A/N: Characters may be a little OOC here. Hopefully, you all enjoy it anyways. This is part three of my Modern AU, following "The Outsider" and "Fake Smiles", so I highly recommend reading those stories first before this one, in that exact order.
This installment is first person (still), belonging to Darry this time. In the previous part, Soda and Pony had a much needed heart-to-heart. Now, it's Darry and Pony's turn. This one's a little shorter than the previous two, but I still love how it turned out.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders in any way, shape, or form!
Trigger Warning: Anxiety, Panic Attacks (mentions of them, at least)
!~~~T~H~E~~O~U~T~S~I~D~E~R~S~~~!
Uphill Battle
"You are allowed to feel messed up and inside out. It doesn't mean you're defective―it just means you're human." ― David Mitchell
Dysthymia is defined as "a mild but long-term form of depression". Examples of symptoms include "lost interest in normal activities, hopelessness, low self-esteem, low appetite, low energy, sleep changes, and poor concentration". Treatments include "medication and talk therapy".
That was what my own research had dug up.
It'd been a week since Ponyboy told us his diagnosis. While I've accepted it for the most part, part of me still can't believe it. My baby brother is depressed. Low grade, yes, but dysthymia is categorized as a form of depression.
Seeing Pony descend into sheer panic the way he did forced me to realize that he's been suffering with things like that for a year now. That panic attack may possibly have been a one-off thing, but something told me that it wasn't, that it was the latest in a long string of them, because Pony himself didn't seem surprised that it had happened so suddenly. And looking back on the past year, I remembered many times where Pony would start trembling before excusing himself to another room, even fast-talking an excuse whenever someone tried to make him stay.
After seeing Pony get hit by one for the first time, as he began calming down, I found myself with questions. Lots of them.
Was he suffering because of Mom and Dad? He had told me that they were "part of it, but not the full picture". Then what else was part of it?
What else was he suffering from?
That was the question I wanted to ask, but Soda quietly, sternly warned me to relax. He had seen me starting to get worked up over this, and he was right. Pony was still trying to calm down from his panic attack, and others around him getting worked up for any reason, would not help. It was bad enough that we had violated his privacy (in more ways than one), so not making things worse than they already were was the least we could do.
A thought then came to me. Was Pony suffering because of me? It both both relieved and surprised me when Pony answered that question as soon as it left my mouth.
No. He wasn't.
Part of me didn't believe him, because during the following weeks (and months) I had signed the papers that gave me custody of my two younger brothers, Pony and I were quick to realize the new problem that neither of us were quite expecting. Me being the legal guardian meant I had to tell him to do things, put rules in place that weren't quite there before and enforce them, and that I was responsible for him whenever he got hurt. I had decided to give Ponyboy the chance to go to college, the chance I never got, but apparently, it was all thrown out the window because Pony didn't like the changes me being his guardian had brought upon us. Soda tried his best to be the mediator, telling Pony possible (understandable) reasons for those rules and telling me to ease up because I was being too hard on him and wasn't helping Pony adjust to the new normal at all.
So I did as Soda said. I eased up, and while that helped lower the rate of arguments, it didn't stop them completely.
Until one day, about two months ago or so, Ponyboy stopped mid-argument and told me, "I'm tired of fighting you." I took a good look at him, and I couldn't ignore how tired he looked. His eyes, especially, held a particularly jarring type of exhaustion.
Emotional exhaustion.
He then apologized for getting mouthy with me, apologized to Soda for putting him in the middle of every argument, and we haven't fought since. At least, not as nuclear. Now, whenever I tell him to do something, he pauses, looking as if he'd like to argue, but he doesn't object. Even now, I'm not sure why.
After Pony went to his room, I asked Soda if he saw the same emotional exhaustion in Pony that I saw. Soda confirmed that yes, he did, and he was both confused and concerned. Neither of us objected to this, however. I was grateful for the reprieve, as was Soda.
But no, according to Ponyboy, I was not the reason behind his dysthymia. Our arguments definitely did not help, but I wasn't the cause. "I can't give you any specifics," Pony had told us, "but I will tell you that it's not because of something any of you did."
He couldn't give us any specifics, but I had so many questions. As the one responsible for him, there were things I needed to know. Was there anything I was doing that made his suffering worse? Was there anything I could do to help? More importantly, who was this Dr. Loh person? Did Pony like her? How did I know I could trust her?
Yet, despite all the questions I had, I knew that the only way any of them could be answered was through Pony. Because, like Johnny said, Pony deserved his privacy. This was his problems, and if he didn't want to tell us how his therapy sessions went, he didn't have to.
So I resorted to simply observing him throughout the week, looking for any signs that my baby brother's mental state was getting worse. But I didn't see any, thought to be honest, I didn't see any signs that it was getting better either.
What I did see was proof that his coping tools were healthy ones.
For example, him avoiding conflicts with me is something I'm noticing that he does around other people as well. It seems to me like he's trying to avoid conflicts in general.
He also writes a lot more than he usually did before the accident. Seeing this makes me happy, because writing is something Ponyboy loves to do, something that makes him Ponyboy. However, I know it's "more than usual" because, instead of a book being what he carries everywhere, it's now a journal, and it's this journal that he writes in. My best guess is that he uses it for his therapy.
He's also starting to back into the swing of his usual appetite. He's far from fully recovered, but at least, he's eating and sleeping properly again.
I still have questions, but I can't deny that Ponyboy's mental state is improving.
Soda has questions too, I realized that Friday afternoon, questions he needs to ask Pony. He cornered me just as I was about to start on dinner, and asked me what I think we should do about the questions.
"I think we should leave it alone," was my response, and I could tell that it surprised Soda to hear me say such a thing. "Think about it, Soda. How would you feel if your privacy was violated by people you considered to be your brothers?"
Normally, Soda would've fought back, but this time, he didn't. Because he knew who I was protecting.
So he relented, "I'd be upset." As would I. "I just feel like he's drifting away from us."
I couldn't deny the truth in that, but there was still some things Soda didn't understand. So I told him, "It did feel that way at first, but that was before I realized how important it was for Pony to do things at his own pace. Do you know what 'interpersonal' means, Soda?" He shook his head, so I continued, "It means 'relating to relationships or communication between people', and interpersonal issues usually come up when life throws you a curveball, like a loss." The look on his face when I said that was one of horror, and I knew then that he had realized how true that was. He and I were very lucky to get our lives back on track quickly, but Pony wasn't. I continued without missing a beat, "Pony's grief from that thus caused some serious conflicts in some of his relationships, and difficulty either beginning or maintaining them."
Soda was quiet, "I understand that. I really do. But you can't deny, Darry, that you're worried about him."
No, I couldn't. "I am," I admitted. "But I trust this Dr. Loh to take care of him." Truth. "She's good for him, and she gives him an outlet that doesn't already have a say in whatever he tells her. And honestly, I think some part of Pony enjoys those therapy sessions." I paused, seeing the look on Soda's face that told me part of him doubted me. "Just respect Pony's wishes. It may hurt, but if he's not ready for people to tag along with him to therapy, then he's not ready. It's as simple as that."
I left it at that, knowing he couldn't deny the truth in anything I just said. Pony obviously didn't want to talk about his therapy if he was being prompted to, so all we could do was wait until Pony was ready to talk about it.
Sodapop went hunting for our little brother as I started on dinner.
About an hour later, dinner was done and on the table, and I went out to the porch to call my brothers inside. The moment I saw them, I knew the two had just shared a special moment, and that Soda had reached an understanding of some sort. I didn't say anything, promising myself I'd let them bring it up. Sure enough, after dinner, though loose on the details, Soda confirmed my suspicions.
!~~~U~P~H~I~L~L~~B~A~T~T~L~E~~~!
The next day, the rain started coming down since around 4:00 AM or so, and as I woke up and started on breakfast, it was clear that the rain wasn't going to stop anytime soon. Soda still had to go to work, but my boss called me after breakfast to let me know I didn't have to go in today.
As it was nearing 10:30 AM, Pony came into the living room, where I was, sitting in Dad's old armchair and reading the newspaper.
"You don't have work today?" he asked.
"Got rained out," I replied, nodding to the window, where the rain was still heavily pouring.
I was about to go back to reading the paper, but the way his face fell made me look at him instead. The expression he was wearing wasn't disappointment. It was dread.
I wondered why until I realized that today was Saturday, the day he went to therapy.
And I had ruled walking in the rain as something Ponyboy must never do (barring emergencies) for fear of him getting sick.
He looked so lost, and he almost jumped out of his own skin when I asked, "Do you want me to drive you there?"
He turned to look at me, pausing as if taking in what I had just asked him, before he nodded. He looked so lost, almost fearful, and closely watched as I got up, snatched a book at random, before grabbing my phone and the keys to the truck.
I made sure he had a jacket on, one with a hood (he did), before saying, "Then, let's go."
On the drive there, Pony was silent, making me wonder if I had said or done something wrong. At least until he asked, "What's with the book?" His voice quiet and filled with hesitation, and hearing him like this made my heart twist.
"I'm going to wait in the car," I replied, phrasing it as if it was obvious. I hated making him feel like an idiot, but I needed to let him know that he didn't have to be afraid of me. He was looking at me with apprehension, so I explained, "Driving you to therapy is not an excuse to go in with you. I know you didn't want to ask me for a ride, so staying in the car is as much of a choice I can give you here."
The rain took away Ponyboy's choice to his privacy. This was me trying to give some of it back.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Pony gently smile and I barely heard his "thanks".
I remembered exactly where the mental health clinic, having trailed Pony a week ago, but for his sake, I chose not to object whenever he gave me directions.
As I pulled into the parking lot, he sat up straighter, getting ready to get out. When I pulled up to the entrance and stopped, he told me, "You'll be waiting for about an hour." The way he phrased it told me that he was still afraid that he was bugging me with this.
"Take as much time as you need," was my response, which illicited another smile from him, this one grateful. He unbuckled his seat belt and opened his door, but before he could actually exit the truck, I told him, "Hood, Ponyboy."
He sent me a sheepish smile as he pulled his jacket's hood over his head, before exiting the truck, closing the door behind him. I stayed there, however, until after I saw him go inside the building.
Once he was out of the rain and inside a warm place, I then parked the truck in a space and took out the book I had grabbed and started reading.
Mom's copy of The Carpetbaggers. Oh joy...
!~~~U~P~H~I~L~L~~B~A~T~T~L~E~~~!
I ended up not reading the book and instead resorted to sifting through the news feed on my phone. Not much was happening, apparently, at least nothing worth going gray over.
About an hour and ten minutes later, I received a text from Ponyboy. He was done and was waiting by the entrance for me. I pulled the truck out of the space and up to the entrance, and as he got in, I asked if he needed to go to the library. No, he didn't, as the book he borrowed wasn't due until next week. Besides, he needed to talk to me.
"Okay," was all I said, unable to take my eyes off the road.
I heard him take a deep breath before opening the following conversation with this, "Either you or Soda are coming with me to therapy next week, like actually going inside. Which one of you, I'm not sure. It depends on who has the day off."
I blinked, "Okay." That was fine; it was his choice about whether or not he wanted to include us or not. I just wanted to know why.
I was about to ask just that, but Pony beat me to it, "I know you and Soda have questions, ones that you really want to ask Dr. Loh, and no matter how much I tell myself otherwise, I can't keep lying to myself and say that you guys don't worry about me. You do." And rightfully so. He went quiet, "I saw the looks on your faces when I had that panic attack." Oh. "You guys looked like you were about to panic yourselves." He took another deep breath here. "Thank you for being so understanding, Dar. You could've gone inside with me, but you chose not to."
"Because I was respecting your privacy, kiddo," I replied. "It's very important for you to do things at your own pace, but that doesn't mean you need to be apprehensive about needing a ride to therapy."
"Sorry," Pony was still rather quiet, and this time, sounding a little tired. "I wasn't expecting my secret to get out by you guys deciding to follow me one day."
"Don't apologize for that-" I began. That wasn't his fault; it was ours.
He cut me off, "Please, let me finish." He sounded so emotionally exhausted. Was he like this after every therapy sesssion? He continued, "I told you last week that I found it hard to ask for help with this. It was true then, and it's true now. If you guys didn't follow me, I don't know when I would've been ready. Maybe never. I just wasn't prepared for you guys finding out the way you did." Pony then changed the subject, kind of, "Now, am I correct in assuming that most of the questions you and Soda have are for Dr. Loh?"
"Yes," I replied. "However, I do have one for you, but you don't have to answer it."
"Okay," he said, staying quiet, obviously waiting for my question.
"Am I correct in assuming that your problems existed before the accident?" I asked. It was a loaded question, and I know I told him he didn't have to answer it. But part of me really wanted him to answer.
Sure enough, Ponyboy was quiet as he digested what I had asked him. When he finally spoke, his voice was tight with emotion, like he really wanted to cry. "Yes." But he answered the question. "Dr. Loh... told me that she thinks the deaths of Mom and Dad... were the catalyst. And I think she's right." He continued without any prompting from me. "Before the accident, my issues were tough, but I could manage. I could go about my life like I normally did. But Mom and Dad..." He paused and sniffed, almost as if he really was crying, or about to, "Losing them just brought so many changes I wasn't ready for, one of which was our relationship suddenly doing a 180." I was afraid of that. Pony then caught me off-guard, almost as if he could read my mind, "Before you start blaming yourself, Darry, please remember that last week, I said that you weren't at fault. It's true. My issues existed long before our arguments started."
"Yeah, but our fights sure didn't help." No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't keep the self-resentment out of my voice.
"No, they didn't," he replied. So that's why he's avoiding fights and conflicts now. Because they just make his issues harder than they have to be.
"It's been rough for all of us," I told me. "But in order for us to stay together, someone needed to step up and take the parental role." And as the oldest and only legal adult, it fell to me.
"I know," he admitted. "But sometimes, I don't need a parent. Sometimes, I just need my brother. Sometimes, I just need you to be there..."
Something in his voice made me pull the truck over and stop on the side of the road. Once the truck was parked, I turned to face him, the two of us only hearing the pounding of the rain hitting the truck. Sure enough, there were unshed tears in his green-gray eyes. He wanted to cry, but I could tell he was trying very hard to keep it together for my sake.
The one who finally broke the silence was me, as I quietly asked him, "Just how much have you been suffering this past year?"
That question was evidentally the straw that broke the camel's back, as Pony bowed his head and let the tears go. That was when I understood what Pony meant earlier. Sometimes, he needed parental figure Darry, no matter how much Pony thought he could take care of himself. But sometimes, he just needed older brother Darry. This was one of those times.
Through his tears, Ponyboy managed to tell me, "I do have more than one way to cope with and address my problems, I swear. But sometimes, nothing helps, times where the only thing I can do is just suffer through them."
This was when I pulled my baby brother in a hug, "That doesn't mean you have to suffer alone."
The rain started easing up the moment Pony returned the embrace I offered, crying into my shoulder.
That was the inspiration for the system we (the gang) use now when gauging how Ponyboy feels. That's right: weather analogies. The question we initially ask is "How's the rain?", which means 'How are you feeling today?'
If Pony answers with "rain storm" or "thunder storm", it means he's having a rough time. If he adds "I need to get dry", it means he needs a hug.
If he answers with "cloudy skies", it means he's okay, but he could be better and he's dealing with it on his own.
If he answers with "nothing but sunshine", it means he's having a good day.
Ponyboy's suffering is far from over. I read somewhere online that fighting depression and anxiety is like climbing up a mountain on a slide. But I trust that my brother's in good hands.
After all, one of those hands is mine.
!~~~T~H~E~~O~U~T~S~I~D~E~R~S~~~!
A/N: Every single Greaser has mental health problems, and it becomes kinda obvious if you read the book more than once. Given what happens, however, and how they live every single day, it's understandable.
Let me know if ya'll want me to continue making these, and you're allowed to give me ideas for the future, either following this plotline, a different plotline, or something humorous like a group chat. I think Installment 4 (of this arc, at least) will be in Johnny's POV.