“All the stuff that will always go on.”
“That’s probably true, too.”
“Can I tell you something, Dr Luther?”
“Yes.”
“You won’t laugh?”
“I won’t.”
“…I hate myself. I feel like an idiot saying it because, blah, blah, teen angst, boo hoo, but I do. I hate myself. Almost all the time. I try not to tell anyone because I don’t want to burden them, but I feel like I’m falling farther and farther away from them. Like the well’s getting deeper and I’m running out of energy to climb it and any minute now, any second, it’s going to stop being worth even trying.”
“I won’t keep harping on this, but I will say again, just gently, because it’s true. You’re here. And that’s trying.”
“…Can you help me?”
“Yes. For now, as a start, I’d like to put you on some medication. Why are you making that face?”
“Medication.”
“Medication … is a failure?”
“The biggest one. Like I’m so broken, I need medical help.”
“Cancer patients don’t call chemotherapy a failure. Diabetics don’t call insulin a failure.”
“This is different and you know it.”
“I don’t know it. Why is it different?”
“Because it means I’m crazy. Crazy is different.”
“Michael, do you think cancer is a moral failing?”
“What kind of cancer?”
“Don’t play. You know what I mean. Do you think a woman who gets ovarian cancer is morally responsible for it?”
“No.”
“Do you think a child born with spina bifida or cerebral palsy or muscular dystrophy is at fault for their condition?”
“No, but–”
“Then why in heaven’s name are you responsible for your anxiety?”
“…Because… What?”
“Why are you responsible for your anxiety?”
“Because it’s a feeling. Not a tumour.”
“Are you sure?”
“You think I have a tumour?”
“No, no, no, no, no, no. Not what I meant. A feeling is pride in your sister. A feeling is fear at the concert that makes you act. A feeling is embarrassment or shame. A feeling may or may not be true, but you still feel it.”
“And anxiety is a tumour on your feelings?”
“Feelings don’t try to kill you, even the painful ones. Anxiety is a feeling grown too large. A feeling grown aggressive and dangerous. You’re responsible for its consequences, you’re responsible for treating it. But Michael, you’re not responsible for causing it. You’re not morally at fault for it. No more than you would be for a tumour.”
“You realize I’m now going to obsess about having a tumour.”
“I’m sorry. Ill-chosen words. But if you’re going to obsess about something, obsess about your obsession being a treatable disorder. Obsess about it not being a failure of something you’ve done or something you didn’t do or some intrinsic value as a person that you fail to have. Medication will address the anxiety, not get rid of it, but reduce it to a manageable level, maybe even the same level as other people so that – and here’s the key thing – we can talk about it. Make it something you can live with. You still have work to do, but the medication lets you stay alive long enough to do that work.”
“…”
“Michael?”
“…”
“Isn’t it possible to think of this as a success?”
“I never wanted to go back on it.”
“You told me, just now, just today, that you’d rather be dead than have to go through this much longer. I take that seriously. I don’t think your suffering is fake. I don’t think these feelings about wanting it to end are fake. I don’t think your self-hatred is fake. So why do you think it’s fake?”