For all you shatter is our seeming, And in breaking we are free

Written for the following prompt on the kinkmeme: Strictly Gen. I would like to see how shot!Childermass managed to convince Sir Walter that he harbours no ill feelings towards Lady Pole and that he actually has her best interest in mind. Bonus points for selling Mr Segundus as a reliable and respectable person and a kind and caring soul.

Title: To Speak of Trouble
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell (TV)
Characters/Pairings: Walter Pole, John Childermass, Stephen Black, discussion of Emma Pole and John Segundus. Gen.
Summary: Coda to Episode 4. Childermass and Sir Walter have that incredibly painful conversation about what happens to Emma in the aftermath of the shooting.
Wordcount: 5401
Warnings/Notes: Discussion of 19th century mental institutions, horrible moral dilemmas, aftermath of attempted murder, injuries, mercy, hurt/comfort. Also I project a little bit in this fic
Disclaimer: Not mine

RHARGLE FLARGLE POOP!! I NEED WARNING FOR THIS SHIT!!

[Sorry, by the by, for leaving people hanging. The last couple of days have been ... Um. Yes. My apologies, and I'll try get back around soon? I needed to do this first:]

... I keep trying to write this, and it keeps not working. *shrugs* It doesn't coalesce the whole way, doesn't quite ... It's too intrinsic, and therefore too tangled. But. Alright. Lets try this, and limit the aim to being only minimally confusing.

On the subject of pragmatism, and rationality in the face of ... well, everything, but specifically emotional situations.

I've been wondering for a long time if I could explain this in words, if I could put it down, and have it make sense, and have it not be ... stupid, childish ramblings, that kind of thing. I've no idea. I figured I might try.

WARNING, WARNING, WARNING. Triggery things! Bad things, triggery things.

For fuck's sake!

... Forgive the language. *sighs heavily* Sorry.

I think I'm bad at this whole asking-for-help thing. I must be. Every time I go to the initial interview with a mental health professional, I do something wrong. I have to. Otherwise ... I don't know.

I was supposed to get follow-up support for both the Asperger's and the depression after leaving college and moving back home. I was presuming ... hoping ... that that might mean more than just "Here, have some medication, now fuck off and come back in six months". Not in quite those words, of course, but the sentiment ...

Apparently, at some point during the two years I can't remember, I was given an appointment with one of their psychologists, which I then never showed up for. I ... didn't know this. I tried to explain that I sort of, you know, have two years or so of missing memory, so I don't know why I missed that appointment, and, um ... Which got me a blank look and a "Why don't you remember?", and then a sort of nod and an appointment for April two-thousand-fucking-twelve. I'm really sort of hoping that the impression given of "you didn't want us then, so you can't have us now" is just me being paranoid and pissy.

*sighs* I don't know what I do wrong. I don't know what you're supposed to do, except answer the questions asked, and ... hope they think you're good enough to help. *sighs*

*waves hand* Never mind me. I'm ... pissy, and disappointed, and wishing I could figure out what I did wrong, and also what just happened, and ... Oh, never mind.

I'm bad at this. I must be.

Also? Apologies that the first thing I say in weeks is complaining about Ireland's mental health care. *ducks* I know, I know. Sorry, everyone.

Something coming out of discussions I've been having lately, both academic and personal. The exercising of power through surveillance and the creation of standards, and why it scares the crap out of me sometimes. Quite personal, in viewpoint, I will warn you: