When Best Friends Kiss

After the Goodbye - Part 4

I didn’t know what to do, so I called my parents.

“Hey, Liam,” my mom answered cheerfully and hearing her voice broke me. “W-why are you breathing like that? Liam? Are you okay? Daniel!” she called my father.

"I can't do this anymore," I wheezed. "I hate it here. I hate photography."

With my dad’s guidance, I stopped hyperventilating. “What’s going on, Liam?” My mom asked. “What happened?”

I admitted everything. My insecurities, the reason for my breakup with Selena being because she was bi, how I was this close to socking my roommates. I admitted that I felt like I was floating. I was an empty balloon and I was floating away to God knows where and I just wanted to be on the ground again.

“Failing the course isn't the end of the world,” my mom said. “You can retake it. Your dad got through university and grad school with horrible dyslexia. If he could do it, you can.”

“Wait,” I heard my dad say, “What? I mean it’s true but… hey...”

I sighed.

“You can retake it,” my mom repeated. “And don’t compare yourself to others. Everyone is different. Everyone sees the world differently, so they'll capture it differently, right? Right, Liam?”

“Yeah.”

“With each fall back,” my dad began, “we learn enough to take two steps forward. It’s not over, Liam.”

**

Their nice words made me feel better for a moment. I retook the failed course in May. Since I was already staying in Ottawa for that, I told my parents I wanted to catch up that Summer from the one semester I missed. They worried about me overloading myself, but I was convinced that catching up credit-wise with everyone else would fix everything.

But the anxiety from my failed course stuck with me. Even the comments that I was improving filled me with doubt. I still didn't feel as good as everyone else. It was only a week into classes that I called my parents and told them, "I can't live anymore. I don't know where I am," with broken pieces of my destroyed camera at my feet.

My dad flew to me immediately and escorted me back home to London.

They took me to a psychologist. I filled out some checklists, told her what I was feeling and thinking, and she diagnosed me with depression and anxiety. I went to a psychiatrist who gave me medication and I visited the psychologist every week for talk therapy.

"Are you going back to school?" she asked at our fifth session.

I'd been working on her Cognitive Behavioural Therapy Worksheets and they'd helped. I felt like with those and the medication, I could reground myself if I began to feel any floating. "Yeah."

"Be sure to visit your psychologist in Ottawa. You already set up a first appointment, right?"

"Yeah," I said, though it was the third time I was answering that question.

"Okay, Liam. Don't forget you have a support system."

*

And, so, I returned to school in Ottawa, feeling confident that I could, at the least, cope with feeling unconfident. I also had a new roommate. That was definitely a plus.

My new psychologist, though, had me talk about things I wouldn't have thought to talk about.

"When were you happiest?" she asked.

Anytime I was with Alex, was the answer. "I had a friend," I said. "We met in second grade. Maybe back then I was happiest. But, it wasn't completely happy because he was bullied."

"What for?"

"He was a bit effeminate so people called him gay and slurs... so I can't say that was my happiest... He wasn't really bullied in middle school and we had other friends. We had lots of fun, but he was forcing himself to act masculine and stuff, so I can't say that was my happiest either."

"Why not?"

I blinked. "Because he wasn't able to be himself."

"And in elementary school, you can't say you were happiest because...?"

"He was bullied."

"What did you do when he was bullied?"

"I defended him. I punched a kid once."

The therapist blinked. "Hm... it sounds like those are reasons why he wouldn't be happy. Why do they reflect on your happiness?"

I stared at her, not understanding. Not understanding myself. I didn't know how to answer.

"Tell me more about him. What's his name?"

"Alex."

"Alex. Tell me more about Alex."