Member-only story
The Enigma of a Boy Named Drew
He had his problems, but I had mine too.
Out of the boys I’ve written about, I know which one would have the most objection to being featured.
“Christ, you’re doing it again. Why are you so dramatic? We only knew each other one summer.”
I don’t think he would want to come across as mean — but he’d probably be frustrated.
It was a confusing time for us both, Drew and me.
After all, we met after big mental health crises that involved actual hospital stays.
Talk about stakes.
Do you remember when I wrote how a guy called me “too intense”?
Drew did that.
And I’ve never forgiven him— ahem, I’ve never forgotten that.
Given how and where we met, I’ll leave out specific details — such as the type of program we were involved in — for privacy’s sake.
Let’s just say that Drew was a troubled youth who didn’t believe in therapy.
And me? Well, you know part of my story: I was diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder. From there, I pretty much had to start building a new foundation. My life would always be there in the disorder’s shadow.
