![]() Normally this would be the time he would turn around to rest his head against his chest so that Peter would run his hands through his hair as the fell asleep, but today he laid still praying that he wouldn’t get another coughing fit while he laid in Peter’s arms. “Let’s try to get some rest then, sweetheart.” Peter whispered against his neck, flinging his arm around his waist. Peter walked over to his side of the bed and slide underneath the sheets, curling himself against Stiles’ back. He shook his head, sinking deeper underneath the blanket. “Do you want to try to eat some of this soup?” “Did you take any medicine for the fever?” Peter traced Stiles’ hair line, moving a stray piece of hair away from his eyes. He wanted to reach out and trace it as Peter sat beside him, but he stopped himself, clutching his hands to his chest. Peter would wear sharp, demanding or demeaning smiles for the rest of the world, but for Stiles he wore one’s full of affection and love. Stiles loved that smile it was only meant for Stiles. He watched as Peter walked in with an oversized mug of soup and a soft smile. His body hurt, his throat was on fire, his soul was tired, and worst of all, his heart felt mangled. He wrapped his arms around himself and gave into the urge to curl into a fetal position. He had to give it to Peter he had amazing taste in bed linen. He crept out of the bathroom and into their bedroom, burying himself under the heavy comforter. He buried the bag underneath the rest of the trash piled in the trash can, gagging the whole time before washing his hands raw and then his face. He yanked open a draw and pulled out a trash bag, throwing the rag into it and then grabbed another to wrap around it hoping that the double layer would keep the scent of blood away from Peter’s nose. Stiles whirled around after he heard Peter’s soft footsteps walking away. Peter hated being reminded that Stiles was human, and that there were things he wouldn’t be able to protect him from. Normally there would be an edge of innuendo to those words, but right now he only heard worry. “Okay, how about I get some soup started and I’ll meet you in the bedroom.” ![]() “You know I love you no matter what.” Peter’s soft voice eventually sounded through the door. Please, Stiles silently begged, please go. There was a pause as Stiles leaned his fevered head against the cool door. You can’t miss work because I’m a human with human sicknesses.” Stiles stopped another sob from slipping out. “I am not going to work while my husband is sick.” “No!” Stiles cried, quickly looking around for a spot to stash the rag. This time instead of stifling a cough he brought his hand up to stifle a sob he couldn’t contain. Innocently staring back at Stiles were three pink flower petals and a dab of blood. He looked down at the rag, finally able to catch his breath, but the tremors wrecking his body didn’t stop. Stiles coughed into a rag, trying to muffle the sound as much as he could. Simon Russell Beale brings the voice of Robert Burton to life with extracts from The Anatomy of Melancholy.“Stiles?” Peter’s voice sounded through the thick bathroom door that Stiles was currently huddled against. In this episode, Henry offers the poem New Every Morning by Susan Coolidge. But he also knew that this ‘solitary, sedentary’ occupation was a major risk factor for the blues.Īmy speaks to Professor Anne Duffy from Queen’s University, Kingston, Ontario, about the latest research into student mental health, and hears from Henry and Emma, PhD students who have both overcome struggles with anxiety and low mood to find a study-life-balance that works for them.Īs Burton drew on the writing of others and made a patchwork of texts within his Anatomy of Melancholy, each episode ends with a modern-day contribution for a new and updated Anatomy of Melancholy. In this episode, writer Amy Liptrot grapples with a dilemma close to Robert Burton’s heart - learning as a remedy for melancholy, but also as a cause if pursued ‘overmuch’.Īs a single man living at Christ Church, Oxford, devoted to his scholarly labours on melancholy, Burton knew that the absorption in his subject gave him motivation and purpose. It was the first attempt in the modern western world to understand and categorise causes, symptoms and treatments of that universal human experience. In 1621, Robert Burton published The Anatomy of Melancholy.
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