Memo to David J.: You have no opinion

When I first met David J. McCarthy, he was doing fine. But I’m glad to know that that has… When I first met David J. McCarthy, he was doing fine. But I’m glad to know that that has since changed, mostly because of me. I like him better this way; it’s fun to mess with his head.

When David failed his midterms, I knew that we would be fast friends. Soon, he stopped attending classes regularly, and I knew it was my fault. He just couldn’t seem to concentrate since I came around. It’s a pity. He was doing so well.

Now, he’s down to one class. The others will have “W”s next to them on his report card. He will get an A in that damn Christianity class, though. I guess he needed something to hold on to. I blame the teacher; she’s very good. That cute girl didn’t help much either, just another “reason” to get out of bed.

He didn’t always get out of bed, however. Those were the days I liked him most. He would lay under the covers for an hour some days; other days it was the better part of the afternoon. He would shake and cry, hands over his eyes, wishing it would end. He had all those thoughts and sounds running through his head, enough to drive him mad. I just told him he was weak. I told that him he was lazy, that he was pissing away his college education, his obligations. He started to believe me.

His family finally stepped in. His parents offered to help with school and make doctor’s appointments. Of course, they had him on medicine quickly enough. Too bad it takes more than a month for that stuff to kick in. Every day, he popped pills like the doctors told him, but things didn’t change much. He stopped going outside for days. He stopped school altogether. He stopped writing for his newspaper.

Then, his friends had to show up. They invited him out, met him for coffee, stayed up until all hours of the night to talk. They distracted him from his problems and even shared their own problems with him. They removed his isolation. They made him feel like he still fit into the world.

It’s a good thing I’m relentless. I mean, I have had this entire boy’s life to study him, analyze his brain. Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder doesn’t just go away; it can hide, dormant, for years, then strike you down, worse then you ever thought it could. I’ve learned some new tricks, haven’t I, Dave?

But you just don’t quit, do you, Mr. McCarthy? I’ve made so much more progress with others, but you insist on rejecting me and trying to compensate for the limitations I’ve put on you.

Some people didn’t even know there was anything wrong with you. You put on such a brave face, you faker. Admit what you are. Admit that you are broken.

You made me sick today. I had you, frustrated, annoyed, sick in your stomach. The weather was perfect for depression, with its rain, clouds and cold. Other days, you gave in readily, but today, you had your coat and umbrella and your headphones playing The Beatles’ cutesy, little “Here Comes the Sun.” You were so full of hope and possibility.

I hear you’re even writing again. You always did like to heal yourself with words, Mr. King of Catharsis.

Well, write all you want; you’re so different now from when I first met you. I don’t want to hear that maybe that’s a good thing. Just shut up and lay there. You weren’t supposed to fight back. You weren’t supposed to get up. You’re not supposed to still have an opinion.

Wake up with a 15-pound lighter David J at davidj@pittnews.com and remember outdoor fire safety this summer!