Page 55 of I Wish You All the Best

“Have you tried any over-the-counter medication?”

“I’ve taken some NyQuil, but it only works for a few hours.” That was the only thing Hannah and Thomas had in their medicine cabinet. Besides, the stuff tastes like ass, and I don’t want to make that an everyday thing.

“Not much of an acquired taste?” She chuckles. “Is this the first time you’ve experienced something like this?”

“Sort of. Last year, when I had the PSATs and final exams right after each other.” I rub the back of my head. My hair’s gotten longer, longer than Dad would’ve ever let me grow it. “I usually just watch TV or draw until it’s time to wake up.”

“Would you like to try medication?” she asks.

“You can do that?”

Dr. Taylor nods.

“I don’t know.” I hadn’t thought about it a lot. I don’t love the idea personally; it just doesn’t feel right for me.

“Well, if it’s this bad, then maybe we should consider it.”

“Do you know what’s causing it?” I ask.

“I have an idea, yes.”

“And?” God, why do I even ask?

She exhales slowly and almost seems reluctant to tell me. “I think you’re dealing with depression, but to me, anxiety seems to be the biggest issue.”

“Oh.”

“And that’s perfectly fine. Everyone deals with anxiety, Ben, it’s just—”

I finish for her. “Some people don’t know how to cope with it?”

“Sometimes it’s too much to handle. You’re still growing up, still figuring things out, and this is an extra layer of issues. It’s common for someone your age to be dealing with this sort of thing. And your situation certainly hasn’t helped that.”

I don’t know what to say next, so I blurt out the first thing that comes to my mind. “It’s scary, Dr. Taylor.”

“I know, Ben. I know.” She sighs. “But the medication might be an outlet worth exploring, don’t you think?”

“Do you believe it’ll help?” I ask.

“I truly do. With patients dealing with depression and anxiety, medication can be a godsend. We could do a trial run, see how it works for you?”

I nod along to her words. “Okay, we can try it.”

I crumple up the paper, tearing it right out of my sketchbook and throwing it into the bin halfway across the room. It misses.

Of course.

“You need to work on your free throws.” Mrs. Liu eyes the balls of paper sitting around the trash can.

“I’ll get those in a second,” I say.

“Stuck?” She walks over to the little workstation I’ve built myself in the corner of the back room.

“I’ve got nothing,” I say. The ideas are there, floating around, but I can’t get them onto the paper, let alone a fucking canvas. And the medication Dr. Taylor has me trying is making me drowsy, which wouldn’t be so bad at night, but the last few days it’s been hitting me right in the afternoon.

“What are you trying to do?” Mrs. Liu asks.

“At this point, anything.”