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TW:
- Mentions of anxiety
- In-depth description of a panic attack
- Mention of depression
A/N:
There's gonna be some perspective switches, also this is *at least* a two parter.
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Y O U R P O V
Everyday was beginning to become harder than the last. It wasn't really the dead bodies on the case files or the in-depth descriptions of said mutilated bodies that was getting to you. No, your problem was how fast your thoughts had begun to spin around your head. You hadn't had terrible panic attacks anymore, the buzzing had died down when you got help. But for some reason, your head felt like a beehive with all its worker bees buzzing away to fill your thoughts.
You'd always struggled with anxiety and depression in your life, your teenage years being especially difficult. You began to purposefully keep yourself up at night, making sure you were really tired the rest of the next day, so that when you got the usual inquiry about how you're doing, you could just take the easy way out and say you didn't get much sleep. You didn't have anything in your life to be depressed about, that was your problem. You lived in a nice house with loving parents. You had about everything a teenage girl could want at the time, so why did you have this gaping hole inside of you, eating away at your soul. Your depression mixed with your anxiety was a constant push pull for your psyche. You'd been getting help since the sixth grade, slowly but surely calming your brain down.
You kept on struggling a bit, but it was less prevalent since you got the help you needed. You worked your way all the way to the FBI, joining the BAU when you were 29. The best thing for you, though, was your boyfriend, Spencer. You started dating each other a few months after you'd joined the Bureau. He was your rock, your anchor. You never felt anxious around him, and if you were having a depressing day, he was right there to pull you into a soft hug. What calmed you down the most was when you would play with each other's hair as he held you in bed. His hair was shaggy and curly and so, incredibly soft – perfect for running your hands through.
It wasn't until recently when you had become hyper aware of how much you'd ask of Spencer. You don't know what set it off, but one day you realized how much Spencer had done for you, and how little you'd done for him.
One night, you were laying in bed, your head atop Spencer's chest while his left arm softly stroked your back, and his right arm playing with your hair. You were drawing random shapes on his stomach with your fingers as the two of you laid in silence, listening to the rain patter against the window.
"Whatcha thinking about?" You could feel a vibration through Spencer's chest as he softly spoke. "What do you mean?" You picked your head up off his chest to look him in the eyes. "You draw shapes with your fingers on me when you're deep in thought." You looked surprised. You didn't even know you did that. "I-is that something I do often...?" He chuckled, "All the time, angel." Great, you had a tell and you didn't even realize. "So, what's on your mind?" You'd never, not once in your relationship, hesitated to spill your guts to Spencer; but, for absolutely no reason at all, you found yourself unable to say anything. It was like every thought you'd ever had clogged your cerebrum, rendering you speechless. There was nothing to say, yet there was everything to say.
