Insomnia and it's various hazards
Bill lays in bed for more than an hour after he wakes up, head aching dully. The sun isn't even up yet, which doesn't particularly surprise him. Sleep has been dodgy just lately, as it often is when he's got a lot on his mind. He doesn't turn his face toward the glowing digital numbers displayed on the clock on the bedside table. He doesn't want to know exactly how long he'd slept. Knowing will only make him more tired.
From the corner of his eye, he can see the red-black gleam of refracted light from the alarm clock bouncing around between several empty beer bottles. It had taken more than a six pack to get him to sleep to begin with. Not a good sign. He's fully aware of that.
In a few hours (he guesses, still without looking at the clock), he'll have to go the station and let Walsh poke around inside his head to keep Tyndall off his back. He isn't terribly worried about it. He knows Walsh -- had, in fact, had several classes with him in Uni -- and he's a fair head-doctor and a decent guy. Bill suspects he'll go heavy on the standard tests, just to be safe. Something to counteract the fact that the two of them know each other, even if they are only acquaintences, never close. It will go a long way toward shutting Tyndall's gob, at least. Walsh will be meticulously professional, but fair, and there couldn't be a better combination from Bill's perspective.
He will also assume that Bill will do the same.
Which is also in Bill's best interest.
He rubs at his forehead, then down to rub his burning eyes. He doesn't keep them closed for long.
Keira's eyes live behind his closed lids, and he doesn't have the energy to deal with that right now.
WAIS-3, he thinks idly, staring at the ceiling, counting waterspots. MMPI-2, probably. CAPS, definitely, they'll be worried about PTSD. One of the impulse control tests, probably one to measure anger management. Novaco, maybe? TSI, almost certainly.
If he's lucky, maybe Rorschach. He's always wanted to actually take the ink blot test.
It's going to take hours, whatever tests they end up being. Hours of tests and probably a fairly short one-on-one interview with Walsh. Once they finish the oral portions of the various other tests, there won't be much left to fucking talk about.
On the bright side, most of the tests will be sealed, available for viewing only with a court order. The interview with Walsh will be recorded, and probably available to Tyndall, but the rest... well, Tyndall will have to be satisfied with reading Bill's results in Walsh's report.
He rolls over onto his belly and rests his forehead on his folded arms, eyes wide open in the little pocket of darkness and recycled air created by his arms. He wants a beer, but he doesn't dare show up in Walsh's office smelling even remotely of alcohol.
That will be a part of it, of course. But not all.
Has your alcohol use increased since the incident? Have your sleep habits changed? Have you relived The Event? Have you felt on edge? Avoidance? Redirection of energy? Heightened sense of danger? Headaches? Feeling disconnected? Heightened or lowered alertness? Increased or decreased awareness of surroundings? Panic attacks? Sudden onset of compulsive behavior?
And Bill will answer no to all of those questions.
He doesn't have time for PTSD anyhow.
From the corner of his eye, he can see the red-black gleam of refracted light from the alarm clock bouncing around between several empty beer bottles. It had taken more than a six pack to get him to sleep to begin with. Not a good sign. He's fully aware of that.
In a few hours (he guesses, still without looking at the clock), he'll have to go the station and let Walsh poke around inside his head to keep Tyndall off his back. He isn't terribly worried about it. He knows Walsh -- had, in fact, had several classes with him in Uni -- and he's a fair head-doctor and a decent guy. Bill suspects he'll go heavy on the standard tests, just to be safe. Something to counteract the fact that the two of them know each other, even if they are only acquaintences, never close. It will go a long way toward shutting Tyndall's gob, at least. Walsh will be meticulously professional, but fair, and there couldn't be a better combination from Bill's perspective.
He will also assume that Bill will do the same.
Which is also in Bill's best interest.
He rubs at his forehead, then down to rub his burning eyes. He doesn't keep them closed for long.
Keira's eyes live behind his closed lids, and he doesn't have the energy to deal with that right now.
WAIS-3, he thinks idly, staring at the ceiling, counting waterspots. MMPI-2, probably. CAPS, definitely, they'll be worried about PTSD. One of the impulse control tests, probably one to measure anger management. Novaco, maybe? TSI, almost certainly.
If he's lucky, maybe Rorschach. He's always wanted to actually take the ink blot test.
It's going to take hours, whatever tests they end up being. Hours of tests and probably a fairly short one-on-one interview with Walsh. Once they finish the oral portions of the various other tests, there won't be much left to fucking talk about.
On the bright side, most of the tests will be sealed, available for viewing only with a court order. The interview with Walsh will be recorded, and probably available to Tyndall, but the rest... well, Tyndall will have to be satisfied with reading Bill's results in Walsh's report.
He rolls over onto his belly and rests his forehead on his folded arms, eyes wide open in the little pocket of darkness and recycled air created by his arms. He wants a beer, but he doesn't dare show up in Walsh's office smelling even remotely of alcohol.
That will be a part of it, of course. But not all.
Has your alcohol use increased since the incident? Have your sleep habits changed? Have you relived The Event? Have you felt on edge? Avoidance? Redirection of energy? Heightened sense of danger? Headaches? Feeling disconnected? Heightened or lowered alertness? Increased or decreased awareness of surroundings? Panic attacks? Sudden onset of compulsive behavior?
And Bill will answer no to all of those questions.
He doesn't have time for PTSD anyhow.