Recovery

(link-reveal: "Hi there.")[(transition: "dissolve")[ Fancy meeting [[you]] here.]]

I'm going to be honest with you. You're not real. You're in my head. I'm [[not crazy]]. I know you're not real and that I made you up. But I'm so fucking [[bored]] right now that I'll take imaginary company over no company.

Look, I've got no problem with mentally ill people. It's not, like, a moral failing to feel miserable or to hear voices or whatever. Just, that's not what's happening here. You're my imaginary friend, ok? I made you up, and I know I made you up. Kids have imaginary friends all the time, and they're ''fine''. So don't stress about that. Just, I [[need a friend]] right now.

I got hurt, bad enough to get me sent to hospital. It's my own fault, I guess, but I hardly feel like I deserve to be in a place like this. Who knew having something horrible happen to you could be so //boring//? But here I am, with fuck-all people to keep me company, and it sucks. I think I [[need a friend]] here.

Turns out hospitals are not a great place to be, and this one is pretty bad. I've been here two days with nobody to talk to besides doctors who don't care and nurses who have no time. Oh, and I guess the [[pigs]]. So here's the deal: you get to keep me company and stop me from //actually// going crazy. I guess in return you stop your own house from falling down. You know, because you live in my head and all that. [[start<-Deal?]]

Oh, I'm sorry, does my lack of respect for Her Majesty's Finest offend you? Their lack of respect for human life offends me. Maybe look up what happened to people like Mark Duggan before you criticise me for my choice of vocabulary. [[start<-Let's just get down to it, ok?]]

I'm in a hospital bed, and I ache. I'm not going to tell you why, because I don't trust you yet. Sorry. Let's just say I did something stupid and got what I deserved for it. Anyway, now I'm recovering from injuries that ended up getting me six hours of surgery and a fucking breathing tube in my throat. (click: "breathing tube")[(transition: "dissolve")[ My throat is still sore from that thing. ]] I hate this place. The bed is uncomfortable, the meals are awful and the incessant beeping of the machines around me feels like a hole being drilled into my skull. Nobody else on the ward will talk to me (not that they'd have anything in common with a kid like me) and on top of all that I have to ask the nurses to help me pee. So yeah. Help me to [[kill time->main]], ok?

It is (print: $day of $days) (print: $time of $times), and I am feeling (colour: $morale of $moodcolours)[(print: $morale of $moods)]. (if: (($day-1) * ($times's length) + $time) of $visits)[My [[parents]] have just got here. ](elseif: $items is not (dataset:))[I have: (if: $items contains "ipod")[my [[iPod]], ](if: $items contains "magazine")[a shitty [["men's" magazine]], ](if: $items is not (dataset:"sketchbook"))[and ]a small [[sketchbook]]. ](else:)[I have nothing to kill time with at the moment. ](if: $lettersgiven < $day)[ There is a [[letter]] on the tray-table in front of me. Someone must have brought it in the night. ]

{ (set: $day to 1) (set: $days to (array: "Monday", "Tuesday", "Wednesday", "Thursday")) (set: $time to 1) (set: $times to (array: "morning","afternoon","evening")) (set: $morale to 3) (set: $moods to (array: "more-or-less suicidal","awful","pretty crappy","fairly meh","ok","oddly fine")) (set: $moodcolours to (array: black+red,black+orange,black+yellow,yellow,black+lime,black+green)) (set: $lettersgiven to 0) (set: $items to (dataset:)) (set: $visits to (array: false, false, true, false, true, false, false, false, false, false, true, false)) (set: $visit to 0) (set: $lastthing to false) }

(if: (($day-1) * ($times's length) + $time) of $visits)["Are you really going to read that instead of talking to us?" my [[mother->parents]] asks.](else:)[(set: $lettersgiven to it + 1)(display: $day of $days + "'s letter")]

(set: $ipodlistens to it+1)(display: "listen"+(text:$ipodlistens)) (display: "timepasses")

I'm reading it for the articles. Seriously. (if: $magreads is 0)[It's not like I don't like pretty girls. But I prefer my smut a little less crude. Reading passes the time, anyway, and it allows me to go into my own world for a while. (display: "incmorale") ](if: $magreads is 1)[I'm pretty sure I've exhausted all this has to offer.(set: $items to it - (dataset: "magazine")) ](set: $magreads to it + 1)(display: "timepasses")

(if: (either: true, false))[I spend a few hours drawing (either: "robots","dinosaurs","naked men","anime lesbians","cats"). My arm is too fucked up to draw anything that looks good, but it seems to pass the time. Once I'm done, I hide the sketchbook under the sheets.](else:)[My arm's too stiff to draw right now. I try to make a few doodles but I just get frustrated and end up sulking. (display: "decmorale")] (display: "timepasses")

(set: $visit to it+1)(go-to: "visit"+(text:$visit))

I open the envelope. The paper crinkles at my touch. It feels kind of odd, like it's not real, but maybe that's just the drugs in my system to help me cope with the pain. Who the hell sends letters in this day and age? And how the hell did they get it here? (link-replace: "...")[(transition: "dissolve")[I can't believe it. It's from Victor? //Hey there D, I heard you've been in a bit of a scrape. I'm sorry to hear that. I've used my extensive contacts in the hospital system to find out where you are and get this letter to you. Okay, so I made like two phone calls and called in one favour. No big deal. I'm sorry I've been out of contact lately. I guess I got a bit freaked out about what you said last time we saw each other, but that's no real excuse. I hope ~~you're doing okay~~ ~~you don't hate me?~~ you can forgive me for being such a shit to you. I'm guessing you're not getting much company in there besides parents and doctors. I'll try to write to you every day so you have something to look forward to, or at least vaguely interesting? You don't have to read the letters if you don't want to, but there should be one there every morning for you if I don't fuck this up somehow. Hang in there, okay? It's not too long before you can get the hell out of this place and do something meaningful with your life. I'm rooting for you. Yours, Victor// [[Huh.->Monday's thoughts]]]]

//D, I've been thinking about it, and I can't get it out of my head: I hate how you're treated there. Your parents are evil fuckers who treat you like shit. It's not fair on you at all, and I want to help you get out. I've included a ticket that should be valid for any train tomorrow, and some money for a taxi on the other side. My address is written on the other side of this letter. If you come, I'd be glad to put you up until we can sort out something more long-term. If not, that's okay too; I'll still be your friend either way. The choice is yours, Victor// [[..holy shit.]]

Another letter from Victor. //D, In my first letter I said that I hoped you can forgive me, but I guess I didn't really give you a reason to. I should probably try to explain my actions to you. I guess it shocked me, you know? You said "I wish I was a girl" and, well, I didn't really know anything about trans stuff. I thought maybe you were in love with me and didn't think I'd like you as a guy. (Which, well, I'm pretty sure I'm bi? So that wouldn't be an issue.) Anyway, I was worried I was fucking you up in the head somehow. I didn't want to risk making things worse for you than they already are. I know a bit more now, and I hope I can be more supportive, be a decent friend to you. It's the least you deserve. Yours, Victor// I... I guess I don't know [[how to feel]] about that.

It's from Victor again. //D, Do you remember the time your parents were out? When we got high and gazed at the stars? I was thinking about that today. Well, it'll be yesterday by the time you read this, but anyway. I remember staring at you as you talked about the stars, the planets, the constellations, all that stuff. I don't know much about that kind of thing, but it was nice to just listen to you ramble. Every time I asked a question, your face would light up; you never thought any less of me for not knowing those things. I was thinking something like, "this kid's gonna be an astronomer or something, some day". Do you still stargaze? I hope you do. I'd hate for those bastard parents to have beaten that enthusiasm out of you. That night, you were so beautiful that I could've kissed you. Not out of any kind of romance: just, like, I don't know. A friendship-kiss, maybe? That probably makes no sense, but whatever. I miss you, you know. I don't regret moving away, I could never regret leaving that hell-hole. But I do regret that you couldn't come with me. Thinking of you, Victor// [[(continue)->Tuesday's thoughts]]

Wow. Victor, of all people. Not that I have many other people who would want to talk to me, but... I guess after [[what happened]] I didn't [[expect]] to hear from him again.

Look, I don't really want to talk about what happened. Suffice it to say: I fucked up. I do that a lot. (display: "decmorale") [[(continue)->Monday's nurse]]

Yeah, I guess people can surprise you. I'm glad he did, this time. It's not like I have any other friends. Er, present company excepted. (display:"incmorale") [[(continue)->Monday's nurse]]

While I'm lost in thought, a nurse comes to my bed in the ward. As she's placing a glass of water on the tray table for me to drink (pretty welcome, given the state of my throat), she speaks: "Just to let you know, your parents will be visiting you tonight. Won't that [[be nice]]?"

(set: $morale to (min: it + 1, length of $moods))(colour: black+green)[((if: $morale < 6)[I'm doing a little better, now ]I'm (if: $morale <= 4)[just ]feeling (print: $morale of $moods).)]

(if: $morale is 1)[(display: "killlinks")[[fuck it->fail]]](else:)[(set: $morale to it - 1)(color: black + red)[(Now I'm feeling (print: $morale of $moods).)]]

(transition: "pulse")[Fuck it.] (live: 1.5s)[(transition: "shudder")[What's the [[point]]?](stop:)]

No. No it won't be particularly nice. I mean think about it, I've already been here for two days and this is the first time they're showing up? I think it's pretty clear that we don't get on that well. Oh, I'm sure they'll excuse it by saying they're "busy" or some bullshit. But frankly, they don't like me, and I don't like them. They probably think this experience here will teach me a lesson. It probably will, but not the lesson they want it to. (display: "decmorale") [[(continue)->sketchbookget]]

As I grumble to myself, the nurse has been changing some of the dressings on my wounds. They itch more than they hurt right now, but I suspect that won't last. Hopefully they'll be bringing me some more painkillers soon. "Oh, by the way," the nurse says, "Someone asked me to give you this?" She seems uncertain. It's probably not usually her job to deliver gifts. In her hand is what looks like a sketchbook, along with a couple of pencils.(set: $items to it + (dataset:"sketchbook")) She puts it on the tray-table, next to my drink. I wonder who this came from? Hardly anyone knows that I draw. My parents certainly don't. (display: "incmorale") I think [[lunch]] is soon.

Lunch is (either: "fairly tasteless", "overcooked", "undercooked", "oddly lumpy", "bland"), but at least it comes with painkillers. Nothing like drugs to ease the pain and calm the nerves. (if: (either: true,false,false))[ Today it came with a nice dessert, at least. (display: "incmorale") ] (set: $time to it + 1)(if: $day is 2)[Soon after I'm done eating, one of the other patients [[comes over->magazineget]] to my bed.](else:)[[[(continue)->main]]]

{ (if: $time is 1)[Before long, it's time for [[lunch]].] (elseif: $time is 2)[Soon, [[dinner]] comes along.] (elseif: $lettersgiven < $day)[(set: $lastthing to true)It's getting pretty late. I'm going to read today's [[letter]].] (elseif: $day is 4)[Time for sleep. At least this will be my [[last night]] in this place.] (else:)[(set: $lastthing to false)I'm feeling pretty tired now; I think I'll [[get some sleep]].] }

Sleep doesn't come easy in a place like this. If the constant buzzing and beeping of hospital machinery weren't enough, it never quite gets dark enough for me to properly rest. When I do sleep, I toss and turn. I dream of (print: $day of (array: "Victor. I wish things hadn't gone so badly between us. He's just sitting there, on the steps of the city library where we used to hang out. But I can't walk to him: the closer I get, the further away he is. I wish I could be there.", "the stars, and floating between them. My dad is there, but he's some kind of evil emperor. I think I have to fight him but he's so much stronger than me and it hurts...","being someone else. Not a boy, not a girl, just, the general idea of otherness. I see my own funeral from the outside. Nobody turns up besides my family. They try to talk about me but they don't really know anything about me, they have nothing to say.",)) (set: $time to 1)(set: $day to it+1)Still, I [[wake up->main]] feeling at least a little refreshed.

Dinner comes at around 5pm, which in my opinion is //far// too early to eat. But I manage to get the (either: "tasteless meat","lukewarm potatoes","watery soup") down me anyway. (set: $time to it + 1)[[(continue)->main]]

My mum sits down in the chair by my bed while my dad remains standing, trying to pretend he's never [[felt an emotion]] in his life.

At least mum can do a reasonable facsimile of concern. "How are you doing, darling?" I swallow the bile that's desperate to jump out of my throat and say: "fine." My voice is still a little croaky from the tube. "We've brought you your [[iPod->ipodget]]," she says.

(set: $items to it + (dataset:"ipod"))(set: $ipodlistens to 0)Jesus, that old thing? I've not used in years. I think the earphones are still crackly from when I dropped it in the toilet. "Thanks," I murmur, hoping I look appropriately [[grateful]].

I'm guessing I did ok, seeing as how I didn't get any passive-aggressive comments from mum. We spend the next few minutes in silence, before my dad decides to open his mouth. "I hope you won't be doing [[anything like that]] again. Your mother and I were worried sick." [[(ignore it)]]

"'Anything like that'?" I ask, "What the fuck does that mean?" "Watch your language!" mum snaps. "Don't you have any consideration for our feelings?" dad half-asks, half-growls. I probably would have consideration for his feelings if he had any way of expressing them other than yelling and [[violence]]. Asshole. (display: "decmorale") [[Sigh]].

You're right; probably best to ignore his bullshit. I let it slide, and my dad goes off to "get some coffee". Mum's slightly easier to listen to (so long as you don't try to talk about anything important) so I let her talk about random social crap until it's time for them to go. They promise to be back tomorrow afternoon. Yay. (display: "timepasses")

I'll tell you later. Right now I don't want to think about it. The mood is pretty sour, but they leave soon enough. Apparently they're coming back tomorrow afternoon, though. Joy. (display: "timepasses")

That exchange has left the mood pretty sour, but they leave soon enough. Apparently they're coming back tomorrow afternoon, though. Joy. (display: "timepasses")

Ok, so the left earphone doesn't work and it's tinny as fuck, but the nostalgia kick is kind of nice. I mean, I used to listen to some awful crap, but I can kind of get behind the pop cheese, you know? (display: "incmorale")

I listen to the iPod for an hour or two, despite my growing annoyance with my past self's lack of taste in music. It's pretty clear that it's on its last legs, though: the crackling in the working earbud has gotten pretty hard to ignore, and half the screen seems to have stopped working. Pretty soon the iPod stops working entirely. Guess that's it, then. Ugh. (set: $items to it-(dataset:"ipod")) (display: "decmorale")

Ok, so, it's getting pretty old now. Way too much pop: my head feels like it's being forcibly filled with bubblegum and sex. There's nothing on here remotely angry enough for me nowadays; what I wouldn't give for some punk, or even some metal. Oh well.

It's still mostly good listening, if you ignore one in three tracks. I'm getting pretty good at hitting that "skip" button when the really bad stuff comes on. (display: "incmorale")

They got here just as I was finishing my lunch. Mum's saying something about how I must be missing her cooking, but I'm not really paying attention. I'm just looking at dad. He's standing at the foot of the bed, looking like some kind of statesman attending a function that he feels is beneath him. To be honest, it's weird to see him so much; usually I only get to see him when he's [[angry]].

"They say you can go home tomorrow," my mum says, "We brought you some clothes." She places a bundle on my bed. Of course, it looks like she's chosen the ugliest clothes in my wardrobe, but whatever. It's to be expected. "Isn't it good that you can come home?" dad asks. (if: $morale > 4)[(set: $ending to "good")"Is it?" [[I ask]].](else:)[(set: $ending to "bad")I treat it as rhetorical. The rest of their visit is an uncomfortable silence. (display: "timepasses")]

I guess that was a nice night. Victor was always a good person to [[get high]] with. I had no idea I got so rambly about the [[stars]], though. I [[caught hell]] for it afterwards, of course.

It's only weed, it's pretty harmless. These painkillers I'm on right now are much more strong and addictive, and I'm [doing fine]<gallows|, right?(click: ?gallows)[(transition: "dissolve")[ Gallows humour. (if: $lastthing)[(display: "timepasses")](else:)[[[Anyway...->main]]]]]

Me? An astronomer? To be honest, I'm kind of surprised that Victor thinks I have a future at all. I never really felt like I had one. (display: "incmorale") (if: $lastthing)[(display: "timepasses")](else:)[[[Anyway...->main]]]]]

We couldn't get the smell of cannabis out of the living room furniture, so my dad decided to take it out on me. No big deal. Mum was even //nice enough// to lend me some makeup to hide the bruises. Guh, I don't want to be thinking about this. (display: "decmorale") (if: $lastthing)[(display: "timepasses")](else:)[[[Anyway...->main]]]]]

He's holding one of those awful "men's" magazines. You know, the kind with tits and cars? He places the magazine down on the bed. "Here, I'm done with this. Maybe a healthy young [[lad]] like you will enjoy it."

I don't think I'm much of a lad, but I'll try to be polite. "Thanks," I say, hoping that'll be enough to make him go away. It is, and he shuffles off back to his own bed. (set: $items to it + (dataset: "magazine"))(set: $magreads to 0)I hide the magazine under the pillow: it's probably not the kind of thing my parents would like to see me with. I doubt I'll get much enjoyment from the "articles", but maybe there's a puzzle page or something. [[(continue)->main]]

I... wasn't exactly ready for you to know. But, I guess it's time you knew [[the truth]].

First, let's get one thing straight. I'm not in love with Victor. I never was. He's a good friend, but I don't really see him that way and I doubt I ever will. The truth is, I've been dressing as a girl in private for about a year now. I know it's weird and fucked up, but I just... I guess it felt good? As awful it would be if my parents found out... Well, I guess they know now. Fuck. Anyway, one day I decided that private wasn't enough for me. I got stupid. I dressed myself up all pretty, and then sneaked out of the house to go hang around town at some ridiculously late hour, hoping the poor lighting would stop my appearance from giving the game away. It didn't work. I got found out, and I got beat up. That's why I'm here. (display: "decmorale") (if: $lastthing)[(display: "timepasses")](else:)[[[Sigh->main]]]]]

My last night in the hospital is oddly restful, despite the huge question plagueing my mind: Should I take Victor up on his offer? It's a giant leap into the unknown, but maybe that's what I need to be happy. Do I even deserve to be happy? Does anyone? (if: $ending is "good")[I [[wake early]], feeling refreshed.](else:)[I wake up [[later]] than I expected to.]

"Excuse me?" dad growls. "Is it good that I can go home? I mean, given that you both [[treat me like shit]]."

"What's gotten into you?!" mum snaps, "How dare you talk to your father that way!" "What way?" I ask, "You mean, 'honestly'? I'm sick of [[his bullshit]] and [[your complicity]]. Should I lie?"

He's a pathetic little man, taking his anger out on those around them rather than deal with it like a normal human being. Fuck him. "We don't have to take this from you," he says. He looks at mum. "Come on, we're leaving. Maybe he'll have learned how to be civil by tomorrow morning." They leave. There will probably be consequences to this, but fuck, that (colour: black+green)[felt good].(set: $morale to 6) (display: "timepasses")

I'm so sick and tired of her covering up his shit, hiding the bruises, lying to everyone. Fuck her. "We don't have to take this from you," dad says. He looks at her. "Come on, we're leaving. Maybe he'll have learned how to be civil by tomorrow morning." They leave. There will probably be consequences to this, but fuck, that (colour: black+green)[felt good].(set: $morale to 6) (display: "timepasses")

<h1>Recovery</h1>A game by Jennifer Hackett, with additional ideas by Hazel Smith. Click to see a list of [[trigger warnings]]. [[Start game->begin]]

This game contains depictions of: hospitals, familial abuse, mental illness, suicidality, internalised transphobia and recovery from injury This game contains mentions of: transphobic violence and police brutality [[(back)->Title Screen]]

[Reticulating splines]<splines|(live: 30ms)[(if: (either: true, false))[(append: ?splines)[(substring: "...", 1, (random: 1,3))]]](live: 1.5s)[(if: time >= 1.5s)[(goto: "Initial Dialogue")]]

The rest of the hospital stay is a blur. I don't read any more of the letters. They're just taunting me with things I can't have. Why bother? Better to just prepare myself to go home, and wait for my chance to... Well. You can [[guess]], I'm sure.

<h1>GAME OVER</h1>Message from the game developer: Keeping people alive and sane is difficult, and sometimes you'll fail. I'm sorry. The best we can do is to help others the best we can, and look after ourselves at the same time. If you want, you can put this game down for a while, maybe forever. I know some of this stuff will be heavy for some players, and that's ok. Alternatively, you can click [[here->Title Screen]] to go back to the start.(display: "startup")

Is this for real? It looks real, but I can't believe it. Do you think I could actually do that? That I could [[run away]]? Surely the world [[doesn't work like that]].

I could do it. I'd need clothes, and I'd need to get out of here before my parents come to take me home, but I could do it. I... I think I have to. This could be my [[only chance]].

Well, maybe it doesn't. Maybe the world is sick and wrong and broken, or maybe the world is fine and I deserve all this shit. But maybe this is my [[only chance]] to get away.

I hide the letter, the ticket and the money under my pillow. My mind is racing: (live: 0.2s)[(either: "could","should","can","will")] I? [[(continue)->timepasses]]

To be honest, I think anger is the main emotion I can really remember seeing in my father. I used to be frightened of him: I had this recurring dream where he was some kind of crocodile-controlling supervillain, filling the house with them and using them to terrify my mum and me. That was back when I didn't realise how much she was enabling him. I would fantasise about running away with her. I'm not afraid of him any more. But I am still afraid of [[what he does]].

He's a violent man. When I'm lucky, he [[shouts]]. When I'm unlucky, he [[hits]].

Shouting is ok. It hurts my ears, but I can live with it. [[(continue)->parentsleave]]

It usually only takes one or two blows to satisfy him. And my pain tolerance is getting better. Maybe I'll be able to keep some of the painkillers from here. Just in case. ...I wish I wasn't thinking about this. (display: "decmorale") [[(continue)->parentsleave]]

My mum's been talking to me the whole time, but I've been on autopilot. Looks like they're about to leave; I guess she finally got the hint that I'm not in the mood for talking. "Well, we'd better get a move on," she says, and they leave me with a few curt goodbyes. (display: "timepasses")

(if: not("nohead" is in (passage:)'s tags))[<small>It is (print: $day of $days) (print: $time of $times), and I am feeling (colour: $morale of $moodcolours)[(print: $morale of $moods)].</small> --- ]

The ward feels pretty dead right now. My parents aren't here, and it looks like the nurses are between shifts or on break or something. I get dressed as quickly and quietly as I can, and try my best to walk out of the building without looking like I shouldn't be up. Luckily, the hospital isn't that far from the train station, and within about twenty minutes, I'm on the platform. It's cold — my parent's didn't exactly leave me with the warmest of clothes — but I don't really care. I'm free. I don't know what's going to happen now. All I can do is hope that it's better than what I had. [[I think it will be.->GoodEnd]]

My parents are already here to take me home. We exchange only a few words as I get dressed and the doctor comes to discharge me. I don't even have the chance to get the tickets and money; they're watching my every move. Looks like I won't be taking Victor up on his offer. [[We drive home in silence.->BadEnd]]

Sorry, you got the<h1>Bad Ending</h1>Message from the game developer: Maybe you made a mistake, or just had some bad luck, but you didn't get the good ending. It sucks, but you won't always be able to save someone from an abusive situation, and the help you can offer isn't always the help another person is able to use. All we can do is try our best to be there for someone when they can use what we have to offer. In the meantime, we have to take care of ourselves and each other. If you want to try again, you can click [[here->Title Screen]] to go back to the start.(display: "startup")

Congratulations, you got the<h1>Good Ending</h1>Message from the game developer: Well done! You supported a friend through a trying time and helped them find their way to something hopefully better, all with the handicap of being totally imaginary! Will things be ok? I don't know. It might work out with Victor, but it might not. All we can do is try our best to make good things happen. In the meantime, we have to take care of ourselves and each other. If you want to try again, you can click [[here->Title Screen]] to go back to the start.(display: "startup")