[ #RAP32 ]

Garrett is a paranoid, neurotic young man who wants, no, needs everything to be in order. He’s a stickler for order, cleanliness, and often has a panic attack if placed in an excessively dirty, or unorganized space. He’s constantly worried for his own health and well being, even going so far as to quarantine himself from others if someone so much as sneezes in his general direction. He’s not much of a conversationalist, but when he does speak, he’s quiet, polite. He obviously shows effort in keeping what he’d like to stay secret, a secret. Words are chosen carefully. Very carefully. He’s easily scared, and tends to apologize for everything he can, especially if he’s upset someone.

Order
cleanliness
quiet spaces
reading
puzzles
his ram doll
healthy foods

broken routines
junk food
danger
loud noises
angry people

"Childhood? Childhood was normal. Mama, Papa, good house, good life. Life was good. I was even gonna to have a little brother. Nice. Until that one year. What year? Year six. Mama and Papa died. Car crash. I was there. In the back seat. I was little...too little to understand. But there was blood. Lots of blood everywhere. Papa had a metal thing through his head. Mama just sat there, not moving. Police came. Took me away from Mama and Papa. Gave me to people in a house. The grown ups called it a ‘foster care program’. Whatever that was. I moved around lots. Didn’t have the same mama and papa for too long. Sometimes I didn’t have a mama. Sometimes I didn’t have a papa. But I kept coming back. Most times I was just sitting back at that ‘foster care’ house...just staring at walls...reading books. Other kids said I was a weirdo. Called me names. Messed with me because I only talked to my little ram. Fluffy. Fluffy was my best friend. Papa and Mama gave it to me. The other kids said I was too old for dolls. I was fifteen. I didn't care. Keep Fluffy. Fluffy was the only one that loves me."

Garrett had spent the first six years of his life with a loving mother and father. He was doted on, given the attention he'd needed. It seemed like the perfect household. Picket fence, stay at home mom, dad working, even 1.5 kids. But, on Garrett's sixth birthday, he and his parents had gotten into a car crash while on the way to his birthday party. When police had arrived on the scene, neither of Garrett't parents had survived, and Garrett was taken to an orphanage, where he would have spent the next fifteen years moving in and out of from having to switch foster families so often. The only constant thing in his life was the stuffed ram that his parents had given him. It had been the only memento from his parents that he'd been able to keep so he would take it everywhere, consider the thing his best friend. Besides reading and spending time by himself, he only seemed to socialize with adults and his stuffed animal, which had garnered much negative attention from the other children.

"Three years straight in that house. Then I was eighteen and suddenly on my own. I didn't remember my birthday....when is my birthday? I haven't had a birthday in a long, long time. W-Well, I got a job. Things were nice. Good job. Nice friends. I even tried college. But....college was hard. Stressful. Friends told me about something to help. But...bad stuff. ( The people at the clinic call it bad stuff ) I liked it, though. It made me less scared. Friends liked me when I used that stuff. I saw pretty things...sometimes I saw scary things, but it was okay. They'd go away quick. Until the scary things started coming back. I started feeling bad. Worse without using that bad stuff than I'd felt with it. More scary things came around without it. I didn’t want that. It was too scary. So I used more. More, more, more. I couldn’t stop. The bad stuff didn’t help with school like they said it would. School tanked. I was almost penniless. ( Technically still am ) Couldn’t get a job. Always broke. Couldn’t get the bad stuff. Couldn’t see the pretty things. Couldn’t see my friends. Scary things were more real. Kept getting sick."

After he'd turned fifteen, it seemed like no one was willing to take him in any more. He'd been turned loose when he was eighteen. He'd gotten a job, started college, and attempted to assimilate himself into adult society. It was difficult for him, but he'd made a few supportive friends that helped him out with his studies. One day, when the stresses of both college and his job had reached its peak, one of his friends had introduced him to something new. Heroin. His friends had explained that it would help with his stress, help him chill out so he could study better. The feelings and hallucinations he'd seen were so nice that he'd continued using it. But he couldn't stop. Garrett had become addicted to it, and the problems he'd experienced had kept him from his studies, his job. Garrett was fired, and he'd become destitute, unable to make enough money for much more than a few scraps of food and just barely keeping his rent paid. The electricity or water in his apartment had often been turned off. Without access to his drugs, he'd been unable to function. His hallucinations had begun to get worse, and he's continually gotten sick.

"Went to doctor...told me that the bad stuff was bad for me. Sent me to a clinic. They didn’t let me have any of the bad stuff. I got sick lots. Lots of colds. Heart problems. But being away from the bad stuff made me feel better! Though being poor wasn’t fun... I kept going back to using the bad stuff after I got out of that clinic. I had to go back. Three times I had to go back.
It was at the end of the last March that they told me: “Get a hobby, Garrett.” They told me. “If you overdose you’ll die.” I didn’t want to die. No. Death was scary. I didn’t want to die...that much. Routines. I always liked routines. Counting things. Order. Kept me distracted. Kept my mind off of using the bad stuff. None of the bad stuff.
Oh? What was this? A letter for me? For a game? Those words that the people at the clinic told me rattled around in my head head. “Get a hobby, Garrett.” Oh? Maybe...? Maybe I could use this as a hobby? A-And I'd get rich if I won? Maybe I could get the chance to fix myself! Get away from the bad stuff for good! Fuel a hobby! I...I really liked cooking. Maybe I could have more money for food! A clean kitchen! A pretty kitchen! A pretty apartment! Mine is dirty and gross. ( Well, not mine, mine. I kept my own apartment spotless. Clean as a whistle. ) Yes! Yes, I want to play this game. It...sounds fun. Right, Fluffy?"

A visit to the doctor had revealed his addiction to heroin, and he'd been sent to a rehabilitation clinic. During his detox, he'd gotten sick often, his heart seemed to have been weak, as well. But, eventually, Garrett had recovered from his crippling addiction....if he'd only been so strong. It was only a month before Garrett had fallen prey to the call of his vice once again. He'd had to be admitted to a rehab clinic about three more times before he'd been given advice to pick up a hobby, for if he'd attempted to try going back to drug abuse again, the result may have very well been fatal. So, Garrett had immersed himself in keeping things in order. Everything in his home had been alphabetized, organized, and cleaned spotless. Keeping things neat and tidy kept Garrett from thinking about his addiction. He'd been clean for an entire year ( not without several visits to halfway homes in order to curb the cravings that did indeed come along every so often ) when he'd received a letter from a gaming company that asked him to try out a game. The promise of money had intrigued him. He'd figured that maybe...maybe he could be able to stay clean for much longer than just a few months, or even a year. Maybe, he'd be able to stay clean forever. It surely sounded like a good idea to him, which was what caused him to accept his invitation to this new game. He'd try it out, and hopefully...he'd win.

|| Even though he’s 25 still, Garrett carries around a stuffed ram doll that his parents gave him. He considers ‘Fluffy’ his best friend.
|| Garrett suffers from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder
|| He’s a recovering heroin addict.
|| Garrett scares easily. If scared enough, he will actually be unable to speak until calmed down.
|| He’s terrified of odd numbers. He says they’re unlucky. ( This stems from the fact that he’d had to be returned to the rehabilitation clinic on odd-numbered days. He dislikes the clinic. )
|| Garrett has arrhythmia, though it isn’t too bad. He’s not exactly sensitive to his heartbeat until he has a panic attack. He has panic attacks quite easily, though.
|| Garrett doesn't remember his birth date. After the car crash, decided to block out the 'day mama and papa left', thus March 29th is not a day of the year to him.
|| Because of the previous fact, Garrett often forgets how old he is. When he does forget, it usually takes one of his doctors to set him straight.