Welcome to the Therapy Quirks, a fan blog dedicated to the internet novel, Therapy. Our main function is to post quirks related to said novel, but we all post the occasional related graphic and question. If you need a Therapy fix, we're the blog to see!
“Speaking of colleges… a couple of the old high school guys go on break next week and we were planning a reunion. In the form of a party, set to drop this Friday. … I was kind of hoping you’d come… As a buffer,” he’s quick to add, throwing his arms out to steady me. “I don’t know if I can interact with half my old friends anymore, not after trading in my letterman’s jacket for a tight pair of hipster jeans.”
I know I’ll have to come clean at some point, but I’ve been hoping the, “Asher, I’m a depressed psyche patient” conversation would happen much, much later in the future. You know, once we’d become such great friends that a little thing like my needing therapy wouldn’t scare him away.
“Dr. Hart’s my therapist. That’s a card he gave me. I’m supposed to get three people to sign it and then look at it whenever I feel depressed.”
I watch his face for all the signs – the frozen frown as he contemplates the information he’s just received, the relaxing of his features as realization settles in, and then one I haven’t counted on. One I can’t successfully identify. It might be understanding, it might be concern, or it might be a blend of the two.
“You know this doesn’t change anything, right?… It only… clears some things up. Like what happened with Josh, and your outburst when I invited you over for dinner that one time. Andy -” he plants his hands on my shoulders and renders avoiding his gaze impossible, “- I still think you’re cool. I don’t think you’re psycho or anything. Besides, if you’re honestly depressed, the therapy can only do you good.”
When I pull my phone from my pocket, a slip of scrap paper breaks free and hangs in the air for a second before touching down. I bend over to retrieve it, but Asher’s half a second faster. “You dropped this.” It unfolds when he pinches it and he reads it before I can reach out to stop him.
He pulls a pen from his pocket, lays the paper flat against his palm, and scrawls his name beneath Dr. Hart’s.