In which Remus feels alone so he turns to the internet for comfort which in turn makes him feel worse
165.
178.
Nearly 200.
Remus has a problem. And not just a disorder of the autonomic nervous system. Sure he’s chronically ill but he’s also turning into something referred to as ‘chronically online’. He’s spent days doing nothing but lying in bed switching from app to app. Moving from tiktok, to instagram to Ao3 and then starting over. He’s searched everything; seriously everything. His phone was beginning to look a bit like this:
POTS
POTS heart rate
Tachycardia
POTS symptoms
Pots again (he stopped capitalizing it at some point)
Pots passing out spell
Brachycardia
Pots at the gym
Working out with Pots
Holidays with Pots
Chronically ill
Chronically ill teen
Chronically ill at school
Pots at school
Pots
Pots vent
Chronically ill vent
Disabled
Invisible disabilities
Interabled Couples (not that him and Sirius we’re even close to being anything like that)
Mobility aid user
Wheelchair user
Do I need a wheelchair?
Where to buy a wheelchair?
Where to buy a second hand wheelchair?
Pots
Okay, a lot like this. It was becoming a problem and Remus was in dire need of intervention. Not that anyone could help, not that anyone even knew. As far as they were concerned; Sirius, especially Remus, was “handling it well”. He sure doesn’t feel like he’s handling it let alone handling it well but that’s besides the point.
It’s 4 am, that could be a lie Remus has lost all interest in checking the time. He’s lost interest in just about everything actually. He’s been on his phone long enough that the tiktok one hour alert has gone off twenty seven times – more or less; he’s given up on counting too. He’s given up on a lot of things.
He thinks he should be bored by now but if anything he's just tired. Tired of watching the same videos over and over most of which are from 2021-2022. There are certain content creators that he follows almost religiously Zara Beth (zeezee25), & Alison Tennyson (microcatmachine) who actually post new content which he slightly enjoys. But that doesn't stop the doubt and anger from creeping into his heart.
‘Comparison is the thief of joy’. It's a simple proverb that Minnie used to tell him some years ago. It's not that he hadn’t believed it before it just was simply one of those things that didn't apply to him. Until now that is. Nowadays Remus spends his mornings, afternoons, evenings, dusks and dawns, scrolling, comparing, dying a little bit inside. You know regular teenage boy stuff.
He watches videos about girls who pass out twice a day, with heart rates up to 175 and wonders why his has never ended up that high. He watches dumb challenges of people standing up and down to the beat of some Burham song. He tries it himself but all he achieves is a sharp pain in his chest and a headache.
And it's not that he hasn't passed out before. It's happened once, but that's the thing it's only ever happened once. If he really does have POTS how come he's so different from the people he sees online?
For a second he considers It may be his gender taking a play, after all POTS is more common in women than it is men but the tight binder that constructs his chest quickly puts that line of thinking to rest.
Maybe he's faking. Maybe he isn't sick. Maybe he's just lazy and wants attention. The line of thinking starts before he can stop it, by now it's taken to the soil, its roots growing tight around his heart. That would explain the chest pain.
Remus spends weeks doing research trying to find out what's wrong with him, afterall the only diagnosis he truly got was a singular episode of syncope and a long conversation with a sweet old woman who suggested he might have POTS. So what he’s been sick for months and most if not all of the symptoms line up with what he’s dealing with? He might just be making it up. He might be crazy. He might be broken.
Rationally Remus knows the likeliness of him having POTS is way above 60%, but that doesn’t stop the doubt from creeping up his spine and into his ears. It’s like a wolf of some kind, if it were made of shadows, filling him with doubts so it can feast on him later. A future that he finds himself not being all opposed to. Afterall death would be better than this.
He sets down his phone for the first time in days, and stands. The blood rushes down to his feet pooling and once again he’s lightheaded but he ignores it. It’s probably just all in his head anyway. Besides if he checked his heartbeat it’s probably at 100 or something the “normal range” despite the fact that his heart rate was 64 before standing which is more than a 30 beat jump making him eligible for POTS criteria. But Remus won’ think of that. Instead for a couple of days he’ll pretend everything’s fine. He’ll pretend that he’s normal. He’ll go about his day to day activity, playing pranks and going back to school. He'll ignore all his symptoms until they pile up too high and spill over causing him to have what looks to his friends like a seizure. He’ll end up in the hospital, bored and alone once visiting hours are over and using the phone the rest of the marauders used to sneak past security he’ll turn back to his old friend.
It’s a toxic cycle he knows that, he just doesn’t know how to make it end. He’s not even sure he wants it to. The anonymous comments he leaves bring him comfort. The 2 or 3 likes, letting him know that there are other people out there who feel what he’s feeling. They validate him only temporarily before the doubt creeps in, but he’s okay with that. Afterall anything is better than nothing, right?