Dear Evan Hansen. The words were easy enough to type, but Dr. Sherman had told him to say them out loud. It was bad enough he had to write letters to himself for therapy- if he had to say them out loud while he was typing them, it would make him feel like even more of a freak.
Today is going to be a good day and here's why. Evan couldn't think of a single reason. It was the first day of school. His arm was broken- that might raise questions, if people cared enough to ask (which most of them wouldn't because Evan was Evan and no one liked Evan) and Evan wasn't sure he could handle the questions. So he went with the completely bullshit response that had been supplied to him by his therapist. Because today, all you have to do is just be yourself.
It was ridiculous- being himself had gotten him nowhere. He had to be so much more than Evan to make an impression on people that wasn't "Evan Hansen- the weird kid who talks too much and stammers too much and has meltdowns in class" "Evan Hansen- the kid who runs to the bathroom to have panic attacks and disrupts people who are trying to smoke drugs or just take a piss" "Evan Hansen- the kid who tried to kill himself this summer".
His thoughts began to rapidly pour on the page. But also confident. That's important. And interesting. Easy to talk to. Approachable. But Mostly be yourself. That's the big, that's number one. Be yourself. Be true to yourself. But also, though, don't worry about whether your hands are going to get sweaty for no reason and you can't make it stop no matter what you do, because they're not going to get sweaty, so I don't even know why you're bringing it up, because it's not going to happen, because you're just, all you have to do is be yourself.
Evan sighed. It sounded pathetic. He was pathetic and as soon as Dr. Sherman read it, he'd realize how stupid Evan was and he wouldn't want to try and help Evan anymore and he'd tell Evan's mom and she'd hate him even more and... He shut his eyes, shaking his head, forcing himself to finish the letter- maybe to try and rewrite the letter so it sounded less stupid, but he kept going almost without meaning too.
I'm not even going to worry about it though, seriously, because it's not like, it's- it's not going to be like that time you had the perfect chance to introduce yourself to Zoe Murphy at the jazz band concert last year- when you waited afterwards just to talk to her and tell her how good she was and you were going to pretend to be super casual like you didn't even know her name. Like she would introduce herself and you'd be like "I'm sorry I didn't hear you- Chloe? You said your name was Chloe?" and then she'd be like "No it's Zoe, I said Zoe" and you'd be like, "Oh, well see, I thought you said Chloe because I'm just- I'm very busy with other stuff right now is the thing". But you didn't even end up saying anything to her because you were scared your hands were sweaty- which they weren't that sweaty until you started worrying that they were sweaty, which made them sweaty, so you put them under the hand dryer in the bathroom. But they were still sweaty, they were just very warm now as well.
He sighed, shaking his head. It was pathetic- it really was. His ramblings on and on about his failures in some letter to himself for his therapist, who didn't really care about him or want to help because who would want to help someone as broken and stupid as Evan?
Evan heard his mom walk in and shut his laptop quickly so she couldn't see what he was doing. He wasn't doing anything bad- Evan didn't think he could do anything bad without freaking out- but still, the thought of his mother leaning over his shoulder, reading his letter filled him with... well, anxiety.
"So you just decided not to eat last night?" His mom was standing there, holding the $20 bill in her hand (the one Evan had supposed to have used last night to order take out, but he hadn't been hungry, hadn't wanted to waste money, and couldn't use the phone without freaking out). She looked tired- but when did she not look tired? Between caring for her patients at the hospital and trying to figure out what the hell was happening with Evan, his mom barely got any time to herself to just relax. In a way, she never left work- just moving from one patient right to the next. That's all Evan really was- another patient.
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Did I Even Make A Sound?
Fanfiction'Dear Evan Hansen.' The words were easy enough to type, but Dr. Sherman had told him to say them out loud. It was bad enough he had to write letters to himself for therapy- if he had to say them out loud while he was typing them, it would make him f...
