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Friday, 20 January 2017 15:08![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mediumdripHe remembered. Everyone had told him that he wouldn't. They said if he ever got back home all of the events that had transpired would be nothing more than a dream. For him, though, they happened. They were clear. They never faded into the sort of haze that is forgotten.
At first returning had been disorienting and confusing. Suddenly he was back in high school, back to glee clubs and competitions. It felt so surreal and bizarre. He had trouble focusing or managing. His grades slipped, his performances were damaged. He wasn't himself and everyone knew.
Kurt was the first person he told. He wasn't sure why either, but seeing him so worried and concerned had left him with a certain level of guilt. He tried to explain but the words sounded insane even to his own words. Kurt, beautiful, caring Kurt, tried to understand but in the end suggested he talk to a therapist. There was something else in his all too clear blue eyes too. Disappointment, perhaps? Or confusion. Once upon a time they might have been on a path that would end up with them together and maybe some part of Kurt had known that, but it was impossible after he woke up and remembered. After that, Blaine only really had one name on his mind.
Therapy didn't really help. It took him a while to open up to his doctor and once he did and explained what he had experienced he was diagnosed with a dissociative disorder. It didn't help that sometimes he was almost certain that this reality - the one with rival glee clubs and homophobia - was the dream.
Eventually he did research online. He tried to find out all he could about Sheffield. That had turned out terribly though, because it lead to the discovery that there was no such place as Cutlers' Grammar School. Something like panic clutched at his throat at the discovery and made him feel sick.
He did remember Harry Potter though and something so odd happened when he re-read the books. He realized that while in the city all memories of the books and films, even the world wide phenomenon they had caused, had simply vanished from his head - as if they had never happened. He had heard about his friend's family and life as if discovering it anew, not as if he had read details of it filtered through the perspective of a school rival.
That thought terrified him a bit and made him eventually stumble upon Alan Bennett. The play's ending frustrated him and he ended up burning the copy he had bought.
Everything started to feel like it wasn't real. His life felt like little more than joke. He questioned if he wasn't just some book being read. The people in it, their concern, their desire to help, all felt far away and untouchable. He didn't want to do this anymore. He didn't want to be here.
His parents put him in a hospital. It was a nice place and he could tell the staff there were genuinely concerned for him, but he didn't eat unless reminded, hardly slept, and mostly spent his time listening to music and trying to drift away.
Days passed, then months, and years. There are large bouts of time that he'd with his family and then an episode would happen, he'd end up near catatonic, and then it was back to the hospital.
Kurt moved to New York, met a beautiful man named Elliott, learned to be happy - and Blaine was stuck. Stuck a sure if he was a gnat in molasses - unable to function or move past the damage done to his brain.
This was probably why they made you forget, he realized. Inter-dimensional travel can't be safe for your brain. He was living proof of that.
Eventually he learned to function again but his world still feels like he's moving through a swap. He continuously experienced bad reactions to the medications they kept trying on him, but eventually they found something that enabled him to ignore the sensation that the world he was living in wasn't the right one for him.
He never moved to New York. He never had a music career. Instead, his job was at a desk doing boring data entry - at least they let him wear headphones while he typed. Music was still the only thing to save him. He wrote songs too, all of them depressing love songs, which occasionally he played during open mic nights at bars. Sometimes he felt like his guitar had become his best friend.
Life moved on, no matter how stuck and alone he felt. People saw he was functioning and forgot the wild stories he told about pocket dimensions and demons. He never could though.
He remembered.
At first returning had been disorienting and confusing. Suddenly he was back in high school, back to glee clubs and competitions. It felt so surreal and bizarre. He had trouble focusing or managing. His grades slipped, his performances were damaged. He wasn't himself and everyone knew.
Kurt was the first person he told. He wasn't sure why either, but seeing him so worried and concerned had left him with a certain level of guilt. He tried to explain but the words sounded insane even to his own words. Kurt, beautiful, caring Kurt, tried to understand but in the end suggested he talk to a therapist. There was something else in his all too clear blue eyes too. Disappointment, perhaps? Or confusion. Once upon a time they might have been on a path that would end up with them together and maybe some part of Kurt had known that, but it was impossible after he woke up and remembered. After that, Blaine only really had one name on his mind.
Therapy didn't really help. It took him a while to open up to his doctor and once he did and explained what he had experienced he was diagnosed with a dissociative disorder. It didn't help that sometimes he was almost certain that this reality - the one with rival glee clubs and homophobia - was the dream.
Eventually he did research online. He tried to find out all he could about Sheffield. That had turned out terribly though, because it lead to the discovery that there was no such place as Cutlers' Grammar School. Something like panic clutched at his throat at the discovery and made him feel sick.
He did remember Harry Potter though and something so odd happened when he re-read the books. He realized that while in the city all memories of the books and films, even the world wide phenomenon they had caused, had simply vanished from his head - as if they had never happened. He had heard about his friend's family and life as if discovering it anew, not as if he had read details of it filtered through the perspective of a school rival.
That thought terrified him a bit and made him eventually stumble upon Alan Bennett. The play's ending frustrated him and he ended up burning the copy he had bought.
Everything started to feel like it wasn't real. His life felt like little more than joke. He questioned if he wasn't just some book being read. The people in it, their concern, their desire to help, all felt far away and untouchable. He didn't want to do this anymore. He didn't want to be here.
His parents put him in a hospital. It was a nice place and he could tell the staff there were genuinely concerned for him, but he didn't eat unless reminded, hardly slept, and mostly spent his time listening to music and trying to drift away.
Days passed, then months, and years. There are large bouts of time that he'd with his family and then an episode would happen, he'd end up near catatonic, and then it was back to the hospital.
Kurt moved to New York, met a beautiful man named Elliott, learned to be happy - and Blaine was stuck. Stuck a sure if he was a gnat in molasses - unable to function or move past the damage done to his brain.
This was probably why they made you forget, he realized. Inter-dimensional travel can't be safe for your brain. He was living proof of that.
Eventually he learned to function again but his world still feels like he's moving through a swap. He continuously experienced bad reactions to the medications they kept trying on him, but eventually they found something that enabled him to ignore the sensation that the world he was living in wasn't the right one for him.
He never moved to New York. He never had a music career. Instead, his job was at a desk doing boring data entry - at least they let him wear headphones while he typed. Music was still the only thing to save him. He wrote songs too, all of them depressing love songs, which occasionally he played during open mic nights at bars. Sometimes he felt like his guitar had become his best friend.
Life moved on, no matter how stuck and alone he felt. People saw he was functioning and forgot the wild stories he told about pocket dimensions and demons. He never could though.
He remembered.
