[ She hums in thought, going to chew on the rest of her cookie as she digs out her cigarettes. She's noticed the lingering smell of smoke in Angela's apartment, so she figures she won't mind as she lights one.
[ There's a groaned, 'Oh my Gooood' as she realizes she has to go in to more detail, and she goes to take another drag from the cigarette already.
She's too sober for this shit. ]
I dunno. It's complicated. I'm not -- [ She clenches her jaw, sitting up a little straighter. ]
Look, I fall asleep, and I just keep seeing bullshit I want to forget about. I can't tell you everything. I don't need you thinking I'm a fucking lunatic or something. I -- [ Basics. She can talk basics. ]
My dad died when I was 14. My stepdad's a prick with war rage. My mom couldn't give two shits about the fact that he hits me and thinks it's my fault for being too much of a bitch. My best friend bailed on me for five years, I've had my ass kicked by drug dealers just for trying to help my friends, my girlfriend was murdered and I found her body and every fucking time I try to think of her all I can see is her goddamn face rotting in the ground where I unburied her and --
[ Apparently talking made it hard to sit still and she stood up, moving like she might just leave instead, before turning back towards Angela. ] I don't want to talk, I just want to sleep.
Don't worry Chloe, I have seen lunacy and this is not it.
[ She listens to her talk, taking in the information and starting to piece together a reason for why she can't sleep. It's a lot of issues and more than Angela can even work through with her. She isn't even a proper therapist, so she can't take that ethical approach. ]
That's a good start. Sounds to me like you suffer from a pretty classic case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I can give you a few pills.
[ She's already getting up to go to a locked closet in her kitchen. ]
However, the pills help you get to sleep, they don't always keep you asleep.
[ She gives an almost bitter laugh; maybe because she feels like if she told her the whole truth, she'd change her tune. Funny how in a literal dreamscape where impossible things happen constantly, Chloe's left feeling like saying her best friend could rewind time would somehow be the one thing no one would believe.
PTSD makes her stiffen, her arms folding over her arms. She remembers the diagnosis. Vaguely. A possibility, but it seemed like she was 'more likely depressed.' Or something. ]
... It's worth a shot, at least. Isn't there anything that just, like, knocks you out? [ Though the thought of ending up stuck in a nightmare sounds just as terrible. ] Funny that someone could have sleeping troubles in a damn dream.
[ This is a reason that Angela has trouble buying into the simple idea that they are all asleep and dreaming in some weird mass dream. ]
I imagine the stress of this place is adding to your trauma and complicating it. I have a pill that I am willing to try you on. A low dose to start, which we can increase.
If you can, I would like you to start trying to take a little more of that and a little less of the THC. THC can have a negative impact on sleep and with this medicine I am giving you, you might find the calming nature of CBD to boost it's effects.
[ She sorts through her locked cupboard for the proper bottle and takes it down. She starts counting out pills and puts seven of them into a clean pill bottle. ]
A week's worth. I want to sit down with you again in a week and see how the dosage is and how you are on it.
[ That got a quick laugh because fuck if she was going to give up pot. But the idea of at least countering it with more CBD if she could get her hands on some oil... She frowns for a moment before nodding. ] There are some strands that have lower THC that my suppliers grow. I guess I could give those brands a shot, until I find some pure CBD oil or something...
[ She takes the bottle, though, and scrunches her mouth as she looks at it. ]
[ She give a nod to that option. ] I think that would be fine, just something that is a little more relaxing in the evening before bed.
[ There wasn't much else she could offer for the moment. ]
So, I'll want to see you again in a week both to check on the medication and your arm. I expect your arm will be entirely back to normal by then, but just in case.
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[ She goes over to the fridge and pulls out a pitcher of water, pouring each of them a glass. ]
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All of the above, I guess.
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[ She grabs a box of cookies, and sets them on a plate. Then she brings everything to the table. ]
I have time.
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[ Which is why she snatches up a cookie pretty quick and starts eating it, because she was at least gonna have comfort food through it. ]
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[ And she picks up a cookie herself and takes a bite. ]
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She breathes out the smoke in a shaky sigh. ]
It's just shit from home.
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It usually is.
[ In other words: continue ]
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She's too sober for this shit. ]
I dunno. It's complicated. I'm not -- [ She clenches her jaw, sitting up a little straighter. ]
Look, I fall asleep, and I just keep seeing bullshit I want to forget about. I can't tell you everything. I don't need you thinking I'm a fucking lunatic or something. I -- [ Basics. She can talk basics. ]
My dad died when I was 14. My stepdad's a prick with war rage. My mom couldn't give two shits about the fact that he hits me and thinks it's my fault for being too much of a bitch. My best friend bailed on me for five years, I've had my ass kicked by drug dealers just for trying to help my friends, my girlfriend was murdered and I found her body and every fucking time I try to think of her all I can see is her goddamn face rotting in the ground where I unburied her and --
[ Apparently talking made it hard to sit still and she stood up, moving like she might just leave instead, before turning back towards Angela. ] I don't want to talk, I just want to sleep.
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[ She listens to her talk, taking in the information and starting to piece together a reason for why she can't sleep. It's a lot of issues and more than Angela can even work through with her. She isn't even a proper therapist, so she can't take that ethical approach. ]
That's a good start. Sounds to me like you suffer from a pretty classic case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I can give you a few pills.
[ She's already getting up to go to a locked closet in her kitchen. ]
However, the pills help you get to sleep, they don't always keep you asleep.
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PTSD makes her stiffen, her arms folding over her arms. She remembers the diagnosis. Vaguely. A possibility, but it seemed like she was 'more likely depressed.' Or something. ]
... It's worth a shot, at least. Isn't there anything that just, like, knocks you out? [ Though the thought of ending up stuck in a nightmare sounds just as terrible. ] Funny that someone could have sleeping troubles in a damn dream.
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I imagine the stress of this place is adding to your trauma and complicating it. I have a pill that I am willing to try you on. A low dose to start, which we can increase.
You smoke pot too right?
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Yeah, it uh - it helps take the edge off most days. But it's never been good for helping me sleep.
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[ She thought in connection with a pill, it might help to keep her at rest.]
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[ She sorts through her locked cupboard for the proper bottle and takes it down. She starts counting out pills and puts seven of them into a clean pill bottle. ]
A week's worth. I want to sit down with you again in a week and see how the dosage is and how you are on it.
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[ She takes the bottle, though, and scrunches her mouth as she looks at it. ]
You got it, Doc.
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[ There wasn't much else she could offer for the moment. ]
So, I'll want to see you again in a week both to check on the medication and your arm. I expect your arm will be entirely back to normal by then, but just in case.