Mental Health x Criminal Minds

SH- S.R

"Hey y/n!" Spencer's voice echoed throughout your quiet apartment. You hadn't gone to work today, truth be told, in the last few days because you had been feeling down. You didn't even know why but you just had this overwhelming sense of sadness that washed over you.

"I brought some food in case you were hungry.
Oh and a book from my apartment! I know how much you-" He paused when he saw you in a hoodie. "Aren't you hot? It's like 80 degrees out."

The apartment wasn't air conditioned either. That was the first thing Spencer noticed when he walked in, he just brushed it aside.

"I'm fine." You got up from the couch and tried walking away when he grabbed your wrist. You slightly hissed and he immediately retracted his hand. You pulled your hand to your chest and started to rub it.

"Hey." He took a step closer to you. You sighed and walked back to the couch knowing Spencer wouldn't let this go. Not this time.

Spencer had a guess with what was happening. He noticed your wanting to be alone recently, pushing the team away, your sudden mood swings, everything. He promised he wouldn't profile you but he couldn't contain himself, especially if it included you hurting yourself. He didn't want to be the one to jump to conclusions so he would patiently wait for you to open up.

He trailed closely behind you and you sat criss cross on one end of the couch. He copied you, sitting on the opposite end and facing you in the middle. You placed your hands in your lap and waited a few moments before speaking.

"I'm sorry." You muttered.

"Hey." His voice was softened and toned down. "Whatever it is, you know you can tell me. I-I'm not pressuring you but just know I'm right here."

You curled your lip before slowly rolling up your sleeves, exposing the fresh cuts. Your eyes watered and they flicked up to Spencer.

He didn't look away and he wasn't disgusted. His eyes were sad. He wasn't disappointed in you, he just wanted to understand why, understand how to help you.

"I was just hurting an-and I don't know. My mind was a mess. I found a razor...now my body is a mess. I-" He scooted closer and slowly reached his hands out and raised his eyebrows. You hesitantly nodded, not entirely sure what his plan was.

He ever-so lightly grabbed your wrists and brought them to his lap. He lightly swiped his thumb over the fresh cuts and you tried your best to hide your quiet winces and groans.

After a few moments of tracing them, he brought his lips to your wrists and softly kissed each cut. You bit your lip and started to cry. You looked up and met his glassy eyes.

"Please don't do this y/n, not anymore. You have me. If you ever feel like this again and I'm not here, you call me, text me, anything. I'll drop everything and come over. I love you." He brought one hand up and cupped your cheek, wiping your tears away.

"It's so hard Spence..." You sighed, leaning into his touch.

"I know you might be hurting right now but darling, it will get better. One day, the frown on your face will turn to a smile. One day, your tears of sadness will turn into tears of happiness. You might feel like your life is falling apart, but honey it's only the beginning. All you need is a brand new start."

It was true. Cutting to you was your only escape, your way of 'feeling' again. Never too deep, never enough to die. But enough to feel the pain. Enough to feel the scream inside.

But what you hadn't realized was you didn't need it. You never realized it but you had someone who was willing to drop everything for you, you always had someone in the corner you backed yourself into, Spencer. He was always there, always one call away.

Spencer knew what it was like to feel helpless, scared, alone. When he went through his addiction with Dilaudid, he knew how important it was for the person to know that they weren't alone. Some things aren't meant for one person to tackle alone. We're stronger in numbers.

Self harming is addicting.

You cut because you're angry, frustrated, sad, desperate. But then you start cutting even without a reason. You stop looking for one. You only want to feel the pain, to see the blood, to have a scar.

You leaned forward and hugged him tightly. He rubbed your back soothingly and nuzzled his head into your shoulder.

"Don't leave me." You whispered.

"Never darling." He muttered back.

You started breaking down, finally feeling safe and protected in his arms. You felt safe enough to confide in him. He didn't push you away or give you some therapist's number and ditched you, he listened.

Spencer slowly sunk down on the couch, pulling you with him and never letting go of the embrace so you could lay on him. He found a pillow and placed it behind his head against the armrest and hugged you tighter.

"You're okay, I'm here." He repeated, stroking your hair and quietly whispering in your ear.

You squeezed him tighter and rested your head right below his chin. He looked down every so often and placed a kiss to the top of your head. He counted in between your ragged breaths until they evened out, then he smiled.

Before you drifted off you heard him mutter, "I'll never let anything happen to you. I love you too much."

And like Spencer was, he kept his promise.

You did end up going to a few therapy sessions so someone who was trained professionally could answer your questions. Granted Spencer knew a lot about well, everything, he wanted to make sure you were okay and got the help you deserved. You slowly opened up more about your past and felt safely doing so.

Our approach to curing mental illness had been wrong for so long-speaking to the conscious mind when it was the one underneath that needed to talk.

People should tell stories about the monsters being in cages, trees standing tall and strong with protective branches from a terrible wind, blue skies with brilliant shafts of white light. We need to talk to the subconscious in the language of dreams-soothing the entire mind all at once.

______________________________

"Sometimes you've got to fall before you fly."

-Prakhar Sahay