Welcome to Will to Live, a RP set in the fictional town of Monroeville, Maine. Orginally a small fishing village turned college town turned tourist trap, long-time locals are now outnumbered by newcomers in their ever-expanding hometown. Plots are primarily member-driven, with a wide range of interesting and diverse characters to interact with. Feel free to jump right in; fresh perspectives and ideas are always welcome.

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Born: 12 July 1997
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OoC Member Name: Taylor
Age: 20
Occupation: Biology / Criminology Major, Sophomore, & Waiter at Bernard's
Profile: http://willtolive2.b1.jcink.com/index.php?showtopic=2777
Joined: 27-June 16
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Local Time: Feb 20 2018, 03:08 PM
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Parker Emery

MC Student

My Content
Jan 28 2018, 08:39 PM

{ involuntary hospitalization, suicide attempt, self harm, dissociation, alcoholism, etc. }

Parker wakes up in pain, his whole body aching. There's a pounding behind his eyes and dryness down his throat that makes it difficult to swallow. He feels thin sheets over his frame, he's cold, and when he shifts there's this violent pulse of pain that shoots all the way up his arm and to his shoulder.

(The last thing he remembers before this moment is staring up into the bright florescent lights of the emergency room ceiling, trying desperately to keep the colored spots fixed permanently in his vision. Wanting to rise up through the shapes behind his closing eyes, part of him hoping there wouldn't just be darkness on the other side. There were voices too, impatient with his inability to respond. He remembers his phone buzzing and buzzing and buzzing in his pocket, the blood on his hands, vomit on his shoes.)

Letting out a soft groan, Parker tries to sit himself up on the thin mattress to look around the dim room, light spilling in through a door cracked open and leading into a brightly lit hallway beyond. There's another bed set up across the room with a sleeping body under the sheets, a thicker blanket also thrown over their form. Parker can feel his heart pick up, fear and uncertainty and frustration gripping him as he takes in the fact that he's dressed in a hospital gown without any of his belongings. His right forearm is bandaged up, stiff and painful in a way he doesn't recognize.

Parker doesn't move from his spot, just staring down at himself numbly until a nurse pops her head in, making her nightly rounds. He thinks he hears her say that she's glad to see him awake, that in the morning he can speak to a doctor, but his mind is so clouded and far away he's not even sure this is real.

Beyond that last memory, the rest of the events leading up to this are a blur. He has his guesses though.

Curling himself back under the sheets as the nurse goes off to check the next rooms, he feels like a deep pit has been dug out of his chest. He's felt worse than he has in a long time, sure, relapsed in more ways than one, but he didn't want this. After his previous failed attempts on his own life years before he didn't think he'd actually have it in him to try again. Especially when blacked out.

It isn't until his brief (and rather poor) meeting with the doctor a few hours later that Parker is struck with major concern over what his friends might know. Or if he's just disappeared.

If they even care.

When he's told the news that he's going to be under observation for at least a few days, it sends Parker into a enough of a panic that he's forcibly medicated to calm down. He sleeps the rest of the day except for when he's led out for meals, feeling more shaky and sweaty and ill the more time passes. He recognizes some of it as withdrawal, but it's so much worse than he's ever felt it before.

In the evening he meets with a different doctor to discuss medications, and it's the first time anyone's told Parker that he came in with alcohol poisoning. Confronted with a conversation about his alcoholism, this time he just shuts down. He thinks of his mother, everything she told him about the times she was hospitalized, and he's seized with this fear about what's going to happen to him. He can't bring himself to open up to the doctor or to any of the nurses, he's sullen and withdrawn and he knows it's not helping him get out of here.

It's only after Parker's finally agreed to sit in on a group therapy session later the next day that he's given access to a phone. He calls Carrie first, his voice cracking before he can finish getting out his apologies to her. As hard as he tries to keep it together, he can't and the panic comes back just like before. He asks if she can bring him clothes, if she can tell Adlai, and he says so many times how scared he is. By the time the nurses take the phone from him he's medicated again and sent back to rest until his one-on-one session after visiting hours.
Nov 20 2017, 01:23 AM
To get you out of your head
And into your heart

Parker Emery & Carrington Haigh

Contact: Care 💖
Time: 08/31/17, 10:13 pm
    sorry i didnt see your text from earlier iwas at work. howre things going?
Contact: Care 💖
Time: 08/31/17, 10:13 pm
    okay i hope?
Contact: Care 💖
Time: 08/31/17, 10:15 pm
    love u
Sep 16 2017, 05:47 PM

In his newer used car that he finally got signed to his name last week, Parker makes his way over to the UMM dorms after exchanging a few texts with Adlai and letting Carrie know he'll be spending the day with Adlai for his birthday. In the passenger seat is a paper grocery bag with two bottles of kosher wine (different than the one they had last winter together) and a couple of honey-crumb cakes that the store clerk in Jonesport also told him were kosher.

He sends Adlai another text once he parks his car, and then makes his way towards the dorm building, bag in hand. He waits around the entrance for less than a minute when Adlai opens it to let him in.

"Hey, happy birthday," he says with a warm smile as he steps in.
Aug 5 2017, 03:19 PM
when im alone with you
Carrington Haigh & Parker Emery
    Setting: At the PBP house in the early part of summer. Parker's stopped by a little while before work to spend time with Carrie but also... to get some help covering the just visible hickey peeking out from the collar of his work shirt.
*sitting on her bed* "Lorenzo told me putting a cold spoon on the spot helps? If it doesn't, I dunno, do you have make-up that could cover it?"
Jul 15 2017, 09:00 PM
and i can smell the sentiment on your breath
TB Degawa
#homelessness #religion/religious imagery

This time last year Parker was driving his car from New York to Maine, just a few days after his mother’s birthday in what turned out to be a much harder drive emotionally than he anticipated it would be, unintentionally drawing it out into a two day trip. He remembers where he parked his car to sleep the first night he got into town, and the general areas where he continued to do the same for several more nights until the man that owns the pottery shop let him crash on his couch. Not long after, the summer dorms opened up for early move-in, and it was the first time in over a year that he wasn’t living out of his suitcase with most of his belongings hidden away in his car.

He didn’t expect the timing of these events to impact him as much as they did, didn’t want to remember it being as bad as it was, but recently his bad dreams have started turning back into night terrors. Last night the devil spoke through the flaming image of the parish priest he remembers from his first year of primary school, and upon waking up this morning he was struck by a high fever that a cold shower did nothing to help.

It’s a strange sort of hopelessness that brings him to one of Catholic churches in town about an hour or so later.

(He doesn’t want comfort from this.)

And (so) it’s an even stranger, uneasy disappointment that drives him to rush out of the service early, too overwhelmed to bear it any longer. He’s not sure why he expected anything else.

Parker struggles to calm his breath as he quickly makes his way around to the back parking lot of the building where Carrie’s car is, briefly pausing when he comes across a pair of dumpsters. Reaching his hands up to his neck, Parker roughly pulls off his cross necklace and throws it hard into one of the dumpsters, making a loud noise as it ricochets off the metal interior and then impacts into something solid. He continues walking.

(If only it were that easy to rid himself of this.)

Parker slams the car door closed after he slides into the front seat, gripping the steering wheel tightly and leaning forward with a frustrated sigh as he rests his forehead against his hands. He feels even more pissed off at himself over the necklace. Hating that he stole it before leaving, that he’s held onto it for so long, that he’s worn it so often like it means anything to him. He hates that he knows he needs to go back for it, too, that it means more than he’d like to admit. So the car door swings opens again as Parker reluctantly steps out, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it once he’s closed the door and started walking back towards the church.

“This is such fuckin’ bullshite,” he mutters to himself, ashing off the end of his cigarette and holding it between his lips again as he approaches the dumpster. He grabs onto the side so he can hoist himself up to start looking, but the moment he does he’s met with a face and he just about jumps out of his skin as he startles and backs up, dropping his cigarette onto the ground-- "Fuckin' hell!"
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