Dots

Therapy

Maybe Tyrone needed therapy.

The work loads at school were killer, the weather was shitty and he looked and felt like a mess. The card, with his sister's psychologist's number, weighed heavy in his pocket. He wondered how bad he really must look; considering that the lady behind the counter gave him a once over, raised her eyebrow and then handed him the card with a knowing look as his sister walked into her session. He didn't stick around after that, feeling the judgement wafting off the receptionist, so he decided to take a walk instead.

So there he was: Tyrone Johnson walking through the city, contemplating his life and whether or not to consult someone about it.
His sister is a great listener...
Well at least she used to be before the anxiety kicked in. No one in the family expected it and Tyrone's mother had almost lost her mind after she found out. She was a single mother who loved her kids enough to make up for the childhood that she, herself, never had growing up as a foster kid and she tried her best to make ends meet. Hearing that her daughter had developed such a severe case of anxiety, that she no longer even spoke anymore, was a big blow to her. Maybe that's why Tyrone figures his sister is so good at listening; she never talks anymore so now listening is all she can do.
But Tyrone doesn't want to burden his sister or anyone in his family with his problems; his mother barely scrapes up enough money for his sister's psychologist and inbetween that, and her painfully depressing dead end job, she has enough on her plate.

Tyrone stops at a big window and stares at his reflection in the tinted glass. If you don't look closely enough, Tyrone looks fine but the minute he steps closer, he can see the gray hairs that shouldn't be there, the dark circles highlighting his tortured eyes and the downset of his entire posture, as if even his own body had given up on him.

But Tyrone looked away and kept walking, convincing himself he was alright. He walked around in circles and then walked back to the waiting room of the psychologist's office. He sat, facing away from the receptionist, and stared at the series of self help pamphlets by the door.
One in particular caught his eye. It was a squashed yellow pamphlet with the words "HELP ME" printed out in bold letters on the front.
Did Tyrone really need therapy?
He stared at the pamphlet and then looked away.
Tyrone needs therapy...
But...
His sister needs it more
His mother needs it the most
And Tyrone... he's alright without it.