Queens

3.2: Tyler

Ash storms out, signaling that it's my turn. I wait a moment, peering through the door before I enter. Abie has her palms cupped around her eyes, and elbows resting on her knees. I want this to be as painless as possible for both of us, so when she composes herself and sweeps up a thick manila folder that I know holds the dirt on Ash, I knock on the door quietly to announce my presence. Abie glances up, and a small flash of relief smooths some of the wrinkles by her eyes for a moment.

"Hey Ty," she smiles. I've been called a "PR miracle" before, because I can be branded as a "mysterious" persona. (Just kidding. It's because I stay inside all the time and avoid the spotlight. Less media coverage means less trouble. I like to pretend I'm cool sometimes. Let me live.) I shuffle in and slouch down slowly in one of the wide leather seats opposite Abie. She crosses her legs and stares intently at me. I know she's sizing me up, seeing if I look any more tired than I normally do. "How you doing, Ty?" she asks, concerned. "For real, this time."

I want to tell her about my deteriorating condition. I gulp and cross my legs, placing my hands in my lap and fiddling with the tips of my fingers. "I'm--"

"Fine," she finishes for me. "Very happy, having a great time, blah blah," she mimes. I retreat a little, and she relents. "Okay, that was a little harsh." I nod, and she rushes to fill the silence. "I just meant-- Tyler, why don't you ever talk to me about your feelings?"

"I do talk about my feelings. I just don't like to talk about all my feelings," I say.

She waits for me to continue, and when I don't, Abie lets out another frustrated sigh and continues. "Let's talk about what you did since the last time I saw you."

While Ash's folders are usually filled with drunken photos and censored tweets, Abie likes to fill my folder with encouragements. "I've analyzed posts and comments on social media, and according to Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram, you are tied with Melanie as most-beloved Royal," Abie smiles, and hands me two sheets of tweets praising me. I stare down at the printed sheet, with @timemaganize and @xoxomadis0n sending me compliments and heart emojis. I know she means well, but I don't feel anything but emptiness for the paper-thin praises. They really don't know you, he chuckles.

"They really don't know me," I squirm. Abie looks a little let down, but tries again.

"Even if they don't know you personally, the public loves you! You know, Ty, you've been a dream. I've really gotten to see you develop in interviews. This year was a record low in, ah,"

FreezesMishapsMistakesFuckupsSlipsBlundersMistakesFreezesMishapsMistakesMistakesMistakes--

"Misunderstandings," she finishes gracefully. He I would say otherwise.  "I'm sorry," and her head ends up in her palms again. "I'm a PR specialist, not a therapist. Speaking of which..."

I shake my head vigorously. "We've been over this, I thought," I tuck my fingers into my sleeves, avoiding eye contact.

"I know, but this time I'm being firm. I scheduled an appointment for next week, and you're seeing one of the best women I know. She's a miracle worker, and I've seen her clients-- her ability to turn people's lives around is incredible."

"I'm not broken," I mutter defensively.

"Of course you're not," she leans forward. "But it's time you get some help. And real help, because I feel so useless watching you change from a happy young boy into... well, I can see that you're not happy."

"I'm fine," I say with such little conviction that Abie can't hide her smile. It's not funny, but I bet she's heard that phrase from us so many times that it's comical.

"Ty, you know you're very dear to me...I'm just trying to help."

They all say that. I know I need to get help. I knew it once people started noticing that I needed help, and yet every time someone mentions help, I recede a bit. I want to recover, I just don't want to...do the recovering. If I can barely dress myself some days, I have no idea how I'll be able to go to treatment. The thought of bringing myself to even bring up my countless issues to someone makes me nauseous. And then if I were to really recover, I'd have to talk about

Me! he smiles. Guess who's back? It feels like a black mist is swirling down my spine and filling my head, clogging my thoughts with dread.  I rise quickly, saying a curt goodbye to Abie, and exit the room.

"Tyler!" she calls, but gives up when the door clicks shut. I hear her try to get up, accompanied by a soft thud as her files go flying out of her lap. My gut twists, but I don't want anything to do with recovery yet. I'll do it later.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Dear Reader,

I missed this! I've been watching TØP interviews all weekend, and then just learned today that I'm going to be gone when they come to my town for the second year in a row :)))))))))

A little reminder: Seeking help is hard, and a lot of times, there's no way around it. I've had no personal experience with mental illness, so Ty's experience is based on personal accounts from many friends and others that I've spoken to about it. If you see anything that is inaccurate or offensive, please talk to us about it. And as always, reach out to us if you ever need someone to talk to without judgement. I promise that you'll never, ever be a burden if you do this, and I'll talk to you no matter what.

Much love,
J

p.s.
does anyone have or know of any good joshler/21p/tyler/josh fanfics??