Does Frank Iero count as a therapist?
The next day, I slept late, missed my first class, dragged myself to my second class, but failed to find any joy in it, and trudged my way back to Flack Hall. Knowing that there was no meaning behind any of it only made my daily routine more painful. For a moment, I longed for the illusion of meaning, faith, and happiness. Truth had always been my ultimate goal, and now that I had found it, the truth only worsened my life.
When I returned to Flack Hall, I worked on my Ancient Philosophy paper, wondering what the point of studying the history of philosophy was if all of those ancient philosophers were wrong, and humanity was doomed to repeat its own mistakes. I managed to type a few sentences, but I quickly gave up, because there was no point in doing much of anything anymore. Love and happiness had once made my life seem as if it had a purpose, but now that those smoke and mirrors were gone, I could only see a void of despair and loneliness in my future.
Socrates was right about one thing though. Searching for answers without asking a question was entirely pointless, so my natural curiosity returned. However, there was only one question that I could think of to ask at first. Would I always feel like this? It certainly seemed like I would. Without Brendon in my life, it was impossible to imagine any other form of existence. I didn't believe that I would feel happy or fall in love again, because how would I do that when I was constantly longing for the connection that I had felt with Brendon?
As I was pondering those questions, Patrick entered the dorm room. He lay on his bed and began to work on his homework, but when he saw the hopeless look on my face, he simply said, "You need a therapist."
At first, I rejected the notion, but as I considered it, I realized that Patrick was right. I was not okay, and a professional might be able to help me finally get over Brendon's death. However, therapy was expensive, and I didn't exactly have a ton of money lying around. I wasn't sure what to do. I thought of Brendon yet again, and the usual heartache returned, reminding me just how badly I needed someone that I could talk to about everything that had happened to me over the past few days.
My phone buzzed, and when I looked down, I saw that I had a text from Gerard. "I rescheduled the Guyliner Club meeting for today at 3:00," he texted. "Are you coming?"
"Maybe," I replied.
"Okay, just let me know," Gerard texted, but I didn't bother to respond. Instead, I put my phone away and attempted to work on my philosophy paper. At three o'clock, I decided that going to the Guyliner Club meeting might be able to help me. It couldn't bring back the happiness in my life, but I could at least escape into the illusion for a little while. I would be a little bit late, but the Guyliner Club wouldn't mind.
By the time I got to the Pendragon Center, the Guyliner Club was already halfway through their meeting. "Hey Ryan," Gerard said. "It's good to see you."
"I didn't think that you were going to show up," Pete added.
"I thought that it might be nice to see you guys," I said. "How have all of you been?"
"I've been doing fine," Gerard said. "It's nice to finally be done with my senior art project."
"I still can't believe that we're graduating next month," Laura said.
"Me neither," Gerard said.
"I'll miss you guys next year," Frank said.
"Don't be silly, Frank," Gerard said. "I'm staying in New England after graduation, and I'll visit you all the time. You'll see me so much that you won't be able to miss me."
"I hope that's the case," Frank said. "What about you, Ryan? What's up with you?"
Hearing all of my friends talk about how happy they were only made me feel worse. Was it a mistake to come to the Guyliner Club? Did that even matter anymore? I wasn't sure what to say, so I told them, "Patrick thinks that I should get a therapist."
"Well, you're in luck," Gerard said. "Frank's studying psychology, and that's close enough to having a real therapist, right?"
"I'm not sure how helpful I would be," Frank said. "Maybe Ryan could talk to one of my professors or something..."
"Nonsense," Gerard interrupted. "You're an excellent student."
It did seem like a good solution. Having Frank help me meant that I wouldn't have to pay for a therapist, and he had almost completed his degree, so he was quite knowledgeable. Besides, it would help Frank gain some experience.
Frank thought about it and then said, "Fine. We'll meet at the Greek Friendship Society house tomorrow."
"Sounds great," I said. I wished that Frank could rescue me from the misery that had encompassed me since Brendon's death, but I doubted it. No therapist could do something like that - they could only provide temporary relief.
My phone buzzed again, and when I took it out of my pocket, I saw that I had received an email from Professor Caldwell. I opened the email and skimmed it over, and although the news might have excited me a few weeks earlier, I didn't feel anything as I read her email. When I finished reading it, I told the Guyliner Club, "The philosophy department selected my motto as one of the finalists for next year's official Kale University motto."
"That's so cool!" Pete exclaimed, expressing the excitement that I couldn't.
"What was your motto?" Laura asked.
"The piano knows something I don't know," I replied.
"That's kind of neat," Frank said.
"I'll definitely vote for your motto," Gerard said. "I'd like to have that on a Kale University T-shirt."
"We're graduating, Gerard," Laura said.
"You can never have too much Kale spirit wear," Gerard said.
As the rest of the Guyliner Club chatted, I typed up a quick reply to Professor Caldwell's email.
Dear Professor Caldwell,
Thank you so much for letting me know that my motto was a finalist and for your continued support throughout this project. I look forward to seeing what happens when the students vote on our new school motto.
Sincerely,
Ryan Ross
I then handed my phone to Pete, who was once again playing with his purple fidget spinner. "Can you please check this over?" I asked.
"Sure," Pete answered. He read the email, and after he sent it, he asked, "What's with your email address, Ryan?"
"What are you talking about?" I asked, assuming that I had sent the email from my school account.
"I was just wondering why you decided to make an account called blinkexists666@gmail.com," Pete said.
"I made that when I was twelve," I said awkwardly. "I think I was trying a little bit too hard to be edgy."
Gerard laughed and then said, "Don't worry about it, Ryan. I was just as bad when I was younger, and blink-182 is a genuinely good band. At least your music taste wasn't too bad."
"Gerard's right about that," Frank said.
The rest of the Guyliner Club started to talk about music, but I couldn't focus. It was painful to listen to them talk about their favorite pop punk bands and how every single of them had copied off of Billie Joe Armstrong's eyeliner when all I could think about was Brendon and the smile that lit up his face every time he entered a record store. Perhaps therapy would help me think of something other than Brendon.
The next day, I knocked on the front door of the Greek Friendship Society house. One of the Greek Friendship Society members that I didn't know terribly well opened the door for me and asked me why I was there. Perhaps I had met them at one of the handful of Greek Friendship Society parties that I had gone to earlier in the year, but I couldn't remember their name. "Clearly, it was for some deity's cruel amusement, but God is long dead, so it no longer matters," I told them.
"That's not what I asked," they replied. "Why are you at the Greek Friendship Society house?"
"I need to talk to Frank Iero," I said.
The Greek Friendship Society member shrugged and took me upstairs to Frank's bedroom. I had never been to the second floor of the Greek Friendship Society house, but it turned out that it wasn't terribly exciting. Frank was sitting on top of his bed, petting one of his dogs, while Gerard sat next to him and complained about his job search. When I opened the door, Gerard rushed out of the room, and Frank said, "Hey Ryan. Feel free to sit wherever you'd like."
I lay down on the couch in Frank's room and stared at the ceiling. "Fix me in forty five," I whispered.
"I don't know if I can do that, Ryan, but I can certainly try," Frank said. He picked up one of his psychology textbooks, flipped through it, and then said, "So tell me about your mother."
I laughed and said, "Who are you trying to be - Sigmund Freud?"
"You're trying to be Socrates, so I don't see what's wrong with emulating a great historical figure in my field," Frank said.
"I'm not trying to be Socrates anymore," I said.
"Can you please just answer the question?" Frank said.
"It wasn't phrased as a question," I said. "Besides, why should I answer your question if nobody will tell me why Brendon had to die?"
"Ryan, we all miss Brendon, but death is a natural part of life," Frank said.
"That doesn't make it right to cut a life short like that," I said.
"Can you please just tell me about your mother?" Frank asked.
"I haven't seen her in a while," I said. "She lives in Las Vegas. I don't see how this is relevant at all."
Frank flipped through his psychology textbook again and then said, "We'll take a different approach. How about you tell me what's bothering you?"
"Isn't that obvious?" I said. "My boyfriend is dead, and now I'm left alone in this miserable world."
"The world isn't miserable," Frank said. "Any world that has dogs, eggplant parmesan, and Gerard Way in it is certainly worth living in."
"Those are mere illusions designed to distract you from the truth," I said.
"What is the truth then?" Frank asked.
"Life has no meaning, and there is no good reason to stay alive," I replied.
"Ryan, I understand that all of us Guyliner Club members are at least a little bit emo, but you're going a little bit too far with it," Frank said.
"I'm serious, Frank," I said. "There's nothing left for me without Brendon. I need him to make my life worthwhile, and now he's gone. What am I supposed to do now?"
"You'll have to decide that for yourself," Frank said.
"That's not a real answer," I said.
"I think that it is," Frank said. "Brendon may be dead and gone, believe me, but you'll carry on."
I didn't believe him. The conversation carried on for another few minutes, but Gerard barged in while Frank was trying to convince me that life was in fact worth living. "I thought that you were going to help me with my art project," he said to Frank.
"I thought that you finished your senior project," I said.
Gerard didn't give me an explanation, but as I left the room and heard Gerard and Frank making out in the bedroom, I knew exactly what he meant. When I left the Greek Friendship Society house, I felt even more alone than I normally did. All of my friends were in happy relationships, but I had nobody who truly cared about me. I had a handful of friends, but nobody could ever replace Brendon.
In Flack Hall, I found the record player that I had planned to give to Brendon on his birthday. It was useless without any records to play, but it did seem like a good representation of how I felt at that moment. I was just like that record player - entirely worthless without the other half that I would never see again.
As I stared at that turntable, Patrick entered the room. "I heard that you had a therapy appointment today," he said, a little bit too cheerfully. "How did that go?"
"I think I feel even worse," I said.
"Maybe you need a different therapist," Patrick suggested.
It wasn't a bad idea, but I could hardly consider any kind of idea without my grief consuming me yet again. Instead, I looked back at the turntable and wished that I could have the one thing that might cure me of my despair - Brendon Urie.