The Piano Knows Something I Don't Know

Does Frank Iero count as a therapist?

Does Frank Iero count as a therapist?

The next day, I slept late, missed my first class, dragged myself to my second class, but failed to find any joy in it, and trudged my way back to Flack Hall. Knowing that there was no meaning behind any of it only made my daily routine more painful. For a moment, I longed for the illusion of meaning, faith, and happiness. Truth had always been my ultimate goal, and now that I had found it, the truth only worsened my life.

When I returned to Flack Hall, I worked on my Ancient Philosophy paper, wondering what the point of studying the history of philosophy was if all of those ancient philosophers were wrong, and humanity was doomed to repeat its own mistakes. I managed to type a few sentences, but I quickly gave up, because there was no point in doing much of anything anymore. Love and happiness had once made my life seem as if it had a purpose, but now that those smoke and mirrors were gone, I could only see a void of despair and loneliness in my future.

Socrates was right about one thing though. Searching for answers without asking a question was entirely pointless, so my natural curiosity returned. However, there was only one question that I could think of to ask at first. Would I always feel like this? It certainly seemed like I would. Without Brendon in my life, it was impossible to imagine any other form of existence. I didn't believe that I would feel happy or fall in love again, because how would I do that when I was constantly longing for the connection that I had felt with Brendon?

As I was pondering those questions, Patrick entered the dorm room. He lay on his bed and began to work on his homework, but when he saw the hopeless look on my face, he simply said, "You need a therapist."

At first, I rejected the notion, but as I considered it, I realized that Patrick was right. I was not okay, and a professional might be able to help me finally get over Brendon's death. However, therapy was expensive, and I didn't exactly have a ton of money lying around. I wasn't sure what to do. I thought of Brendon yet again, and the usual heartache returned, reminding me just how badly I needed someone that I could talk to about everything that had happened to me over the past few days.

My phone buzzed, and when I looked down, I saw that I had a text from Gerard. "I rescheduled the Guyliner Club meeting for today at 3:00," he texted. "Are you coming?"

"Maybe," I replied.

"Okay, just let me know," Gerard texted, but I didn't bother to respond. Instead, I put my phone away and attempted to work on my philosophy paper. At three o'clock, I decided that going to the Guyliner Club meeting might be able to help me. It couldn't bring back the happiness in my life, but I could at least escape into the illusion for a little while. I would be a little bit late, but the Guyliner Club wouldn't mind.

By the time I got to the Pendragon Center, the Guyliner Club was already halfway through their meeting. "Hey Ryan," Gerard said. "It's good to see you."

"I didn't think that you were going to show up," Pete added.

"I thought that it might be nice to see you guys," I said. "How have all of you been?"

"I've been doing fine," Gerard said. "It's nice to finally be done with my senior art project."

"I still can't believe that we're graduating next month," Laura said.

"Me neither," Gerard said.

"I'll miss you guys next year," Frank said.

"Don't be silly, Frank," Gerard said. "I'm staying in New England after graduation, and I'll visit you all the time. You'll see me so much that you won't be able to miss me."

"I hope that's the case," Frank said. "What about you, Ryan? What's up with you?"

Hearing all of my friends talk about how happy they were only made me feel worse. Was it a mistake to come to the Guyliner Club? Did that even matter anymore? I wasn't sure what to say, so I told them, "Patrick thinks that I should get a therapist."