[crona.]

Due to an incident involving the local pool, Rize is extremely unhealthy. He's reached a point where anxiety rules his life, his relationships, and his mind. He fears the worst of the worst, and even hallucinated at one point. He used to be a very ecstatic, jumpy boy, but he was trigger-happy. His quick attitude left him at the bottom of a pool with no supervision. Lucky he didn't suffer any brain damage, he thinks every little thing will fall and snap his bones. He goes hysterical if you move anything in his apartment, as he's a believer in the butterfly effect.
Rize yearns for someone that understands him, and feels what he does. The problem is, people like him are terrified of others, more or less themselves. Rize had a near-death experience at a young age, nearly drowning in a pool. Since then, he's been absolutely horrified by water. Everything stresses him, even the small things. He has his coping mechanisms, but he's worried he has to go to therapy to repair his loss at relationships and growth.
His family worries for him. They think he's gone into a realm of insanity, some kind of relapse so terrible from such a simple event at the pool. He's blown everything out of proportion, has no sense of reality. They want him to get on meds and go the a specialist in his area of psychotic breakdowns. Each dinner begins a debate of weather or not they should call someone behind his back or send him to a home for treatment. Dinner is no longer an enjoyable time of settlement.
Rize started keeping a journal to Tracy each object that moves without help from his hands. He immediately began pouring swathes or emotion and his character into it, and even made some doodles. They weren't the highest quality, some sketchy, shaky jittered lines wobbled drunkenly throughout the page, but it improved as he continued.

Some of the excerpts were completely illegible.
The handwriting got so shaky on some topics
it was handwriting. It was doodle snakes
fighting a war with some squiggle aliens,
and a ferocious bear curling around an
underground pipeline. The deliberate crosses in his 't'
or the questionable dot in his 'i' made a malfunctioning
constellation, arguably the best kind of star collection.
Soon he was writing grocery lists and recipes for soup,
which commonly turned into recipes for disaster. Shaky
hands can cause ruin and bliss, though typically not the
latter.

"Dear, well, not dear, as you aren't real yet. So, a
letter to future me. Please make sure you check
the fridge. Nothing is allowed to go past expiration
date. I shan't risk a food poisoning. And do
disposing of it properly, in two paper bags, then a
trash bag, twist-tied shut. I wont let any mold or
fungus fester in my bin, only to mold my lungs
into a carrier for the next outbreak. I will not
let my body be a harbour."