2016/03/10 Thursday
Today is Thursday so it's supposed to be a really good day but good days don't usually start with crying and wanting to die and thinking about your boyfriend dying. In fact, in my experience, they don't ever start that way. I also didn't have The Boy in Striped Pajamas with me which means that my entire day was going to suck ass.
Gerard asked me whether I wanted to see Dr Stump and I told him no. I told him that Dr Stump was stupid and therapy was stupid. And today I was going to stay in bed and marinate myself in my hatred for life and everything around me.
My phone went off at one point and I thought about answering it but I didn't, in fact I didn't check my phone until the silence in my bedroom got to be too much. I didn't even reach for my headphones even though I knew they might provide me with more comfort than anything else.
They usually did and even though it was getting hot, I craved the warmth of them over my ears. It's stupid – I know. But I feel kind of like I'm being hugged from all sides. It envelopes me in hope and safety and just all around happiness.
But I decided that, even though it would make me feel better, the best thing I could do was stay in bed and listen to Mindless Self Indulgence and wrap myself in too many blankets to be comfortable. It was an awkward stage of the year thanks to global warming – that time of the year where it was supposed to be chilly but I was dying of heat instead.
I was wrapped in blankets anyway, like I would be if I had a fever. So I sat under a hoodie and 3 blankets wrapped tightly around my body to the extent where I could feel the sweat rolling down my face and dangerously close to my eye – I sat and tried to get rid of an imaginary fever that I couldn't sweat out. I knew that it wouldn't make me feel better but I did it anyway because, let's be honest, I'm a bitch like that.
Anyway... when I put on my Mindless Self Indulgence playlist, I happened to accidently click on the message that I was avoiding. It was from an unknown number and it literally just said Mikey. This is Dr Stump. And I didn't want to respond.
The truth is, that I like Dr Stump. I've only met him once before but I already feel like he's compassionate – I feel like he listens and he understands. And he cares about me more than he cares about the money that we pay him at the end of every month.
I thought about responding, but I didn't. I only put down my phone and rolled over. It was difficult, mind you, without the help of my Useless Logs of Fat while being wrapped up in blankets like a snow ball. I was kind of hungry and I needed to pee but I stayed in the uncomfortably hot nest of sweat and tears.
I just lay there. I lay there until I wasn't hungry anymore and my bladder felt like it was going to burst. And then I rolled over, turned my phone on and opened the message from Dr Stump. What was I supposed to say? What I was supposed to reply after 3 hours of ignoring him?
I stared at the screen for a while, contemplating appropriate responses to this sort of thing. What normal people would say or do and what exactly was the right thing to say. I thought about saying something like sorry I was sleeping. To make sure that I didn't hurt his feelings or get in trouble.
I was going to type something in that sort of line and I spent a long time thinking about it before I suddenly decided that I, honest to god, didn't care. Because therapists were stupid. Especially therapists who are smart and funny and care about boys in wheelchairs. Even boys in wheelchairs who are in love with dying boys.
So I texted him back without hesitating at all. I'm sorry. I was just ignoring you.
Except that, just because I decided that I didn't care, didn't mean that I actually didn't. Because I did care. I cared about Dr Stump and I cared about today's therapy session. And therapists weren't stupid, well, not all of them anyway. And they deserved a lot of respect if they could deal with people like me.
So I wanted to double text him and apologize. To tell him that I didn't really mean that, even if I had seconds before. I wanted to text him furiously as fast as I could to tell him that I was sorrier than I'd ever been in my life. But he texted me back first. Are you okay? I paused to catch my breath.
I'd disrespected him – I'd told him blatantly that I'd ignored him. I hadn't even apologized. In fact, I'd insinuated that I didn't care about him. That I hated him. And here he was – asking me whether I was okay. Whether there was anything he could do to help me.
I'm just not a big fan of living today. I said. And it was the truth. But all I was thinking about was how much he made me think of Pete. I could shoot Pete in the leg and he'd probably apologize for getting in the way and I could stab Dr Stump in the face and he'd ask me if I was okay or whether I'd accidently hurt myself.
Can I call you? The text scared me away from my thoughts. I didn't know what I'd sound like over the phone, whether my voice would waver and tremble. Whether I'd start crying upon impulse. I didn't know and I didn't want to take the chance. I stared at the phone.
I don't know. I texted back. But I really wanted to say no. I wanted to tell him that it was pointless – that nothing he could say over the phone would fix me and that nothing would make me feel better. But I wanted to give him a chance.
I'm going to call you. Dr Stump gave me a head start warning and I wondered whether he was saying it more to me or more to himself, but I decided that it must be me seeing as he had texted it to me instead of whispering it aloud to himself. The phone rang. I answered it.
Mikey? It was Dr Stump's voice – he sounded worried but not strained the way someone else would have been. I sounded like he cared about me and worried about whether I might hurt myself – but he also sounded like he trusted me enough to know that I wasn't going to.
Yeah. It came out more like a whisper so I planned on saying it again but it seemed like he had heard me and understood because he started talking again. The strain was gone from his voice and he didn't sound so panicked anymore.
Okay, relax. Calm down, okay? I guess my breathing was still a little ragged from the crying. Hey, hey. It sounded like he was talking to a cat. Speak to me. Tell me what happened, okay? Tell me everything and we'll find a way to fix it, Mikey. I'll fix it. I told him that Pete was my boyfriend.
My voice shook a little in the end because he stayed quiet then, like he knew that I hadn't finished telling why I was having a bad day so far. I was going to tell him that I was in love with him. I confessed and I could hear a soft intake of breath over the phone. And, before I could say anything, he said, my voice broke and I had to say it in a scratchy voice "I can't believe I'm dying" And I just lost it.
Dr Stump let out the breath he was holding, and I could almost hear his gears turning through the phone. Mikey, I – let's talk at the session okay? I'll see you in a little bit. This isn't exactly something I can try to tell you over the phone. I nodded and agreed then put the phone down.
On the bright-side, I managed to get into my chair on the first try, with the motivation that if I missed then I would likely pee all over the floor and myself. I made it to the toilet, at least.
Gerard came to fetch me at the usual time and he was ultimately surprised to see me in my chair and he peered into my room like he was looking for something, Pete maybe, as an indication for how I got into my chair. He said we'd buy McFlurries from McDonald's after therapy to celebrate.
Therapy was hectic and we were both quiet until Dr Stump sat down in his chair and leaned back. Mikey, I know that you don't really want to face this – I looked around, the certificates on the walls were awarded to a Dr Patrick Stump – but sooner or later you're going to have to realize that, eventually, Pete is going to die.
Dr Nestor's name plate had been removed from the desk and I wondered whether he knew that it existed. And you need to know that there is life after Pete, okay? Mikey, are you even listening to me? I snapped my head back to him and nodded slowly. Okay. I understand that you really, really like him.
I nodded in agreement, not focusing on the fact that Dr Stump skipped over the part where I was in love with him. But you need to know that there are other things. There are things that happen after Pete dies, life goes on, Mikey. And I know that you don't want to acknowledge it or believe it but it's a fact and it's there.
He paused to breathe out. He is going to die, Mikey. Maybe sooner, maybe later. Sooner. I thought. Definitely sooner. I understand how you feel, I tried not think that he was lying. Only Dr Nestor lied. Not all therapists. I know that you're afraid-
I had to cut him off there because he was wrong: I wasn't afraid. I'd never been afraid before and I hope I never am. I'm not afraid. I said. I knew that he wasn't smiling but the one side of his lips turned upward.
Okay, no. You're not afraid. You're just nervous, right? Just anxious about what's going to happen when he's gone. I didn't argue. I agreed but I didn't say it out loud: I didn't want to. Dr Stump had worked it out, he'd solved the case. You're afraid to keep on going after he's gone.
I looked down. I wasn't afraid, per se, only nervous. But I guess afraid covered that too. I was afraid of what I'd do when he was dead and gone, what I possibly could do. It's not like I had that many options. Dr Stump reached forward and grabbed both of my hands over his desk.
Dr Nestor had never held my hands but I supposed that she'd never made me feel safe either. His hands were warm and safe and – I know it sounds stupid – I wanted to put them over my ears to see if they would keep me safe the way that my headphones might've.
You can't, Mikey. Look at me. I looked up to meet his eyes, trying to keep my focus on him instead of his hands over my ears. Say it with me: I am not afraid to keep on living.
And, even though I'd said it a hundred times in his office and whispered it another 3 hundred times since I got home, it's not true. I'm still afraid. But I know that one day, when Pete is gone, it will be. I will not be afraid.
Regardless, I hope to see Pete again tomorrow in group therapy.
Mikey.
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