This Is My Brain in Love - I. W. Gregorio Page 0,73

can be a little anxious to someone who has anxiety.

I’ve seen firsthand, with Javier, what that kind of label does to people. Not that his diagnosis of autism spectrum disorder really changes who he is, but it changes how people interact with him. That’s why I don’t volunteer the fact that he’s on the spectrum to people who have never met him. The couple of times I’ve seen him meet someone who knew beforehand that he was autistic, they saw everything he did through the lens of autism, using his diagnosis as an excuse, or an explanation. Even now, it’s rare that someone sees him as just a kid, instead of that kid on the spectrum.

I’ve never wanted my teachers and friends to see me like that, to treat me with kid gloves because of the flashing neon ANXIETY sign over my head. So I’ve never said outright that I’m being treated for it, even though I think Manny, at least, probably assumes.

It’s terrifying, then, how quickly I decide to tell Jocelyn, how after knowing her for mere weeks I’m willing to reveal something that I haven’t told people I’ve known for a decade. It’s a calculated risk, but one I’m willing to take because I truly don’t know how to help her—or really, whether she’ll accept my help—without my first admitting that I’ve got problems, too.

I’m looking straight at her when I tell her what my appointments really were, so I see the confusion in her face replaced by something that’s a cross between disappointment and pity before she straightens her face into concern.

In the silence that follows I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. Each of Jocelyn’s microexpressions seems to confirm all the fears I’ve had about coming out with my anxiety. I flash ahead to the next few weeks, imagining that Jocelyn will stop asking me to do things for the restaurant. Maybe she’ll take more things on herself, not wanting to stress me out. Or perhaps she’ll be like my grandma Domenici when I was growing up, constantly coddling me after anything that could remotely hurt my feelings. “Oh, Will, is everything okay? Can I do anything to help?”

When Jocelyn finally speaks, it’s tentative, stilted. “Wow. Um, thank you for telling me.”

I don’t know what to say. Am I supposed to say, “You’re welcome”? Then I remember why I told her in the first place.

“I just thought… I thought it’d help you to know. Because I wanted to say that it helps, sometimes, to talk through things. Is there anyone you trust? Would you want to talk to a… a professional? It wouldn’t have to be mine. I’m sure he could refer you to some other people.”

JOCELYN

Of course that was where he was going to go, I think, as I feel the anger building inside me. Anger coming from a little bit of hurt with a hint of shame. I should have known. Why else would he have made a confession like that out of the blue? It was smart of him. I’ll give him that. I can’t be mad at him for suggesting that I should see a shrink if he is seeing one, too. Except…

“Why do you need a therapist?” I ask sharply. I have to grit my teeth to keep resentment from bleeding entirely into my voice. “You’re, like, the most stable person I know.”

“Only because of eight years of therapy,” he says with a smile that borders on bitter. “You should have seen me before. I had these stomach pains that the doctors said were psychosomatic—literally in my head. I would cry before I went to school some days. Then I would cry when I got home because I was worried that I’d done some little thing wrong.”

I feel a pang in my chest, thinking about grade-school Will curled up in physical pain because of his anxiety. “I’m sorry about that,” I say. The heat in my cheeks subsides as I wonder whether Will’s a quiet crier, or an ugly one, like me. “I’m glad life got better.”

“That’s the thing, it’s not that life got better, I just got better at coping with it. There are mental exercises you can do to change your thinking patterns. It’s called cognitive behavioral therapy. The techniques are really helpful when you’re going in circles in your head.” Will looks at me hopefully, and I know he wants me to jump on his idea. If he could pick up a phone and make me