Swing (Logan, Logan/Veronica; R)
Title: Swing
Pairing/Characters: Logan, mentions of LoVe
Author: boobsnotbombs
Word Count: 2,500 words
Rating: R for language and mentions of sex
Summary: One way of interpreting Logan's behavior on the show.
Spoilers: All
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I don't own Veronica Mars.
Author's Note: This is un-beta'd because I wrote this spur of the moment just now...and I'm pretty sure when I wake up tomorrow morning I will wish I hadn't posted this because it's somewhat personal. I did some experimenting with form and content, as I was inspired by the post at VM Fictitious, so your feedback is extra helpful. Hope you enjoy.
Logan reads through the pamphlet while the shrink, Dr. Milton, explains the medications: "This will help you with any questions you might have. I'm going to give you a prescription for Xanax. Should help with the insomnia and other symptoms before the Tegretol kicks in."
"Tegretol?"
"Anti-seizure medication, but it has been shown to be highly effective in this capacity. Usually the first course of action would be mood stabilizers, but with the rapid-cycling you've been experiencing, the stabilizers tend to be much less effective. "
"Rapid cycling?"
"Read the pamphlet," says Dr. Milton.
#
What is Bipolar?
Disorder of the brain.
Untidy cells and chemicals and wires.
Furniture arranged all wrong.
A poorly-directed Christmas Pageant. Mashed up, mixed up - like when the DJ is trying something new, spitting bomb and funky beats, but it just doesn't work, and the crowd isn't feeling it at all, and you just want to hear the song unedited, unadulterated, pure like how it sounds on XM Radio.
Bipolar is Highs and Lows, but not like good days and bad days - more like psychotic days and suicidal days, like King of the World days and I'm-a-piece-of-shit-who-doesn't-deserve-to-fucking live days. Highs like setting fires on community pools. Highs like getting behind the wheel and driving as fast as you can, shit-faced like no other, just begging for a crash or a cop to try to stop you. Highs like fucking that cunt-faced bitch Madison 'til she screams, bareback, pulling out just barely in time. Highs like being a giddy school boy, kissing her for the first time, knowing you're unstoppable, that she'll love you forever, that nothing can go wrong.
Lows like standing on the ledge of the bridge. Lows like not eating, only drinking, sleeping, not shaving, not living - for days at a time after she walks out your life. Lows like telling her that yes, you do want her dead and wouldn't be so mad if she stuck her head into an oven.
Bipolar is risky behavior.
Starting fights. Getting arrested. Self medicating with drugs and alcohol. It's bashing a deputy's car with a bat. It's choking that bastard Mercer 'til his face is purple and two pimply-faced guards have to pull you off.
Bipolar is yes, no, yes, no, yes, no, all you can do is scream as loud as you can, tear at the fabric of the world, sink into your hole, re-emerge powerful and larger than life until everyone is afraid, until everyone is sorry, until she's gone.
Symptoms of Bipolar
"Intense emotional states."
Too much feeling. Too many cold, heartless bitches who want nothing to do with you (Lily, Mom, her). Too many tragedies. Too many bruises. Too many days when you're so alone, a frontiersman breaking new ground, but all you want is to go back to the Known World, but they'll never let you back because you've pissed them off too much.
Overexcited. Overjoyed. Lily's a liar and a cheat and a bitch and you know she doesn't love you, but it feels so good in her arms, and you guys are like two wild things, and no-fucking-body can stop you. Happiness is telling the reporters your father is donating 100K to some charity, because right then, at least, you know he can't hurt you; he can never hurt you again. You're Boss. You're God. You're Epic.
Explosive.
Angry.
Mad, mad, mad as a fucking hatter. Mad, mad, mad as your mother, delusional as fucking fuck.
Sadness like no other. You don't deserve to be here, you know. You're ruining it for all the Good People, of which you are not.
Talking too fast.
One idea and then another. Then another. Then another.
Coked up on who knows what? Life? That doesn't quite sound right.
Can't sleep. Never sleep. Only after six shots of Ketel One.
Suicidal.
Empty.
Treatment
-
-
-
-
Logan skips over that part.
#
Logan had two criteria when choosing a psychologist: she had to be female; she had to be at least fifty. After a couple of false starts (Dr. Schiff, melon tits, creepy eyes, always talked about finding the fucking balance - and Dr. Li, too judgmental, too weird, too interested in his childhood), Logan found Dr. Lida. She told him after one session that she suspected he had bipolar, that she was quite concerned about him, and that if he had any thoughts of hurting himself or engaging in life threatening behavior she wanted him to call her (if he called her every time he thought of hurting himself or of engaging in life threatening behavior, the constant ringing of her phone surely would've annoyed her to death).
"Everybody has good days and bad," Logan argued to the therapist, when she diagnosed him.
"Logan, do you really think your behavior falls under the category of normal good and bad days?"
#
"Tell me about Veronica."
"She's a goddess."
"A goddess?'
"A goddess, yes. Perfect. Awful. Crazy. A bitch. She's amazing. She knows everything. It's like she's on fire. She can keep up, you know?"
"She's your girlfriend?"
Silence.
"Logan?"
"We broke up," he says. "Been a few months now. She doesn't want me, I guess. And I don't blame her. Just fuck. I know I don't deserve her. She saw me for who I was, and couldn't take it. I'm not a good guy, you know. I'm awful. I'm terrible for her - terrible in general. I fuck everything up and can't do one goddamn single thing right."
"Logan?"
"Yes?"
"How did you go from experiencing a break-up, something fairly typical and common place, to being a terrible person who can't do a single thing right?"
"Hm."
"Yes. See, this is what I was talking about when I mentioned Cognitive Therapy to you. It's about monitoring the direction of your thoughts. It's about identifying problematic ways of thinking and shifting to a new, healthier perspective. We'll talk about that more at our next session."
"Sure, doc."
"I'm writing you up a referral for a psychiatrist. I'm afraid that right now your episodes, left unmanaged, are potentially harmful to yourself and others; and I highly recommend drug therapy. But Logan, meds aren't the only answer. They can help you find a little bit of peace, help you catch your breath a little, but they're not the be-all, end-all. I don't want you to stop seeing me."
"I wouldn't miss our dates for anything."
"One more thing, Logan. If the doctor prescribes you benzodiazepines, like Valium or Xanax, for example - I urge you to tell him about your personal history of substance and alcohol abuse as well as your family history. Those drugs can be highly addictive."
"You do realize that now I'm totally going to make sure he prescribes me those, right?" Logan says, smiling as he stands up to leave.
"See you next time," says Dr. Lida.
#
Two weeks after seeing the psychiatrist, Logan asks Dr. Milton for another prescription of Xanax. The good doctor says no. Dr. Lida told him this would happen.
Logan doesn't sleep for forty-three hours.
#
Bipolar and Loved Ones
Having bipolar means hurting the ones you love. It means lashing out. It means wishing them dead. It means screaming and sometimes hitting and slamming doors and ripping the sheets off the bed and staying out all night, making friends worry.
"Logan? Where the hell are you? Are you okay?"
"Ronnie?" you ask, "That you? Shit yeah, it's you!"
"Are you fucked up?"
"Umm, yes?"
"Tell me where you are so I can come get you."
"Nooo. No bitches allowed."
"I'm not kidding, Logan. Tell me where you are."
But you've already hung up.
#
"Who's the real me?" Logan says. It's been six weeks since he first saw Dr. Lida, three weeks since he's been on the meds that the psychiatrist prescribed him. He leans forward in the leather chair, his elbows on his knees, his eyes frantic and searching. "What's the bipolar and what's me?"
"Who do you want to be, Logan?"
"What do you mean?"
"Now is a good time to start making some goals. Think about your behaviors. What about yourself do you like? What do you do that you like?"
Logan bounces his foot up and down and looks at the ceiling, trying to slow his thoughts down, to get a handle on things. He has already noticed more clarity in the way his brain functions, and the Adderall his psychiatrist added to his medications helps him brings order to his pattern of thinking.
"I'm funny," he says, "I guess I like that."
"Try to think about things in terms of actions," Dr. Lida encourages. Logan isn't really sure why she can't write him the 'scrips for his drugs. He doesn't understand a system that forces him to pay some blow hard on the other side of town who doesn't give a fuck about him just so he can get the medicine he needs (wants?).
"I tell good jokes," Logan says.
"That you do," Dr. Lida says. "Go on."
"I surf well. I usually give pretty thoughtful gifts. When I go to class I tend to do pretty well. I've never written a paper that I didn't get an A on."
"Now what are some of your behaviors that you're less fond of, that have made you unhappy?"
"That's much easier," Logan says, laughing. "Let's see. I drink too much. I tend to make rash decisions that often don't turn out well. I skip class. I sleep with bitches I don't care about."
"So then let's think of these things in terms of goals," Dr. Lida says. "This week I want you to think of ways you can try to increase the positive behaviors in your life. Make a list. Also think about one negative behavior in particular that's been affecting your life for the worse. What are some subtle changes you can make to reduce that behavior? For example, maybe you decide to take fewer credits so that you can really focus on a few classes. Or maybe you decide to go surfing instead of clubbing and drinking. It's all about what you want."
"All I want is to be fine," Logan says.
"You will be," she says. "You will be."
#
Evening falls so hard.
Simon and Garfunkel?
When he's like this he can't get up, let alone remember who sings what.
#
"You missed your appointment last week." Dr. Lida's voice is informative and observatory, never critical. Logan takes one of the chocolate Kisses out of the bowl on her desk and takes a seat in his chair.
"Sorry," he says, removing his jean jacket and laying it across his lap.
"How is everything?" Dr. Lida sits across from him in a pants suit, her legs crossed.
"Bad."
She nods. "You came here today. Are you feeling better now than you did this time last week?"
Logan shrugs. "Maybe a little bit. I got up today. That's something."
"Do you have some sort of support network?" Dr. Lida asks. She tugs a strand of hair behind her ear, and the movement reminds Logan so much of Veronica. It's been awhile since he's talked to her, even seen her.
"My roommate's cool," Logan says.
"Dick?"
"Yeah."
"And how does he help you cope with your more negative behaviors?"
"Doesn't."
"Do you have some other friends that you could hang out with in addition to Dick, some that might encourage your more positive behaviors? Some people that might help rather than hurt you when things get particularly unmanageable?"
"I don't know," Logan says. It's the truth. Sometimes he's quick to say that he has no one. His parents have passed on (what a euphemism), and Trina is M.I.A., but that's basically par for the course. There are people, though, maybe.
"Can you give it a try?" Dr. Lida asks.
"I always try," Logan says.
#
That night, Logan sees a movie with Veronica and Mac. It's the first time he's seen either of them in awhile, and the only way he can describe his feelings regarding the reunion is disjointed. He shaves, washes his hair, wears some nice enough clothes. He smiles kindly when he sees them.
Veronica smiles, too, but Logan can tell she's faking it. She's apprehensive, scared, and Logan wants to call her a bitch who has no business judging him, not business being frightened of him, lil' old him. He wants to walk away right then, leave her wondering, all just out of spite. To have her chase after him would be so beautiful and perfect.
He does none of these things, though. He knows better, can stop himself before he says something he'd rather not.
"Where you been, stranger?" she says, hugging him tightly. Her smell is citrus and spice and sweetness and -
"You know."
"I don't know," she says. "And you know that's killing me. At any rate, I'm glad you called."
"Me, too," Mac says, and her hair has a streak of purple now. Her smile is genuine. She's probably the one that convinced Veronica to come at all.
"I like your hair," Logan says.
"Veronica picked out the color."
"Well, she has good taste then."
They make easy chatter as they wait in line to buy tickets for the show. As they talk and move forward, Veronica lightens up. Logan feels his own tension easing as their conversation begins to flow more naturally.
It's a good enough night, not spectacular. Veronica says, "Call me. Let's do this again," and Logan is pretty sure she really means it.
#
Finding Peace with Your Disorder
"Bipolar affects sufferers for the span of their adult life and cannot be cured, but with medicine and therapy, those with bipolar disorder can lead a full and happy life."
A full and happy life is:
Amy's ice cream.
Friends who ride shot gun, cheering you on in your madness.
Friends who take your keys and refuse to give them back.
Fast cars with loud engines.
Writing bad poetry.
Adderall and Tegretol and Dr. Lida and Veronica and Mac and this guy named Mark who sits next to him in his creative writing workshop.
And everything's alright.
For now.