Page 25 of Pride High 2: Orange

Why not? “He said that therapists cause you pain.”

Dr. Sharma smiled in a way that seemed genuinely amused. “That can certainly be the case. Talking about difficult subjects might hurt in the moment. Like when you told me about Jeremiah. I could see how much pain those experiences caused you. Although that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I’ve known adults who, for their entire lives, have gone out of their way to avoid getting hurt. The longer that continues, the less capable they are of dealing with stressful situations. Fortitude is a crucial life skill. If you or I were to get stung by a bee, we’d likely feel sorry for ourselves. If a beekeeper experiences the same thing, he’ll shrug it off and keep working, already having weathered more stings than we’ll ever know. Or so I hope.”

Ricky smiled. “I guess that makes sense. So the next time a guy dumps me, it won’t hurt as bad?”

“I can’t make that promise. It might hurt more, depending on the circumstances. But at the very least, you’ll have survived a breakup before and will, ideally, use that experience to navigate your way through the next. Which is important. Especially for someone like you.”

“What do you mean?”

Dr. Sharma set her pen on the pad of paper she kept nearby. She didn’t constantly take notes as he talked. Thankfully. She only occasionally wrote down a word or two. Little reminders, she had described them as on the first day.

“You have emotional depth, especially for someone your age. And you’re a very thoughtful young man. That can be a challenging combination. Your brain might be working on overdrive while you’re already struggling with emotion. Does that sound familiar?”

“Yes,” he said, instantly thinking of something else Diego had warned him about.Don’t let them give you any pills. Even if they claim it’s aspirin.“But I don’t feel like I need any medication because of it.”

“I wouldn’t have offered. Being both intelligent and emotional doesn’t require treatment. I’d rather you learn how to harness those strengths to your advantage.”

That sounded like Professor Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters! He hoped she was about to push a button on her chair that would reveal a secret training room. Although if she was going to send him anywhere… “I don’t want to go to the looney bin.”

Dr. Sharma titled her head with a curious expression. “More advice from this friend of yours?”

“Not really.” He took a deep breath, wondering how honest he should be, but couldn’t hold back. “I don’t want to die. I’m not having suicidal thoughts anymore. Really! But I feel like I can’t convince anyone of that, and I don’t want to get sent away somewhere when everything at school is finally starting to get better.”

“What if that changes?” Dr. Sharma asked. “What if your parents need to move again, and you have to begin sophomore year in a different state? Or what if something happens at school, causing your friends to turn against you? Unless you have a chemical imbalance, it’s easy to feel happy when everything is going well. That’s my lingering concern. You don’t have a history of suicidal tendencies, correct?”

“I never really thought of it before. Well, maybe when feeling dramatic like, ‘everyone would be sorry if I killed myself,’ but I never considered actually doing it.”

“And yet youshouldhave thought about it,” Dr. Sharma said. “Attempting suicide comes with dire consequences. Not only for yourself but those around you.”

“I made a mistake,” Ricky said. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing wrong with mistakes, as long as you learn from them. I know that’s often said in condescending tones, but I truly mean it. Mistakes can be wonderfully beneficial. Your recent struggles, for instance. Yes, you realized after taking the pills that you didn’t want to die, but what else can you glean from that experience? I’ve already given you one answer, that you should think carefully before making important decisions. What else?”

Ricky exhaled, remembering what had upset him at the time.

“I could ask people if they care about me, instead of assuming they don’t.”

“Excellent. Although youdidask Jeremiah, and his answer wasn’t kind. What lesson is there?”

“That some stupid guy isn’t worth it.”

“Damn straight,” Dr. Sharma said before clearing her throat. “So what could you have done after that call?”

He tried to imagine a different past. Being closeted made it hard to confide in friends. His mother would have listened though. She knew better than anyone how much Jeremiah had meant to him. And if not her, then Cameron maybe, because he had always tried to be nice, despite getting a few things wrong. “I should have talked to someone about it.”

Dr. Sharma held up her hands and bowed her head as if to say,There it is, ladies and gentlemen. The answer.“I don’t think you need to be hospitalized, Ricky. Although I would like to see you again, every two weeks. Eventually we’ll reduce that to once a month. In the meantime…” She took a business card from a holder on the table and handed it to him. “You can call me. Day or night. If you need advice, or simply someone who will listen without judgement, you have my number. There is no cost, in case your mother asks. If I only helped people during the hours that insurance companies were willing to pay for, I wouldn’t be a very good doctor.”

“That’s it?” Ricky asked. “I’m free to go?”

“After you’ve completed three rounds of shock therapy, yes.”

Ricky’s eyes went wide. Then he laughed. Dr. Sharma did too. She needed to speak to his mother again, but he was no longer worried about what that would result in. Instead he realized that he’d have more free time in the future. Which meant that he’d finally be able to hang out with Diego.

* * December 4th, 1992 * *

As casually as possible, Anthony took a baggie of cookies from his sack lunch and set it on the cafeteria table. He unpacked the rest of his meal before nudging the cookies to the left, where Cameron sat. His boyfriend noticed and almost said something before he must have recognized that Anthony had two such baggies. Both contained the oatmeal cookies that he’d begged his mom to bake. Cameron looked over at him questioningly. Anthony’s smile was demure before he unwrapped his sandwich with exaggerated intent, just in case anyone was watching. And while the cookies weren’t Persian love cake, it felt good to give Cameron a token of his affection. Especially since that had been on his mind as of late.

“Three more periods until the weekend is officially here!” Omar said, letting his tray clatter to the table before he plopped down on the bench.