(Eddie watches Will with a newfound intensity. IT had functioned differently. It could fuck with your head too in certain ways. Would remind you exactly what there was to be so afraid of in this big, endless world. But Eddie hadn't synced up with it quite like that.
He scoots across the space between them until his legs are scrunched up against Will's side. It gets him thinking. And he realizes this is one of those Big Moments. He can't fuck it up, no matter how bad his anxiety was, and he takes his time thinking.)
No...I'm not...(This is something he's never confessed before, so it takes him sometime.
He rests a hand on Will's arm and pulls him apart, pulls his arm away so that he could hold his hand. It was instinctual for Eddie. From how he's spent time with Bill over these kind of things.)
I'm tangled up in myself though. And my mom. A lot of people say they always hear their parents or their own voices in their head but...Sometimes I think she's standing right behind me. It's a voice like that. It's real. And other times, I start thinking real- real bad. Like I'll lay in bed and be convinced for an hour that I'm a cancer patient and I can feel all my organs shutting down and that I can feel my whole body growing thin til nothings left.
(He wants to...to stress that this isn't just a childish imagination. It isn't.)
It's so bad that sometimes I swear I can smell the medicine even.
(He bites at the inside of his cheek.)
So maybe it isn't the same thing as being tangled in a monster. But it's being tangled up in something you can't get away from...But I think the thing is that there's a tangle at all.
(He pulls at Will's hand, leaning forward to look up at his face.)
If it was just smooth sailing, then yeah, you'd be a monster. But I think that tangle being there means this isn't something right inside of you- something that shouldn't be there. It's like...It's like a virus, Will. When you're sick and puking up, do you look back later and think it was you that was making you puke or do you think it's the virus that made you puke?
Maybe the monster did awful things while it was in you- but that's the thing. It was in you- not the other way around. That's like blaming a car for a person crashing it into a tree. Maybe the car coulda had better tires or a better engine or better brakes- but it was still the person who decided to take it for a spin. Your tangle is the most human part about you. And it's okay if you can't...see where you end and the monster begins. Picture it like colors. Maybe you have two really similar reds and if they're together, you'd have to squint real hard to see the difference. But back up, and suddenly it's really obvious what is or isn't different.
no subject
He scoots across the space between them until his legs are scrunched up against Will's side. It gets him thinking. And he realizes this is one of those Big Moments. He can't fuck it up, no matter how bad his anxiety was, and he takes his time thinking.)
No...I'm not...(This is something he's never confessed before, so it takes him sometime.
He rests a hand on Will's arm and pulls him apart, pulls his arm away so that he could hold his hand. It was instinctual for Eddie. From how he's spent time with Bill over these kind of things.)
I'm tangled up in myself though. And my mom. A lot of people say they always hear their parents or their own voices in their head but...Sometimes I think she's standing right behind me. It's a voice like that. It's real. And other times, I start thinking real- real bad. Like I'll lay in bed and be convinced for an hour that I'm a cancer patient and I can feel all my organs shutting down and that I can feel my whole body growing thin til nothings left.
(He wants to...to stress that this isn't just a childish imagination. It isn't.)
It's so bad that sometimes I swear I can smell the medicine even.
(He bites at the inside of his cheek.)
So maybe it isn't the same thing as being tangled in a monster. But it's being tangled up in something you can't get away from...But I think the thing is that there's a tangle at all.
(He pulls at Will's hand, leaning forward to look up at his face.)
If it was just smooth sailing, then yeah, you'd be a monster. But I think that tangle being there means this isn't something right inside of you- something that shouldn't be there. It's like...It's like a virus, Will. When you're sick and puking up, do you look back later and think it was you that was making you puke or do you think it's the virus that made you puke?
Maybe the monster did awful things while it was in you- but that's the thing. It was in you- not the other way around. That's like blaming a car for a person crashing it into a tree. Maybe the car coulda had better tires or a better engine or better brakes- but it was still the person who decided to take it for a spin. Your tangle is the most human part about you. And it's okay if you can't...see where you end and the monster begins. Picture it like colors. Maybe you have two really similar reds and if they're together, you'd have to squint real hard to see the difference. But back up, and suddenly it's really obvious what is or isn't different.