Flower Boy (BoyxBoy)

viii

Alcohol Abuse
Anorexia Nervosa
Anxiety Disorder
Attention Deficit Disorder
Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder
Autism
Binge Eating Disorder
Bipolar Disorder
Bulimia Nervosa
Depression
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder
Posttraumatic Stress Disorder
Schizophrenia
Tourette's Disorder

Speak to Mr. Moore if you have any other mental illness suggestions or would like to compromise on the point of view of the essay. Size 12, Times New Roman font, must be printed by December 22nd.

**Remember: DON'T force someone to talk to you about their illness for this essay--consensual adults only***

kevin.

"So you have two months to write an essay about someone you know who has a mental illness?"

I release a deep sigh into my coffee cup. "Yep. But I don't know anybody with a mental disorder."

Nat looks at me and hums. "That sucks."

"Tell me about it," I groan.

"I thought Isabel had depression?"

He asks me this while I'm taking a sip of coffee, so I feel like I have to quickly interrupt myself awkwardly as soon as I started. "She went through a period of depression after her brother died, but she wasn't diagnosed because her depression was more of a time of sadness, y'know?"

Nat nods and gulps down the rest of his coffee.

"How's college life for you?" I ask.

He chuckles sharply but doesn't smile. "I'm failing French and Psych, and am barely passing Human Sexuality."

"How are you failing the three easiest classes in the whole world?"

"Listen, Kevin," Nat says.  He sets down his coffee mug and looks at me with a deadly serious stare. "I am trying to balance six classes, all of which take up five days of my week and have at least ten quizzes and six exams every semester. It's like I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing, and I don't know how to fix myself." 

"Right, right," I chuckle awkwardly. "Sorry, didn't mean to make you mad."

"It's fine," Nat sighs, smiling and looking at me with tired eyes. "How's having Psych with the second hottest teacher in our uni?"

"Lame," I groan. "He's such a dick! He literally told me I wasn't fit to become a therapist. In front of the whole classroom."

Nat hums. "How'd that happen?"

"We were talking about if humans were, by nature, good or bad and I, of course, said bad and he's like--" I put on my best Professor Moore voice "--'Oh no, all people are good get corrupted,' which doesn't change the fact that good people are fucking rarities, therefore, are not to be labeled as the norm for human nature and I show him up and he's like, 'Well, I just don't believe that any therapists should think like you and you are the worst student I've never had!'"

"I'm sure it didn't actually happen like that."

"The last part was subtext, but that's not the point!" I groan. "What if he was right? Maybe I can't be a therapist."

"You didn't spend two thousand dollars every semester to not become a therapist," Nat assures me. "You're going to be a therapist and a fucking great one at that."

I hum, not sure if he's right. His confidence in me helps me relax a bit though; I even feel a sigh of relief escape from my chest without noticing.  I put my head in my arms to rest my ears from conversation.  Without focusing on anything in particular, my eyes stare out the window next to me.