Sen final

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by Jaye

made in SugarCube 2.36.1 with love.

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Chapel's Notify Macro Chapel's Dialog API Macro Set A Sugarcube Template by Becky via itch.io Office background: https://www.kapwing.com/resources/5-free-zoom-virtual-backgrounds-for-therapists-in-2020/ <<link "Back">><<if tags().includes("game-info")>><<goto $return>><<else>><<run Engine.backward()>><</if>><</link>>

<<fadein 1s>> <h1> and who</h1> <h1> are </h1> <h1> you? </h1> <h2> <<if Save.autosave.ok() and Save.autosave.has()>><<link "resume">><<script>>Save.autosave.load()<</script>><</link>> | <</if>><<link "start" "bd">><</link>> | <<link "load game">><<run UI.saves()>><</link>> | <<link "settings">><<run UI.settings()>><</link>></h2> <</fadein>> <style> #ui-bar {display:none;} </style>

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<<if $mem1 is true>> <b>[[how i got my Gibson guitar]]</b> <<else>> <b>i haven't talked about my guitar yet...or my first manic episode.</b><</if>> <<if $mem2 is true>><b>[[my med cocktail]]</b> <<else>> <b>my doctor hasn't brought up my meds yet.</b><</if>> <<if $mem3 is true>><b>[[my extremely evil ex-girl]]</b> <<else>> <b>don't bring up my ex yet. please.</b> <</if>> <<link "Back">><<if tags().includes("game-info")>><<goto $return>><<else>><<run Engine.backward()>><</if>><</link>>

<h2> HOW THIS WORKS: </h2> This assignment is formatted as an HTML game, the story in a linear format. As you proceed through each passage by clicking the “Next” button at the bottom of the page, memories of his life will periodically appear. You can read the memories by clicking on the “Memories” option on the sidebar at the left side of the screen. In each memory, there will be a star highlighted in a text box. When this star is clicked, the source for the scientific information will appear. The complete bibliography for each memory will be added at the bottom of the passage. The full bibliography will appear at the bottom, also in a text box, and will appear in full when clicked. The word count for each episode and memory can be found in the “Word Count” option on the side bar. The word count does not include any coding, only the story material. <b>[[Next|gradintro]]</b>

“...Only his nose is broken?” A pause. Muffled voices. I can’t really make much of it out. Something something ‘realigned it’, something something ‘monitor him overnight’, ‘he will be okay’. I slowly open my eyelids, hospital white lights blinding me. There’s bandages pulling on the fine hairs of my face, gauze plastered on every inch of skin on every one of my limbs. My body aches, shivers, head to toe it thrums with pain but energy and the only thing I want is to get back on my bike and go home. I remember I wanted to go for a ride, and now, I guess I’m…at a hospital. I wiggle my toes, then my fingers. Feels like they’re working just fine. So I don’t really know why I’m bandaged up like a mummy. <b>[[Next|2g][$mem1 to true]]</b> <<run UIBar.show();>> <<run UIBar.unstow();>>

“Where’s my motorcycle?” I ask, voice hoarse and slightly nasally from the splint over my nose. My fingers gravitate to the bandages stuck to my nose, a splint holding it together. “What did you do to my nose? Ow!” I hiss, retracting my hand from my face, as I touch a particularly sensitive spot. My eyes dart to the many pairs of concerned eyes staring at me, like I’m some kind of exotic specimen. Two people in scrubs, one woman and one man, wearing masks over their worried faces, clutching folders of paperwork or needles or gauze. They smell like rubbing alcohol, sterile stuff, cleaning agents and chemicals. Even with the contraption on my nose I can still smell the sharp, distinct hospital smell. “Did I get a non-consensual nose job..? What are they called, like, rhino-puhh..something…” “We had to realign your nose. Honey, please don’t touch it,” says one of the nurses. She’s an older lady with dark skin and silk pressed hair cut in a chin length bob. Why does it matter if I touch my nose or not? These lights are really bright, I think they should turn them off. “These lights are burning my eyeballs. And where’s my bike?” I repeat. “I remember just like, getting on for a ride then bam hospital,” I say, holding up two fists and extending all my fingers out, to emulate an explosion. Then, my hand flies to my nose again. The splint covers everything but my nostrils. Something’s missing. My septum piercing, a small 18g horseshoe ring…gone! I cry out in dismay, startling the nurse with a bob. <b>[[Next|3g]]</b> <<notify>>MEMORY UNLOCKED: my Gibson guitar<</notify>>

<div style="text-align: center;"> <<button '<img src="images/ex.png" width="400">'>><<dialog 'image'>>\<img src="images/ex.png" width="800">\<</dialog>><</button>> Click to enlarge. </div> Toxic relationships, romantic or platonic, can be very hard to break free from. You may convince yourself that you’re better off with them, possibly become dependent on them (emotionally, sexually, financially, etc.), and may have distanced yourself from others to appease the abuser (Roxy Zarrabi, 2024). For those living with bipolar disorder, relationships can be especially challenging to navigate for both the person living with the disorder, as well as their partner who does not have the same condition. Even two people with bipolar disorder may exhibit and manage their symptoms differently; just as medical treatment can differ from person to person. For someone with bipolar disorder like Sen, he understands that his condition can complicate a relationship; in fact, he has quite severe guilt of being a burden on a romantic partner. If you are uneducated on your partner’s bipolar disorder, you may feel like a caretaker, burnt out, anxious, stressed, or guilty for thinking about potentially ending the relationship (When to End a Romantic Relationship When Your Partner Has Bipolar Disorder, 2020). On the other hand, the partner who has bipolar disorder may feel anxious for potentially making you feel this way. This is because a neurotypical romantic partner would need to provide a different, sometimes extra, kind of support to somebody living with bipolar disorder. It is a condition that requires empathy and kindness from a partner wanting to support them; a basic standard for any relationship, but especially important when working with someone who is different from you. Ava, who is Sen’s girlfriend of six months at the time, is an example of how not to be a good partner. Especially to someone who has bipolar disorder. Her role as Sen’s partner should be to educate herself, communicate her worries openly and respectfully, support Sen, as well as herself (Bipolar Disorder, 2012). Ava is a person who manipulates, and as anyone who wants to abuse, wishes to exert power over the victim, stress compliance, isolate the victim, and tend to get jealous or hypersensitive over small situations (Amanda Kippert, 2022). She takes advantage of Sen being an unexpectedly emotionally vulnerable person and manipulates him. She also hid his medications, insisting that Sen’s disorder was not a big a deal as he makes it out to be. This is, without question, breaking trust, as well as minimizing the extent of his condition. As discussed in earlier episodes, Sen becomes dangerous to himself when manic, and also hurts himself when depressed, and he has a family history of suicide. He is at a high risk for suicide due to his family history and self-harm (Robert M.A. Hirschfeld, M.D., Chair et al., 2002). His medications are essential for him to have a stable life. An understanding partner should be aware that the suicide risk of people with bipolar disorder is disproportionately high, where 10%-15% of those with bipolar 1 disorder complete suicide (Robert M.A. Hirschfeld, M.D., Chair et al., 2002), and that mortality risks for those with bipolar disorder are higher than that of smoking cigarettes (Yocum et al., 2023). Side note: Sen unfortunately also smokes. Concerning the fact that Ava accused Sen of cheating on her is due to a multitude of factors. Anyone can cheat on their partner. It is a decision that person makes. However, manic phases of bipolar disorder may cause that person to become more inclined to cheat on their partner: about 57% are hypersexual during mania, and 29% cheated on their partner numerous times (Emma-Marie Smith, 2025). Ava may be justified in her worries, that Sen may be a part of that statistic, but bipolar disorder does not cause someone to cheat, nor is it a free pass to do so. It is something that can be prompted by a manic episode, and something for the person with bipolar disorder to be responsible for. Sen has been faithful in his previous relationships, and even if experiencing some manic symptoms, has never cheated. This isn’t to chastise those who may have cheated because of manic symptoms —it is simply information regarding Sen that Ava should use to make the right judgement about her relationship with him. As mentioned, abusers will do anything to have control. For Ava, that means that she made Sen doubt his character, and feel guilty for having a chronic disorder. Projection is a type of defense mechanism where one person transfers their own emotions or behaviors onto someone else (Stephanie A. Sarkis, 2024). Ava, ironically, had been cheating on Sen for a month while accusing him of cheating on her. The two broke up after this, thankfully, and Ava was fired as the band manager of Sen’s band, Eclipse. The band now has a new band manager, Liam, and Sen has not dated nor hooked up with another person since the rocky relationship with Ava. <h2><<button '☆BIBLIOGRAPHY☆'>><<dialog 'SOURCE'>>\Amanda Kippert. (2022). Profile of an Abuser. DomesticShelters.Org. https://www.domesticshelters.org/articles/identifying-abuse/profile-of-an-abuser Bipolar Disorder: How to Manage Romantic Relationships. (2012, January 5). Healthline. https://www.healthline.com/health/bipolar-disorder/relationship-guide Emma-Marie Smith. (2025). Bipolar Disorder and Infidelity: Why It Happens | HealthyPlace. https://www.healthyplace.com/bipolar-disorder/relationships/bipolar-disorder-and-infidelity-why-it-happens Robert M.A. Hirschfeld, M.D., Chair, Charles L. Bowden, M.D., Michael J. Gitlin, M.D., Paul E. Keck, M.D., Trisha Suppes, M.D., Ph.D., Michael E. Thase, M.D., Karen D. Wagner, M.D., Ph.D., & Roy H. Perlis, M.D. (2002). PRACTICE GUIDELINE FOR THE Treatment of Patients With Bipolar Disorder Second Edition (2nd ed.). Roxy Zarrabi. (2024). 10 Reasons It’s Hard to Leave an Unhealthy Relationship | Psychology Today Canada. 10 Reasons It’s Hard to Leave an Unhealthy Relationship. https://www.psychologytoday.com/ca/blog/mindful-dating/202404/10-reasons-you-cant-move-on-from-an-unhealthy-relationship Stephanie A. Sarkis. (2024). Dealing With the Defense Mechanism of Projection | Psychology Today Canada. https://www.psychologytoday.com/ca/blog/here-there-and-everywhere/202407/dealing-with-the-defense-mechanism-of-projection When to End a Romantic Relationship When Your Partner Has Bipolar Disorder. (2020, January 8). Healthline. https://www.healthline.com/health/bipolar-disorder/partner-break-up Yocum, A. K., Friedman, E., Bertram, H. S., Han, P., & McInnis, M. G. (2023). Comparative mortality risks in two independent bipolar cohorts. Psychiatry Research, 330, 115601. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.psychres.2023.115601\<</dialog>><</button>></h2> <<link "Back">><<if tags().includes("game-info")>><<goto $return>><<else>><<run Engine.backward()>><</if>><</link>>

DEPAKOTE (valproate/divalproex sodium) is a mood stabilizing medication, specific to preventing manic episodes and treating acute manic episodes (Target Valproic Acid Levels for Bipolar Disorder, 2023). Lithium would usually be a first choice medication, but did not work for Sen. When Sen was first being treated with lithium, he still had a “breakthrough” manic episode— when even on treatment, the medication still failed to prevent an episode according to the APA (Robert M.A. Hirschfeld, M.D., Chair et al., 2002). Since his manic episodes can cause him to indulge in dangerous behavior, getting him on a treatment plan that subdues his mood swings was essential to keep him safe, and to manage the symptoms of his disorder. Only ⅓ of patients with bipolar disorder are receptive to lithium, and the rest of the ⅔ must seek other types of treatment (such as Sen). Scientists believe that the CRMP2 protein, responsible for nerve cell communication, is inactive in patients with bipolar disorder, and that lithium can activate this pathway for patients who are lithium responsive (Tobe et al., 2017). Because Sen was not lithium responsive, he was a part of the ⅔ of patients who sought other mood stabilizing medications, and divalproex sodium (brand name DEPAKOTE) was the mood stabilizing medication that worked for him. DEPAKOTE is an alternative to lithium, and is just as effective, especially in patients with irritable mania like Sen (ATAGÜN & ORAL, 2021). Any sleepiness Sen mentions is due to this medication, as that is a common side effect of DEPAKOTE (Depakote® (Divalproex Sodium): Bipolar Mania & Epilepsy, 2023). The constipation he complains about is partially attributed to the side effects of this medication also. Antipsychotic medications are used to treat as well as manage symptoms for a variety of psychiatric disorders, and are split into first generation antipsychotics (FGAs) and second generation antipsychotics (SGAs). The main difference between the two is that FGAs are serotonin/dopamine antagonists and were developed in the 1950s, whereas SGAs are dopamine partial agonists (meaning they act as dopamine) and emerged in the 1980s (Abou-Setta et al., 2012). Sen, like most other patients taking an antipsychotic medication, is on a SGA, as the side effects tend to be more tolerable than FGAs . Seroquel (general name quetiapine) is an atypical/second generation antipsychotic medication used for treating depressive episodes, as well as preventing manic episodes (Suttajit et al., 2014). Sen is currently taking both DEPAKOTE and Seroquel to manage his disorder, and even with the weight gain (an expected side effect for Seroquel and other SGAs), his side effects are very tolerable in comparison to experiencing a full blown manic or depressive episode. The American Psychological Association (APA) recommends a first line pharmacological treatment of valproate or lithium with an antipsychotic, the regime he is currently on (Robert M.A. Hirschfeld, M.D., Chair et al., 2002). The combination of Seroquel and DEPAKOTE is safe for Sen (Vieta et al., 2008). Most patients who have severe manic episodes are not on antidepressants, as they can trigger manic episodes according to the APA. Sen does not take antidepressants for this reason. <hr> <h2> <<button '☆BIBLIOGRAPHY☆'>><<dialog 'SOURCE'>>\Abou-Setta, A. M., Mousavi, S. S., Spooner, C., Schouten, J. R., Pasichnyk, D., Armijo-Olivo, S., Beaith, A., Seida, J. C., Dursun, S., Newton, A. S., & Hartling, L. (2012). First-Generation Versus Second-Generation Antipsychotics in Adults: Comparative Effectiveness. Agency for Healthcare Research and Quality (US). http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK107254/ ATAGÜN, M. İ., & ORAL, T. (2021). Acute and Long Term Treatment of Manic Episodes in Bipolar Disorder. Archives of Neuropsychiatry, 58(Suppl 1), S24–S30. https://doi.org/10.29399/npa.27411 Depakote® (divalproex sodium): Bipolar mania & epilepsy. (2023). https://www.depakote.com/ Robert M.A. Hirschfeld, M.D., Chair, Charles L. Bowden, M.D., Michael J. Gitlin, M.D., Paul E. Keck, M.D., Trisha Suppes, M.D., Ph.D., Michael E. Thase, M.D., Karen D. Wagner, M.D., Ph.D., & Roy H. Perlis, M.D. (2002). PRACTICE GUIDELINE FOR THE Treatment of Patients With Bipolar Disorder Second Edition (2nd ed.). Suttajit, S., Srisurapanont, M., Maneeton, N., & Maneeton, B. (2014). Quetiapine for acute bipolar depression: A systematic review and meta-analysis. Drug Design, Development and Therapy, 8, 827–838. https://doi.org/10.2147/DDDT.S63779 Target Valproic Acid Levels for Bipolar Disorder: What Does It Mean? (2023, October 16). Healthline. https://www.healthline.com/health/bipolar-disorder/valproic-acid-levels-for-bipolar Tobe, B. T. D., Crain, A. M., Winquist, A. M., Calabrese, B., Makihara, H., Zhao, W., Lalonde, J., Nakamura, H., Konopaske, G., Sidor, M., Pernia, C. D., Yamashita, N., Wada, M., Inoue, Y., Nakamura, F., Sheridan, S. D., Logan, R. W., Brandel, M., Wu, D., … Snyder, E. Y. (2017). Probing the lithium-response pathway in hiPSCs implicates the phosphoregulatory set-point for a cytoskeletal modulator in bipolar pathogenesis. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 114(22), E4462–E4471. https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.1700111114 Vieta, E., Suppes, T., Eggens, I., Persson, I., Paulsson, B., & Brecher, M. (2008). Efficacy and safety of quetiapine in combination with lithium or divalproex for maintenance of patients with bipolar I disorder (international trial 126). Journal of Affective Disorders, 109(3), 251–263. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jad.2008.06.001 \<</dialog>><</button>></h2> <<link "Back">><<if tags().includes("game-info")>><<goto $return>><<else>><<run Engine.backward()>><</if>><</link>>

<<fadein 2s>> <h3> my ex used to hide my meds</h3> <</fadein>> <h5><<fadein 3s>><<timed 3s t8n>> [[oh yeah. and cheated on me too.|1e]] <</timed>><</fadein>></h5> <<set $chapter to "EPISODE THREE">> <<script>>UIBar.stow()<</script>>

<<fadein 2s>> <h3> i love annoying my psychiatrist </h3> <</fadein>> <h5><<fadein 3s>><<timed 3s t8n>> [[just for fun, though. we all love Dr. Will.|1m]] <</timed>><</fadein>></h5> <<set $chapter to "EPISODE TWO">> <<script>>UIBar.stow()<</script>>

<<fadein 2s>><h3> hi, i'm Sen and i almost died</h3> <</fadein>><h5><<fadein 3s>><<timed 3s t8n>> [[wanna find out how?|bstart]] <</timed>><</fadein>></h5> <<set $chapter to "EPISODE ONE">> <<script>>UIBar.stow()<</script>>

<<fadein 2s>><span class="logo"> <img src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/0/0a/Twine_vector_logo.svg/896px-Twine_vector_logo.svg.png"> </span><</fadein>> <<timed 4s t8n>><span class="game-start-timed"> Click anywhere to continue... </span><</timed>> <<cont>><<goto 'main-menu'>><</cont>> <style> #ui-bar {display:none;} </style> <<script>>UIBar.stow()<</script>>

“What’s wrong?”she asks anxiously, hurrying to my side. “Are you in pain?” “My septum ring’s gone!” I exclaim. “Do you have it? Why’d you take it out?!” “Honey…we couldn’t fix your nose with the piercing in. We can give it back to you later. Oh, gosh, and please stop touching your nose,” she repeats, exasperated, coming to my side to lower my hand as I reach for my nose once more. “It won’t heal if you keep doing that.” “Why can’t I leave yet?” I grumble. “Sen, you’re hurt right now,” the other nurse says, his voice gruff and deep. “You were in an accident, and broke your nose.” He looks like a lumberjack in a lab coat and nylon gloves, big guy, tall as the doorway. Wrong profession, buddy. He turns to the nurse leaning over me, and mutters, “Must be the shock, what do you think?” The two nurses exchange looks, then direct their gazes to another figure standing in the corner of the room. He’s chewing on his lower lip, a habit that might be genetic because I do the same thing when I’m nervous, or I don’t know, I hate science. I just want to go home, get my bike. My dad’s deep, jet black eyes are blown wide open like saucers. I guess he’s worried. I don’t want to worry him. I feel like I already do that enough. Dad’s wearing his pyjamas, an old white t-shirt that says ‘I ♡ NY’ across the chest, paint cracking from wear, and a pair of sweatpants cuffed at the ankle. I, too, am in my pyjamas: plaid shorts and a ratty black tank top. Wait. Not anymore. They put me in a gown. I remember leaving the house in my pyjamas but nothing else of this alleged accident…did they strip me naked?! I’m a minor! That’s illegal! “Dad!” I say excitedly, reaching my hands towards him. I’m still confused, disorganized. But I’m happy my dad’s here to take care of me. “I got in an accident? I don’t remember.” <b>[[Next|4g]]</b>

<h2> BEFORE THE STORY COMPILATION BEGINS…</h2> Bipolar disorder is a chronic mental health condition, in which an individual experiences intense mood episodes: depressive and manic. An individual will alternate between these two mood episodes, and if untreated, can be very challenging to live with, depending on the severity of the episode. Mania may cause an individual to become uncharacteristically reckless or impulsive, sometimes requiring hospitalization, whereas depression can cause an individual to feel hopeless, a loss of passion, and possibly suicidal. These stories are about a young man, Sen, living with bipolar 1 disorder, in which he experiences both of the aforementioned states. The information discussed throughout the stories will contain sensitive topics such as self-harm, substance usage, and toxic relationships. I did not want to sugar coat any medical details, nor traumatic experiences. Sen’s life may echo someone else’s experience with bipolar disorder. As an author, I also struggled with my own mental health and toxic relationships, and so I tried to use my own experiences to help me write about someone else’s life. <b>[[Next|1]]</b> <<run UIBar.show();>> <<run UIBar.unstow();>>

“Sweetpea,” he chokes out, his voice shaking as he rushes over to my side, the female nurse taking a step back. He swipes my hair, the same colour as his, away from my forehead to plant a quick kiss against my skin. His breathing is really ragged. “Oh, my God. You could have died,” he stresses through gritted teeth, voice shaking. “It’s two in the morning, Sweetpea. There’s nowhere you had to go. Someone…” his voice catches in his throat, and he takes a shaky breath. “Dad…what happened to my bike?” He shakes his head, gritting out a forced grin. “Sen, don’t worry about that right now. We can always look at another vehicle for you. Together,” he stresses, lowering his voice, “and not with your scholarship money.” More concerned murmurs among the medical professionals. The nurse with a bob clears her throat. “Sir, do you mind if we ask you and your son a few questions?” she asks. Before answering, Dad soothes down an unruly strand of my hair that refuses to go down. “I’m not mad at you, Sweetpea. Let’s just get through this.” He chews on his lips nervously, then turns away from me and towards her. “Yes, of course. Do what you have to do. Sen?” he prompts. I shrug my shoulders. “Sure,” I say, glancing down at my feet. So. They put me in a disposable hospital robe that crinkles every time I breathe. I inhale deeply, hold it. Crinkle. Then exhale a deep breath. Crinkle. I do this a few more times, and apparently this is so interesting that every soul in that room, including my dad, stares at me like I’m crazy. I can’t believe they robbed me of my clothes and my septum. How could they do that? That is not nice. <b>[[Next|5g]]</b>

Lumberjack nurse clears his throat. “Mr…Morningstar,” he says to my dad, glancing down at a clipboard. “Is it just you and Sen who live at home? Anyone else living with you? Another parent or siblings…people like that.” “Oh, no. It’s just my son and I who live together,” Dad replies, taking a gentle hold of my hand and squeezing. “I used to live with my wife, but…” Dad’s face hardens, then quickly morphs into melancholy. “Um. Not anymore. Just me and my boy nowadays, no other family.” “Okay,” says the lumberjack nurse, as he scribbles something down on his clipboard with a blue pen. A silence falls over the room. It’s kinda awkward. “Yeah, my mom killed herself when I was like fourteen,” I say nonchalantly. “Kind of a bummer, but my dad’s super awesome. He was the better parent anyways. She used to—” “Sen,” my dad immediately urges, shooting me a desperate look that screams ‘stop talking’. The female nurse audibly gasps, and quickly covers her mouth. Lumberjack rubs his beard with a hand and clears his throat. “Oh, we’re… sorry to hear that, Sen,” says the female nurse. Another long, long period of silence. I glance around. “You gonna keep asking me questions or what? I thought that’s what we were doing.” “...Lucian, are you comfortable with us continuing?” asks Lumberjack. “Yes, yes of course, go ahead. I’m not too sure why my son said that, I’m sorry…he's probably just shaken up from the crash.” “We understand. Being in shock is a completely normal reaction.” My dad nods stiffly, but the way his eyes are set tells me he doesn’t believe I’m in shock. I don’t think I am either. I’ve never felt this way before. “Has Sen…ever been in a situation like this before?” asks the woman. “Has he had any…attempts on his own life?” I cross my arms in an X shape, and make an incorrect buzzer sound before my dad can answer for me. “Nope,” I say, popping the ‘p’. “Kinda surprising, don’t ya think?” <b>[[Next|6g]]</b>

Another very long, very awkward pause of silence. “I was writing music before I got on my bike,” I add, to fill the silence once again. These people don’t like talking, do they? “I bought a super expensive guitar ‘cus I wanna be on stage one day.” “Sweetpea, let’s let the nurses ask questions, alright?” The next ten minutes are long and boring, and I start to get even more restless. They ask if I’m on any medications, no. If I have a family history of suicide, yes, if I’ve ever attempted suicide, no. If I’ve ever self harmed, yes, which is pretty stupid for them to ask because you can literally see the scars all up and down my arms. It was kind of humiliating, actually. Am I at a hospital right now or an interrogation room at the police station? I just want to go home. I was working on a song all night before I got on my bike, and I haven’t been sleeping much but it’s okay because at least I was productive, right? <b>[[Next|7g]]</b>

The hospital discharges me at 3:45 a.m, my septum ring and clothes returned to me. My dad hurriedly whisked me out of the hospital and into his car, driving me home in a tense silence. As soon as we arrive at our front patio, he brings me into a tight, almost suffocating hug. “Sen,” he chokes out hoarsely, “what were you thinking? If someone didn’t see you lying down on the side of the road, you could have—you seriously could’ve died! A car might’ve run you over, your bike could have fallen on top of you and killed you, oh, my God, I am so grateful you’re alive. And almost unscathed, too,” he mumbles weakly, holding my face with both his hands, staring at me. The flickering outdoor lights above our door illuminate the panic in his eyes. “Why did you decide to leave, Sweetpea?” I shrug my shoulders, wrapping my arms around him. “I dunno. I got bored of writing music and felt like going outside.” “It was one in the morning, Sen, when you left…” He releases me from his grip, hastily unlocking the front door and pulling me inside by the crook of my elbow. I stumble forward, tripping over my shoes. “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t realize I would’ve gotten in an accident. I shouldn’t have gone if I was gonna worry you so much.” He opens his mouth to reply, but quickly takes a deep breath to compose himself. “You’ve never been like this before. I don’t know what this is, but you’re not just in shock if you haven’t been sleeping at all every night, or going out without even a text or anything! Sweetpea, do you feel strange?” he says, in a strangled whisper. “I…I don’t know. Yeah, I think so. I would usually be asleep by now.” “I know, honey. I know. Let’s get you in bed then, okay?” I scrunch up my face. “I’m not tired,” I protest. “Child. I am putting you to sleep.” <b>[[Next|8g]]</b>

After five minutes of pointless bickering, I know I have to listen to him. Finally relenting, I huffily crawl under the covers. I’m staring up at the ceiling, pointedly avoiding his gaze as he kneels at the side of my bed. “Sen,” my dad says softly. “I don’t want you to think I’m mad at you. You’re my baby. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. I’m worried,” he confesses. “I’m really, really worried. I don’t want you to do something like that again.” “Dad, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I mumble, frustratedly. My fingers curl into the duvet. “It’s like, you never get a break. Mom was crazy, you had to deal with her, and now it’s me.” “No, Sen. No, I know you didn’t get into an accident on purpose,” he says gently, taking a tight hold of my hand. “Your mother’s decisions were hers to make. But you…you’re my boy. My only boy.” His breath hitches in his throat, and he sniffs once, then exhales. “Sorry. I want to help you. I love you so much. I want to support you as best I can, even if it’s just me.” “I know, Dad.” “Okay. Good. I just…I know you feel bad about this situation, honey, but I feel bad, too. You’re still a kid.” I immediately feel the urge to rebuttal and say, ‘no I’m not, I turn eighteen in September which is a few months from now!’ but dad’s mind reading is a real superpower. He shushes me before I can flap my lips. “You are my baby,” he reiterates sternly. “And I’ve been working all day. I can’t take care of you, or see you as much as I want to. I wish I could,” he mumbles wistfully, a sad smile on his lips. “I was thinking, if you could be looked after in a nicer place, a change of scene rather than home, that—” “Are you sending me to a mental hospital?!” I exclaim, shooting up. [[Next|9g]]

Dad’s eyes widen. He looks like he doesn't know if he should laugh or defend himself. My eyes crease at the corners as I beam at him, and he echoes my smile with a relieved sigh. “Well. Yes?” he admits. “How about a treatment facility? They have therapy cats. And a Chipotle nearby. I wouldn’t leave you by yourself, hon. It’s not far from here, so I can come pick you up after your stay and we can go do whatever you want. Maybe you’ll even meet someone nice there.” “At a mental hospital…” I grumble. “Treatment facility, as you call it. You’ve done your research, Dad.” Dad shrugs his shoulders. “Who knows? It might be nice to get out. I don’t want your summer before university to only be…whatever happened tonight. You’ll get lots of attention there. I know you like that. It’s so you can be safe. How’s that sound?” I pause to think for a moment, maybe for the first time tonight. My mind’s still buzzing, I’m probably still absorbing everything that happened earlier. The nurses seemed concerned, but I really only care about making my dad happy. Plus, I don’t want to be like my mom. “Okay. Fine. Send me to the mental hospital,” I say jokingly, with an exaggerated huff of breath. I smile up at dad, and bring him in for a hug. “I love you lots, papa.” <b>[[NEXT EPISODE|medsintro]]</b>

“Sen, we can consider switching medications, but-” “I’m fat and haven’t pooped in three days!” I exclaim, squeezing the stress toy in my hands in a deathly grip. The Orbeez inside the cat-shaped toy bulges against its head, inflating the space between its beady eyes. My psychiatrist, Dr. William Roberts (but I just call him Will), trains his gaze on my fingers wrapped around the toy. He’s a logical dude in his forties, always sporting a pair of square, half rimmed glasses, coffee brown eyes somehow always both disappointed with and tired of me. Oh, but he can’t get rid of me. He’s had the displeasure of meeting me when I was freshly graduated from highschool, seventeen and ecstatic to move out and also spiralling into my first manic episode. Unmedicated, unaware of my disorder, just happy to be alive without a thought behind my eyes. Being manic and not knowing you’re manic is one of the most dangerous things that can happen to someone. And that was me. Spent all my money. Almost died. But I’m here, and also making my psychiatrist’s life a little bit harder according to him, although I would argue interesting is a better word. “Sen,” he grumbles, his moustache twitching with his upper lip. I tilt my head to the side, giving the cat toy another harsh squish. The Orbeez slide around the rubber exterior. “You’re gonna pop the fidget toy. Please let me finish before you complain.” “I’m not complaining. I am informing you, Doctor. ‘Cus I’m getting worried, y’know? Like, my stomach’s just been crappy.” <b>[[Next|2m][$mem2 to true]]</b> <<run UIBar.show();>> <<run UIBar.unstow();>>

<div style="text-align: center;"> <<button '<img src="images/grad.png" width="400">'>><<dialog 'image'>>\<img src="images/grad.png" width="800">\<</dialog>><</button>> Click to enlarge. </div> At seventeen years old and freshly graduated from high school, Sen was beyond excited to pursue an art degree, move out, and be on his own. Elated, even. His father was proud of him, as his mother had passed away at the beginning of his high school years, in ninth grade. But! He graduated, he really did it! Little did he know that this big life change actually sparked the beginning of an intense manic episode (9 Common Triggers for Bipolar Mood Episodes, 2023), and at that point in his teenage years, he hadn’t yet been on any medication or treatment for his (undiagnosed, at this point) bipolar disorder. Mania is one type of mood swing present in patients with bipolar disorder 1, characterized by irritability, high energy, poor decision making such as financial irresponsibility, and needing less sleep (Mayo Clinic, 2025). Sen, feeling as if his life finally appeared to be steering in the right direction, blew every last dollar of the $12,358 in his account on a busted Yamaha motorcycle he found on Facebook marketplace, about a thousand of the total, and the rest on a custom made Gibson electric guitar, hand-made with his signature on it. Sen’s father, Lucian, was aware that Sen had struggled with depression in the past, but this intense wave of restlessness and energy from him was extremely worrying. And when Sen disappeared, late one night and his motorcycle missing from the driveway, Lucian was immediately filled with dread: did Sen run away? Even worse, did he try to attempt suicide? The boy already was only sleeping, at most, two hours per night, a stark difference from his regular 8-10 hours per night. Sen usually loved taking cat naps throughout the day, but for the past week he felt as if he didn’t need any sleep. Lucian was later called by the local hospital. He was informed that Sen had lost control of his bike, totalling the vehicle and falling into a ditch. Sen was alive, bruised up with a broken nose, but alive. However, he seemed very confused, energized, and was rambling about a myriad of unrelated topics: his mother, his guitar; everything except for the dangerous accident. He had no memory of the situation, an unfortunate symptom of manic episodes (Sanches et al., 2015). Verbal memory, the recalling of memory through speech, is especially impaired. In addition, patients who are manic do not typically volunteer information about their episode, or know that they are in a manic state according to the American Psychological Association (APA) (Robert M.A. Hirschfeld, M.D., Chair et al., 2002). Sen, although he realizes he has done something dangerous, only became fully aware of the situation he put himself in when his dad expressed his worry towards Sen. <hr> <h2><<button '☆BIBLIOGRAPHY☆'>><<dialog 'SOURCE'>>\9 Common Triggers for Bipolar Mood Episodes. (2023, January 26). Healthline. https://www.healthline.com/health/bipolar-disorder/bipolar-mood-episode-triggers Mayo Clinic. (2025). Bipolar disorder—Symptoms and causes. Mayo Clinic. https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/bipolar-disorder/symptoms-causes/syc-20355955 Robert M.A. Hirschfeld, M.D., Chair, Charles L. Bowden, M.D., Michael J. Gitlin, M.D., Paul E. Keck, M.D., Trisha Suppes, M.D., Ph.D., Michael E. Thase, M.D., Karen D. Wagner, M.D., Ph.D., & Roy H. Perlis, M.D. (2002). PRACTICE GUIDELINE FOR THE Treatment of Patients With Bipolar Disorder Second Edition (2nd ed.). Sanches, M., Bauer, I. E., Galvez, J. F., Zunta-Soares, G. B., & Soares, J. C. (2015). The Management of Cognitive Impairment in Bipolar Disorder: Current Status and Perspectives. American Journal of Therapeutics, 22(6), 477–486. https://doi.org/10.1097/MJT.0000000000000120 \<</dialog>><</button>></h2> <<link "Back">><<if tags().includes("game-info")>><<goto $return>><<else>><<run Engine.backward()>><</if>><</link>>

Will takes a deliberately deep breath, his shoulders rising and then falling as he exhales. “Let me finish,” he says, in a tone that’s both gentle and stern at once. Basically his way of telling me to really shut up. So I do, because although I do find immense satisfaction from annoying him, I do need to shut my trap sometimes, but only sometimes. “Sorry,” I mutter. “Oh?” The corners of Will’s thin lips upturn. “You never even used to say that before,” he comments idly. “You’ve been on Seroquel since I diagnosed you when you were seventeen. Constipation, nausea, weight gain; all of those are common symptoms of it. You said you haven’t pooped in three days?” My shoulders sag. “Yeah. It sucks. And if I do, it genuinely feels like a brick coming out my- ” “Right, of course,” Will adds, before I can finish. He takes a thoughtful pause, rubbing the side of his index finger against the coarse hairs of his moustache. “There are potential alternatives to Seroquel, other types of atypical antipsychotics we can discuss.” “Oh, so now you’re telling me I’m abnormal and you hate me?” I whimper, grabbing the fabric of my t-shirt over my heart. “Good lord, boy,” he mutters, bringing a square hand up to rub his eyes, his glasses pushed up the bridge of his straight nose. He adjusts them after, brows creasing then shortly relaxing again. I give him an innocent smile after. “Sen, I was just about to tell you they changed the name from atypical antipsychotics to second generation antipsychotics for this very reason. So you could stop terrorizing me personally.” I giggle. He shoots me a stern look. I stop giggling. “Why can’t we try the normal antipsychotics then? I ask, tilting my head to the side. My fingers massage the stress toy idly. <<notify>>MEMORY UNLOCKED: my wonderful med cocktail<</notify>> <b>[[Next|3m]]</b>

“Second generation antipsychotics,” he corrects. “I would not put you on second generation antipsychotics. They have even more adverse side effects. And you, actually, are quite lucky that the medications you are on only make you gain a few pounds and make it hard to pass stool. Another side effect for the medications you are on are the enlargement of breast tissue in males and potentially lactation.” “What?!” I cry out, the stress toy dropping from my hands. “I don’t really need to breastfeed anyone! Why?!” “Because,” he replies, raising a finger, “second gen antipsychotics raise your prolactin levels. That stimulates the mammary glands, which produce milk. Have you been lactating, Sen?” he asks, tone so serious that I actually take his question seriously until I actually dissect what came out of his mouth. My mouth falls open. I stay like that, in a dazed silence, for at least ten seconds. I don’t think most twenty-something year old dudes have been asked that question. “Um. No. Have you been lactating, William Roberts?” “I don’t believe so. I do not have a baby to breastfeed.” “Oh, God,” I gripe. “Can they just make these meds normal? Like, no crazy side effects? Or maybe…make ones that don’t freaking do that? I don’t want to lactate. That should be illegal.” Will’s expression morphs into something close to sympathy, but not quite; eyes softening behind his glasses, shoulders relaxing. “I don’t have an answer for that. They still haven’t exactly figured out how antipsychotics, like Seroquel, and mood stabilizers work. Remember we tried lithium for you when you were younger?” “Yeah. It didn’t really work. I had a manic episode like, a week after starting it. What even is lithium..? I wasn’t really a big chemistry guy in highschool. Isn’t that like, the stuff they put in literal batteries? Holy shit. Is that why Teslas blow up and you can’t put them out?” I say, hunching over and lowering my voice conspiratorially. “Lithium’s like…that’s like a periodic table reference…” Will scrunches his eyes, eyebrows shooting up his forehead. “You just said many things, Sen. Yes, lithium. Like the batteries in Teslas. Lithium fires are very difficult to put out. The same metal, yes, is what I prescribed to you. It only works in ⅓ of patients with bipolar disorder, and they’re not exactly sure why either. In any case, we switched to Depakote because it’s a mood stabilizer as well that treats mania. You’ve been functioning quite fine, since you have enough energy to irritate me.” “Hehe.” I flash him a grin. He doesn’t seem very impressed. <b>[[Next|4m]]</b>

“Have you been feeling alright otherwise? Minus the constipation and weight gain.” I shrug my shoulders. “Yeah. I don’t think I’ve been in an actual manic episode, but sometimes I still feel pretty crappy. Trying not to, uh, you know…indulge…” I say awkwardly, trailing off. I make a cutting gesture with my fingers, along my arm. “Last time I did, I think, was when I was with my ex. That was like, a year ago.” He nods, ever so professional, but the softness in his eyes tell me he’s genuine, as always. “That’s very good to hear. Are you still smoking?” I purse my lips. “Why are you interrogating me…” I protest weakly. “Yes, I am. Look, I have a pack in my pocket right now. I’m a very truthful person, as you can see,” I say, pulling out a very crumpled pack of cigs. I rattle the box. There’s maybe three left. If they’re also not crumpled. “You stress me out, boy.” “Wait, actually. I did forget to tell you something. Good news,” I quickly add. I stuff the already crumpled box back into the front pocket of my jeans, and pull out my phone. “So, I know the Seroquel works really great for me to help my depressive phases but sometimes it doesn’t fully stop me from being sad. Wait, why didn’t you put me on antidepressants again?” “Antidepressants can trigger manic episodes. That’s why you’re on Seroquel instead.” “Ah. Anyways, yeah, last week I was feeling sort of crappy. Not enough to hurt myself or anything super bad, but just feeling really down, sleepy, not wanting to do anything. My room was getting really gross. I felt a Cheeto under my back as I went to sleep one night and that was my last straw. I had to do something.” “I’m glad you’re taking responsibility,” Will says, leaning back in his chair. I nod proudly, puffing out my chest. “Yeah, I’m trying. I’ve been feeling better these past couple days. So, I went to take out my garbage, because ew, and…” <b>[[Next|5m]]</b>

I quickly click on my phone, the screen bright as I sift through my photos. I can barely contain my excitement, my leg bouncing. I find the picture I’m looking for, and hand my phone to Will across the stout coffee table between us. He takes it, pulling his glasses off and holding the phone at arm's length, squinting at the screen. “A kitten?” he asks, using two fingers to pinch the screen, zooming in. “Oh, my God. It’s tiny.” “Yeah! When I went to the dumpster to toss my garbage out, he was in a cardboard box, just…all alone. Skinny and soggy, because it was rainy that day. He was shaking. I obviously couldn't leave him there, so I took him home and cleaned him up. He was itty bitty, two weeks old, maybe. It’s a wonder how he survived. He was a nice distraction from my shitty mood. I knew I had something more pressing to worry about, to take care of this tiny creature until I could bring him to the vet the next day.” “You’ve been very busy, then. Don’t you already have cats at home? Is this taking a toll on you, having…how many cats do you have now?” “Three,” I answer, “with the addition of little Biscuit. I think the routine is helping me focus on other things, believe it or not.” “Biscuit…” he muses out loud. “A routine is very good, then. I’m glad you’re feeling better this week, Sen. You’ve done lots of good work. You’re a father of three now. Oh, how you’ve grown up.” “Thank ya, thank ya,” I drawl proudly. “I’d like to think Biscuit and I were meant to be. Something like that. I’m glad I found him.” “You should show me more pictures of him.” Will pauses, briefly checking the time on his watch (even though he’s holding my phone, which has the time in the corner), and raises his brows in thought. He hums. “Technically your appointment is over, but there’s no one else coming for another hour. I don’t know how iPhones work. Scroll and show me, or whatever you need to do.” <b>[[Next|6m]]</b>

I bumble towards him, almost running into the coffee table. I swipe the screen on my phone, the most recent picture of Biscuit, wrapped up in a blanket and snoozing on my lap, appears in all its glory. “This was this morning,” I start. “It was super cute and everything but right after this image was taken he puked on me.” “As do most babies.” “And then…” I end up blabbing about my newest, cutest, fluffiest household member until Will kicks me out for his lunch break. He tells me his wife made him homemade pasta, and I got instantly jealous. I wonder if he thinks of me like I think of Biscuit. He has known me since I was seventeen, after all; manic, confused, in the treatment centre for mental health. The insane asylum, as high school me would call it. Was I just a soggy, sad looking creature? Probably. I’d like to think that I’m less soggy and sad nowadays. <b>[[NEXT EPISODE|exintro]]</b>

“Lead man, you’re late,” comes TJ’s smooth voice from inside the studio. His fingers deftly twirl a drumstick, foot bumping a slow beat in 4/4. “Don’t you remember we have, like, a show in a couple hours?” The guys are making an absolute ruckus; Ángel’s sliding the pads of his fingers up and down the frets while aggressively strumming an off-beat tune, Destin manspreads on the couch playing a game on his phone, his vape resting on his chest, and TJ...seems to actually be playing his instrument, the drums. But have you ever seen a band composed of just the drummer? I don’t think so. You really would think our band was made up of four middle school boys forced by their parents to pick up an instrument, not four dudes in their mid-twenties with day jobs and bills to pay. Such is life. I purse my lips, my guitar case slung over my shoulders as I waddle over to the couch, slumping the case next to Destin. It hits his shoulder and he immediately shoots me a look. I roll my shoulder blades, groaning as I answer, “My fatass cat demanded food right before I left, and then my car decided to spontaneously die before I could even leave my driveway. I had to walk. Sorry, fellas.” “Why do you fat shame your cat? That’s not very nice,” comes Destin’s voice from beside me. “Because she’s evil and keeps eating my shoes. Look.” I grunt as I kick my foot in the air, brandishing beat-up Converse, and as promised, chewed and scratched up fabric all along the edges of the shoe. Wherever Lettuce wants to chew, she shall. But she's chubby and old, so how could I get angry? “What about your motorcycle?” pipes up Ángel, resting his cheek on the fretboard of his bass. “Thought that was the backup to your car.” His big black eyes staring into my soul make it hard for me to lie. Like brown sugar boba pearls. “Um…it’s not broken,” I state, scratching the back of my neck. Dramatic gasps fill the room, a couple no ways. I groan. “Shut up. It’s just getting serviced. It’s not broken, leave me alone.” <<run UIBar.show();>> <<run UIBar.unstow();>> <b>[[Next|2e]]</b>

“Jesus Christ,” grumbles Destin, as he shoves my guitar case to the ground. It lands with a clatter, the instrument inside rattling. My baby, my sweet darling Gibson that I had custom made for me when I was fresh out of highschool, worth probably as much as...a few months of rent for my one bedroom one bath studio place in Toronto. I don’t have that amount of money to spend anymore. I used a couple thousands of my high school scholarships to pay for it, too. But no, I didn’t blow all my savings and grants and my dad’s money just because I just wanted to feel cool. “Hey,” I grunt, narrowing my eyes at Destin. His dark eyes flicker up from his phone, vape hanging between his full lips. “What?” he asks, taking a hit. “Don’t throw my stuff around. Precious cargo, man.” A sweet smelling plume rises into the air as he exhales. “My bad.” Still grumpy but slightly more content, I take a seat on the floor beside my guitar case and open it. I take another look around, mentally counting the heads in the room: TJ, Taylin Jones, yes he’s here. The definition of tall, dark, and handsome in my books, dressed in a scholarly aesthetic, sweater vest and collared shirt, the works. He’s got his locs held back by that same buttery yellow scarf, wrapped around his forehead. Destin Holt. He’s here, still doom scrolling on Instagram Reels and manspreading in front of me. Clad in $80 Aritzia sweatpants he stole from his ex-girlfriend, UGGs Tasman slippers, a hoodie obscuring his twists and dark eyes, there’s no one else it could be. Next, Ángel: who’s no longer playing his bass, but snacking on a granola bar he pulled out of the pocket of his bootcut jeans, hemmed at the bottom due to him being the shortest of the bunch. I pause, my brows furrowing. The whole band of Eclipse is here, yes. Our manager, though? Nowhere to be found. No one’s pushing and prodding me to finish writing a song or hurry up with the album, so he definitely is not here. “Where the hell is Liam?” I ask, to no one in particular. I take another quick glance around the room. Nope. He still hasn’t materialized. Like ducklings, the three other guys also take a look around the room, as if staring at each wall for a period of time will summon the manager. The manager, the manager. Oh, God. Look, Liam can be a real pain, and I say that as a certified P.O.S, but he does have his role with us. And thinking of our previous manager, and my ex-girlfriend, Ava Lynn…I’d take him over her every day. Good thing she’s not the manager anymore, right? Right? <b>[[Next|3e]]</b>

A door slams open, making Ángel squeak in dismay and Destin jump from his seat on the couch, his vape going flying. TJ’s long locs go flying as his head whips to the side to analyze the intruder. Me? A very deep, very visceral coldness spreads through my body, dread coursing through my veins. TJ’s mouth opens, he says a name and I know what name he’s going to say, because she is standing right there, in the doorway, dyed black hair and the exact same smudged eyeliner she used to wear when we were together and I’m already starting to plan my escape. “...Ava?” TJ asks, his deep voice flat. That name has seared its way into my mind, and as if my body is literally, physically repulsed by that name, I’m unsteady on my feet in an instant. Maybe it’s the whiplash from our relationship, my mind is simply rejecting the notion that she still exists. And is existing in front of me. All heads turn towards me, but I don’t see their expressions, just blurry, muddled pictures of their faces, as I dart out the studio’s back entrance. My Gibson, phone, everything left behind, I don’t care. This is the worst day not to have a car. Someone calls out my name. It’s not her voice, maybe Ángel or Destin’s, but I’m already gasping for air as I slump onto the concrete of the small courtyard, my shirt riding up my back and exposing my skin to the rough brick wall. It’s futile, really, to run away. She knows this place just as well as I. Gravel stabs into my ass, the bricks are scraping against my skin, and I wonder if maybe…she’ll just leave me alone. There is no reason for her to be here. She isn’t the manager anymore. She’s also not my girlfriend anymore. Seeing her face, I feel ill. If and when she decides to run me down, I’ll puke on her. A strange fog clouds my thoughts, and I find it hard to breathe as the crunching of gravel, footstep by footstep nears me. Sounds like more than one person coming towards me, but one person seems more hurried than the rest. <b>[[Next|4e]]</b>

“Sen, why are you out here?” says a breathless voice, sweet as ever, just like honey. I refuse to raise my head, but I know the exact look that Ava Lynn shoots my way: thin eyebrows slightly knitted at the middle, bottom lip pushed out. “Oh, my God, I had to run to keep up with you. Didn’t know you were so fast,” she adds, with a laugh. Reluctantly, I stand up. I shouldn’t be afraid of her, but admittedly I am. I’ve gone back to her before, despite the warnings my friends would give me. Raising my gaze, I slowly track the people standing in front of me: Ava, her light blue eyes boring a hole into me, Destin and TJ hovering behind her. Ángel’s voice is muffled from inside the building, seemingly on the phone. Hopefully with Liam. “I don’t really think you should be here,” I say unsteadily, my voice cracking. “Liam’s coming, so—” “No he’s not,” she interrupts, cutting me off. “He got sick, so I’m gonna fill in for him. Why are you being like this?” she adds, narrowing her eyes at me. “I thought you said we were fine.” A bitter bark rips from my throat. I wave her off with a dismissive hand. “It doesn’t matter what I say. You have to go. Some of us have other things to do with our lives than get back together with someone who cheated on them for half the relationship.” “You still haven’t gotten over that?” <b>[[Next|5e][$mem3 to true]]</b>

<b>1 YEAR AGO</b> <b> SEN MORNINGSTAR’S PLACE, 10:02 A.M. </b> “Sen. Baby,” a voice whines, rousing me from a deep slumber. I refuse to crack my eyes open, turning away from the source of noise. “ ‘M sleeping,” I mumble, voice gravelly from sleep. Then comes a hand onto my shoulder, shaking me. Her acrylics stick into the bare skin of my shoulder, sending small pinpoints of pain down my arm. “No you aren’t.” “Owww…Ava, you’re poking me…” “Sen, get up!” she grunts, rolling me onto my back. I yelp, my eyes flying open. Light blue eyes, disappointed ones at that, stare back at me, straight neon pink hair falling onto my cheek. She redyed it a few days ago, against my better judgement, as I believe it’s so fried you could possibly string and play a violin with a strand of it. “You’ve been so lazy this whole week. Did you forget we were gonna go shopping today?” “Ava, I told you yesterday I wasn’t really feeling up to going shopping..” I mumble, rubbing the crusties out the corners of my eyes. I yawn. “A guy’s gotta rest sometimes, y’know. It wasn’t my idea to go partying after band practice.” Ava rests her cheek on my chest, pouting up at me. “It was just a party. You used to party all the time before we started dating, and now you never wanna go do anything.” Her tone is playful, but there’s an unmistakable sharpness to it that startles me awake. “It’s just shopping! Not like you’re solving crazy math problems or something.” <<notify>>MEMORY UNLOCKED: my ex-girl Ava Lynn<</notify>> <b>[[Next|6e]]</b>

I sigh, and lazily stroke her hair. “I know. Baby, it’s too early for this,” I say. “Let’s go shopping another time, okay? Plus, I gotta run errands today. ‘Kay?” This answer does not satisfy Ava. “If you have enough energy to go run—” she puts up a pair of fingers, making air quotations, “‘errands’, then we can go out.” “It’s different, Ava…” I protest weakly. “Baby, please. I also don’t really have shopping money right now.” “We can window shop!” “But then we always end up buying something. Please, Ava, I just freaking woke up,” I grunt, stretching my arms above my head and letting out a moan of relief when my back cracks. She grumbles, but ultimately relents, giving me a kiss. I smile against her lips, her breath fanning out against my skin. “Fine,” she concedes, her lips brushing against mine. In all honesty, I just needed a little break from her. She’s my girlfriend, and I love her of course, but sometimes…I don’t know. I like being with her, but I just need to be alone for a couple hours. Some time to myself, where I can stuff my ears with earbuds and ignore everyone except for necessary interactions, i.e the cashier at the music store I’ll be going to in a bit. One of the strings on my guitar broke, so I have to buy and replace it before I can really do anything band related. Lead man can’t really be the lead man if his guitar don’t work, as a wise man once said. <b>[[Next|7e]]</b>

“Thanks for understanding, Ava. I’ll make breakfast and then I’ll head out. How’s that sound?” “You burnt my pancakes last time you cooked,” she grumbles, flipping onto her side, away from me. “I’ll just do it myself.” “Huh? They were just brown on the edges…” I mutter weakly, but she’s already focused on texting one of her friends. I made my girl mad first thing in the morning, huh? What kind of guy am I? “Well, I didn’t mean to, baby. I thought they were fine, y’know? Nothin’ wrong with a little colour, right..?” My joke fizzles into nothingness, voice trailing off. With a concerned frown, I roll out of bed and make my way to the bedroom door. “Sen,” comes her voice. I turn to look at her, but she doesn’t face me. “Yeah?” “Your room’s super messy. I’m gonna clean it before you come back.” It’s a statement that leaves no room for argument. She probably knows best anyways, so I nod, even though she doesn’t see. “Oh…yeah, sure. I think my meds have been making me feel kinda lazy, sorry about that…” “Yeah, they definitely have.” I chuckle awkwardly. It’s just a joke, anyways. “Do you want me to bring anything back for you? I’m gonna stop by Timmies.” Finally, she spares me a glance, smiling. “No, I’m good. I’ll make myself food whenever.” “‘Kay. I’m gonna get ready then head to the music store. No reply. I turn the doorknob of my bedroom door, and head to the bathroom to brush my teeth and get changed for the day. <b>[[Next|8e]]</b>

There was not much to speak about at the music store. I bumped into an old buddy from high school, begrudgingly had to make small talk, got my guitar strings, then of course, the mandatory window shopping of electric guitars and instruments I’ve never played. No other guitar compares to my Gibson, of course, but seventeen year old me busting all his scholarship money on a guitar was really stupid of me. Ah, well. This is why I’m on a, ahem, treatment regime as my psychiatrist Will tells me. He told me I should try CBT a couple years back. I got scared, because there was only one kind of CBT I knew and it was not the cognitive behavioral therapy kind. I keep cruising around the music store, minding my business, happy to be surrounded by the smell of crispy new instruments, hearing other people play the same riff on an electric guitar over and over, looking at price tags, immediately putting down said thing with price tag, and trying to be nonchalant about it. I guess I’m stalling time. Ava, she’s been irritated with me from the moment I woke up. I get where she’s coming from, I could be more diligent about cleaning, and I have been feeling worn out lately. I wish, maybe, she could be a little nicer when she tells me these things. After spending over an hour and a half at the music store, I drive to Tim Hortons hoping the line is extra long so I can keep stalling for a little longer. Lo and behold, I waited in line for at least fifteen minutes before I could order, and then another ten minutes for them to make a medium Iced Capp, a large black coffee, and three breakfast wraps. I decide to eat my portion of the order, as I was absolutely ravenous and still slightly hungover from the night before. Two wraps and an entire black coffee down, five minutes tops. The black coffee was scalding. My tongue got burnt, bad, to the point where I think I’d speak funny. Good thing I’m not talking to anyone, huh? Once I clean up, I get in my car for the drive home. I’m feeling pretty great, actually. I’ll feed Biscuit, Lettuce, and Romeo once I get home, and hopefully my girlfriend is also feeling better, too. <b>[[Next|9e]]</b>

I click open the front door, bumping it open with my hip as I balance the food and drink from Timmies, as well as my bag from the music store…which contained more than the strings, mind you. When I see cool stickers at the cashier’s counter, I can’t really resist. I bought one for Ava, a laminated sticker of the Sanrio character My Melody with the music store’s name along the bottom, and a quote that says, “I wanna sing!” along the top. I thought she’d like it. “Hi, baby,” I call out, shuffling over to my small dining table to carefully rest all of the goodies from today’s escapade. “I’m back. Got your Iced Capp and some stuff.” It’s about noon now. I look around the living room, realizing she hasn’t made it out of bed yet. It’s a good thing I grabbed her something to eat. She hasn’t made breakfast yet. I check my three kitties’ food bowls, all recently filled. Ava came to feed them, but not herself. Cute. She has breakfast now. “Baby,” I hum, walking towards the bedroom door. I knock twice, then open it slowly. She’s laying on her stomach, wearing one of my shirts and seemingly no pants, kicking her feet as she scrolls on her phone. Going from pyjamas to no pants seems a little counteractive, but I don’t complain. I don’t mind when she steals my clothes. “Hey,” I chuckle, as she rolls onto her back. “I thought you were gonna make breakfast.” “I changed my clothes,” she replies, then gestures around the room. “Look, all clean now. Feel like I can finally breathe again.” I sigh. “Jeez, it wasn’t that bad. You should've seen the state it was in when I’m actually depressed.” She gives me a look. It’s a very bizarre look; almost frightened, judgemental, suspicious, I don’t know. But weird. “I don’t want to see that.” I laugh it off again, and instead decide to steer the conversation away from this prickly territory into something sweeter. I tell her I bought her a sticker from the music store, and from there, the day proceeds smoothly. In fact, she really did tidy up my room quite a bit. She made my bed, folded and hung up clothes that were previously strewn across my desk chair and floor, dusted any surfaces…it was nice of her. I’m starting to think her offhanded comments were because I was talking about some of the more unfortunate parts of my disorder. She isn’t bipolar, so I should be mindful of what I tell her, otherwise I might make her worry about me needlessly. <b>[[Next|10e]]</b>

<b>THAT SAME DAY, 9:32 P.M.</b> We had a nice, comfy day at home together. I thought the uncomfortable comments would stop. I don’t know why she feels like antagonizing me in these little, sometimes undetectable ways until I think about it later, or tell my friends and they tell me, ‘hm, Sen, she shouldn’t have said that’. But tonight, yeah, this is starting to become a problem. “You never have sex with me anymore,” she bites out. “Or hangout with me. Or anything! I just cleaned your whole room today for you, I allowed you and the guys to perform at one of the biggest clubs around this area, and this is what I get?” “What?” I say exasperatedly. I’m stunned into silence for a moment, before I manage to dig up my voice lodged deep in my chest. “I—I told you, I’ve been feeling worn out. It has nothing to do with you, baby, I promise. I just haven’t been feeling like doing it, that’s all.” “Yeah, well, you have enough energy to go out today and smash some other bitch while I’m not looking, while also being a slob.” “What?!” I exclaim. “I was getting guitar—Who, Ava? Who? You don’t even let me hang out with my friends from highschool who are girls. Can you please stop saying stuff just to make me upset?” I snap, my voice cracking. “I’m not cheating on you. You’ve gone through my phone and room. Please, I don’t want to argue about something that isn’t even true.” “I don’t really give a shit, Sen,” she sighs, apparently exhausted from the conversation. My head is burning, mind spinning. I feel like my mouth is moving faster than my brain so I slow down, take a deep, shaky breath. My throat tightens, and I feel so, so small. A dude over six feet, feeling small and useless in front of his girlfriend, imagine. <b>[[Next|11e]]</b>

“Ava, I am not cheating on you. I’m not,” I mumble. Even to me, it sounds pretty pathetic. “Well, people like you cheat all the time.” “What do you mean by that?” “People with your…” she gestures to me dismissively, face scrunched up in disgust, “mental disorder. You think I wanna be a part of that 90% of people that get cheated on by bipolar people?” “You must be getting your sources from somewhere crazy, man. Oh, my God,” I mutter, rubbing my eyes. I sway on my feet slightly, rocking from one foot to the other. I exhale deeply, and glance around the room. Sitting there in all their glory, my medications, along with my creased up songwriting journal usually snuggle with each other on my nightstand. They were there this morning, and I took my meds last night. My journal lays on my nightstand, as it should. But my medications? Gone. “Where are my meds?” I ask suspiciously. She shrugs carelessly. “I don’t know. Why are you deflecting from the conversation? You wanna tell me what position you and your new chick did it in?” Her accusations have gotten so incredibly insane that I can either laugh or cry, so I vouch to laugh, walking over to my nightstand and gripping the edge of the surface. “You need help. Where are my meds?” I repeat, more sternly this time. She avoids my gaze. “You said you were feeling down so I…I put them somewhere else…” she mumbles, her voice crumbling. To my amazement, she starts tearing up. “You…you said you were feeling sad all week, so I thought—” I cackle again, and it’s a real ugly one. Snorting, gasps of air, mhm. That seems to shellshock her into stop spouting whatever bullshit she was going to say. Ridiculous. It had to get to this point for me to realize? An idea springs into mind. I feel slightly more in control. Screw it, might as well. “Hey,” I start, still giggling, “you say I’m cheating, but I’ve never asked to go through your phone before,” I challenge. It’s supposed to be a joke. I don’t expect her face to turn bone-white, mouth to drop half open, eyes widen to saucers. It appears that our entire relationship was a joke. Was. “Why the hell would you need to?” “The same reason you ask to go through my phone. Nothing insane if you do it to me, right?” I extend a hand, jerking four fingers towards me in a ‘give it’ motion. Her lack of response somehow clears all worries, doubts, guilt I had during our relationship. I cock my head to the side, silently egging her on. The only sound in the room is my rickety fan, and the scuffling of my kitties’ paws in the living room. <b>[[Next|12e]]</b>

My God. Oh, my God. I cannot wait for my appointment with Will this week. Months of convincing myself, and Will, that this relationship was good for me. I can sense the lecture I’m going to endure, the grumpy wave of his pen, oh, I’m so pumped. I spent too much time searching how to be a better boyfriend, how to ensure my disorder is seen and understood in my relationship, trying to justify her actions towards me. I was right to spend as much time outside today. Although her iced coffee in the living room is melting, and they make me feel like I’m briefly lactose intolerant if I drink it, I can eat the breakfast wrap later. No waste of money on her today. I attempt to muster up as much confidence as I can, because yes, I am Sen, I have performed in front of hundreds and hopefully tens of thousands one day, my song that I wrote myself, no thanks to her, became popular as a trend on social media. “Ava Lynn, give me your phone,” I chide, like a parent. I barely restrain a laugh. “No. You’re invading my privacy.” “Then get out of my house.” Silence. She sits on my pristinely made bed, staring at a spot near my face but not at me. “Get out. Now.” <b>[[Next|13e]]</b>

“Sen, no, you don’t get it, it’s not what—” “Get out! Jesus Christ!” She throws her arms up in dismay, and I watch her storm around the room as she collects her things. She glares daggers at me. “He’s taller than you and actually has money and isn’t sick in the head!” “Get it all out, baby. Give it to me.” Another ultra dramatic sigh. “You never would’ve made it this far without me.” “Ouch! Oh, my God, I’m so hurt,” I cry out, resting my hand on my heart and gripping the fabric of my shirt. “Can you be serious for once?!” “Nah. That’s too much work, and as you said, I’m a lazy slob who doesn’t wanna do work,” I hiss, tone sharp. “I don’t care what else you have to say, Ava Lynn. I am tired. I tried to lie to myself and never blame you for anything, but it’s because of you I’ve been feeling down. Get out of my house. Go to your new man, since he’s so much better.” <b>[[Next|14e]]</b>

The next hour passes by horrifically slowly as she storms around my studio apartment and stuffs her things into garbage bags. As she said so wonderfully earlier, Sen Morningstar is broke and so he doesn’t have fancy bags to put her stuff in. I don’t drive her anywhere. Told her I’d pay for her Uber and that was that. Much to think about. The place is quiet as I drink a Coke, my kitten Biscuit conked out asleep on my lap as I watch Gilmore Girls. Good quiet. I remember one of the guys, maybe it was TJ or Ángel because they’re the studious ones, told me that she tended to lash out on me because she was hiding something from me. Well, there you go. I know I haven’t absorbed everything that just happened. She was cheating on me. It’ll crash down on me, oh yeah, as I lay in bed and bawl my eyes out, wondering how I managed to waste six months of my life loving someone who saw me as a plebian to control. On the brightside, the guys, I have to tell them what happened. Next step: get her ass fired. <h2>[[END|end]]</h2>

<<fadein 1s>> <h3><c> FIN</c></h3> <</fadein>><<fadein 1.5s>><<timed 1.5s t8n>> <e>ALL WORK IN THIS ASSIGNMENT WAS WRITTEN, DRAWN, AND CODED BY ME </e> <e>Thank you for reading!</e> <</timed>><</fadein>> <<script>>UIBar.stow()<</script>>

EPISODE ONE: HI I’M SEN AND I ALMOST DIED - 2479 words MEMORY ONE - 463 words EPISODE TWO: I LOVE IRRITATING MY PSYCHIATRIST - 1872 words MEMORY TWO - 519 words EPISODE THREE: MY EX USED TO HIDE MY MEDS - 4470 words MEMORY THREE: 810 words <b> TOTAL WORD COUNT, EXCLUDING BIBLIOGRAPHIES AND CODING - 10 613 words </b> <<link "Back">><<if tags().includes("game-info")>><<goto $return>><<else>><<run Engine.backward()>><</if>><</link>>