifts
Sickbay was home. It more often than not felt like the only place she could be herself. People were expected to be sick or at least in need of treatment there. It was like the place should have a sign alerting passersby to the space being a judgment free zone. Other places outside of work without such an automatically given expectation, it made it harder. As for being an artist. That was simply not for her. He had made her fix his own drawings, scared the skill as something that belonged to him, yet lately she had been working to reclame it as her own.
Some superhero
Some fairy-tale bliss
Just something I can turn to
Somebody I can kiss
Bailey: I think I would rather stick to what I do best and heal people.
Yael: Would you say, you’re looking for new ways to find fulfillment?
I want something just like this
I want something just like this
Sheila may not have used that word herself, fulfillment. Perhaps distraction or safety. She was looking for things that made her feel safe. Activities that actually made her feel something. Or perhaps on a deeper level she was wanting to punish herself, wanted to feel pain.
I've been reading books of old
The legends and the myths
Bailey: In a way I guess I am. Though I would be more likely to consider it safety.
Yael: How do you feel about your new ink? Is there significance to what you chose?
The testaments they told
The moon and its eclipse
Bailey: Umm… It’s hard to admit that the pain involved was at least half the reason. And the color, like a permanent bruise. Though the mean outweighs those. There is an Elaysian creation myth. Says that life, the planet Elaysia formed from a cloud of dust, much like the one pictured here, ::she tapped her new ink:: that it sprang to life and covers the planet like a warm blanket, protecting all that go there. We call it the universe. The universe is life. I guess it lets me know to keep fighting. That she is always looking out for me.
And Superman unrolls
A suit before he lifts
But I'm not the kind of person that it fits
Yael: Overall this week, would you say you’re sleeping *better*, or about the same, or worse?
Bailey: I would say worse. Been in more pain which has been waking me. Most of the dreams I don’t remember but this more recent one is an exception.
Yael: And this dream you had. Was it unsettling, or violent?
Some fairy-tale bliss
Somebody I can miss
Bailey: It was realistic. Marc was in it. He acted exactly how he normally does so a bit of both I guess.
Yael: Did you get a chance to finish the reading I assigned you? What did you think…?
Sheila had gotten through most of the reading on the first night, ended up crying herself to sleep. Since she hadn’t gotten around to finishing it. Frankly the material had made her want to throw the device in which it had been downloaded onto. Almost made her want to hit her head; though she knew better now and was better at keeping herself from actually hurting herself. Other than that one time they never got farther than simple thoughts in her head.
I'm not lookin' for somebody
With some superhuman gifts
Some superhero
Some fairy-tale bliss
Bailey: I may have wanted to chuck it at a wall.
Yael: Response
Bailey: Frankly I’m just sick of not feeling like myself. I might be feeling better but I still have those sorts of thoughts, to harm, not that I do anything about them. I’m floating.
Yael: Response
Bailey: I think I told you once about the dissociation? Well I think it’s back. Just makes the world blurry, my toes don’t feel as if they exist.
Yael: Response
Oh, I want something just like this
Bailey: I’m not sure. I’ve tried breathing through it though that can be hard at times. And pain seems to make it worse; gravity is stupid let me tell you.
Yael: Response
Lieutenant Sheila Bailey
Chief Medical Officer
Starbase 118 Ops
M239512BG0
"The very first requirement in a hospital is that it should do the sick no harm." - Florence Nightingale