Give me some advice

Marina absolutely detested the way Basilisk smiled at her. It gave her the chills in all the worst ways, like some sort of malevolent being was toying with her. He seemed satisfied with her actual answer to him. Wait... was he testing her?! That thought irritated Marina more than the thought of him just being plain old stupid did. Narrowed eyes leered daggers up at him until he let her mentagion go, only then did she begin to relax some. She huffed under her breath and rolled her eyes at his ignorance. So he knew about panic attacks but didn't know how to keep them from happening? Yep, that checked out for a sociopathic asshole like him.

"You don't treat them," she explained, exasperation painting her tones as if she were explaining a basic principle to a child. "Trauma responses can't be fixed like a broken bone can. The mind is malleable, fragile. Once it's damaged, sometimes it doesn't heal. The best you can do is keep them away from their triggers and try to mitigate the symptoms when they come back." When, not if, because these issues would never go away. Mental health was not a perfect science, and fixing mental or emotional damage was sometimes just patching wounds rather than fixing them. "I'm not a fucking therapist. I'm a medic. I fix physical injuries and illnesses, not intangible ones." That is to say, there were some medicines that could help with a panic attack, but there was no magic cure like Basilisk was looking for.

"Marina"