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As an English Lit student, you wouldn’t expect Charlie Spring to be in an Abnormal Psychology module. But when the opportunity arose, of course, he jumped at it. He was in his second year and had the charisma and academic record to succeed. So, when he submitted the request to enroll, acceptance followed.
He wasn’t quite sure why he wanted to take this class so badly. Maybe he just wanted to figure out why he was so fucked up.
There had to be a reason that only he received his diagnoses. Only he had the thoughts he had. Maybe he could discover why he was chosen to carry this burden. He knew somewhere in his head that completing this course wouldn’t tell him anything fully, but he just felt the urge to gain the knowledge.
He learned that he had the hoarding and the symmetry subtypes of OCD. Also, his genetics had predisposed him to this. His mother had activated these genes by telling him repeatedly that whatever he was doing was the wrong way to do it. Therefore, he couldn’t do anything. He would spend a more than normal amount of time doing a task just so it felt right. He also kept every little thing stored in his room and couldn’t throw anything away for fear that he would forget the memory attached and he would die not knowing the kind of life he lived. His mother was also the one he inherited this class of disorders from. Thanks, Jane. Okay, he knew it wasn't fair to blame her as it wasn't her fault either, but he has the right to be a little angry since he didn't choose this life.
Charlie learned why his SSRIs and therapy combined were the solution for him and why it was so important to not discontinue the use of his medication. Because his OCD had manifested itself with his eating disorder, it was interesting to learn about why this happened to him. The need to get it right manifested in eating at the right time, or the right amount. Eventually, it never felt right and he couldn’t eat at all. It became a way to control his pain. To be the one who could make Charlie hurt the worst. Instead of feeling that pain from the external source of the school social environment at Truham. It also took the form of hurting himself. Both of these behaviors were just consequences of his feelings.
It was weird to understand himself in a fundamental way that was outside of therapy. In therapy, Charlie was encouraged to reach into himself and tinker with all the broken parts. Okay, he isn’t broken. Everyone keeps telling him to stop saying that. Even if he feels it. But in therapy, it was all about him. In his abnormal psychology class, it was all a general statement. No one knew these clinical criteria described him unless he said anything and he definitely wasn’t going to be one of those weirdos who overshare their diagnoses to get attention or dig into their psyche with the professor. He was going to do that by himself.
Tori, Nick, Jane, Julio, and Geoff all, on separate occasions, told Charlie that maybe this class wasn’t the best idea for him to take. Charlie kind of agreed, but not enough to disenroll himself from the class. He was going to make it through. He was going to learn about his behaviors and other types of disorders people have and be able to handle it.
He had done well on the exams and assignments up to this point with no real academic catastrophes. Despite needing a little cry session with Nick after the OCD lecture, Charlie was fine throughout the rest of the course. It was an interesting subject and he learned a lot.
Towards the end of the term, Charlie was sitting in his accommodation reading his textbook. As an English Lit major, sometimes Charlie needed a break from reading. He loved it, but everyone needs a break once in a while, Nick had reminded him. He had fallen a little behind schedule on his textbook reading but he still had two weeks until the exam, so it was no big deal since he had a pretty good grasp of the material. When Charlie got back on the train of reading his textbook, he was excited to further his knowledge through reading.
The course had just reached the personality disorders chapter and he was learning a lot. He had already been through the lecture about Borderline Personality Disorder and how a key feature of the disorder was self-harm. Charlie had made it through with no problem. He did need an extra tight squeeze from Nick afterward, but he had made it through. No relapsing, nothing. He had done it.
But then, the textbook reading happened.
Charlie was reading the clinical description of the disorder, finding out what constitutes a diagnosis of BPD when he flipped the page to continue the paragraph.
In the bottom right corner of the page, lies a picture. Charlie freezes for what seems to him to be a few minutes. When he became more aware of his body again, he slammed the book closed. Charlie was frozen at the spot, staring at the back cover of the textbook in his lap. The picture containing fresh self-harm on a person's wrist was being shown to him like it was no big deal.
He was fine with the professor talking about self-harm because he could distance himself from it. The professor did not go into detail about the semantics of self-harm, just the reason behind it. He could deal with that. He could pretend he didn't know what it was like. This was a real, bonafide representation of it staring him directly in the face. And it was triggering.
Charlie just sat there not knowing how much time was passing. Sitting there, he began to think about how his scars were both too much and not enough. When he first wanted to show Nick his body, the scars were too much for anyone to handle, even himself. At this moment, the faded nature of them felt like not enough. Thoughts of how easy it would be to go back to those old habits because no one was there to stop him came flooding. He needed to do something.
He picked up his phone but it was already buzzing with Nick’s smiling face lighting up the screen. Charlie answered.
“Hey baby,” Nick said casually into the phone, “I was just calling because I wanted to let you know that the ink in my pen finished during my lecture today, so annoying, so I need to stop off at a Papersmiths for a new ink refill. I was wondering if you needed anything from there. I could also pick us up some food if you want me to. I was thinking we-” Nick suddenly stopped.
“Charlie?” Nick called into the phone.
“I’m here,” Charlie whispered.
“What’s wrong, honey?” Nick replied.
“Can you please just come home?” Charlie begged.
“I’m on my way,” Nick said with determination. The wind was swooping through the microphone, telling Charlie he was running.
“Do you need me to stay on the line or are you okay?” Nick asked.
“Uhm, please stay until you get here,” Charlie whispered.
“Okay, no problem honey,” Nick stressed to him.
Nick began to talk about everything and anything. The giant badger he saw on the way to class, the squirrel that ran at him, trying to fish out a new pen in the middle of lecture. He was telling Charlie the chronology of his day, all while running. If Charlie was in his right mind at the time he probably would have marveled at how fit his boyfriend was, as this feat didn't tire out Nick at all. But alas, Charlie was busy focusing on Nick's grounding voice.
As he talked, Charlie slowly relaxed. He finally loosened up and was able to put down the textbook, walk to his bed, and lay down under the duvet while listening to Nick continue to ramble.
When Nick finally barged through the door, Charlie let out a whine.
“Hey baby, what's the matter?” Nick said gently.
Charlie just shook his head, moved over, and opened the covers as an invitation for Nick to join him.
This happened a lot. Charlie just couldn't explain what was going on in his head at the moment. He just needed Nick to hold him.
Nick crawled into the bed without saying a word. Nick just lay there silently, running his fingers through Charlie's hair and down the back of his neck.
“I love you, Char,” Nick whispered, “and whatever is happening right now, we're going to get through it.”
With that declaration of love shared, Charlie burst into tears. Nick began using soothing words and motions to comfort Charlie through his emotional release.
When Charlie could finally explain what had happened, Nick had glassy eyes.
“Char, I’m so proud of you for telling me you needed help. I know you’ve been doing well for years, but I’m just so proud. Sorry, I just had to say that,” Nick rambled.
“No s-word,” Charlie followed.
“Hey! That’s my line!” Nick exclaimed.
After a few moments of silence, the only sound in the air being the gentle graze of Nick’s hand down Charlie’s back or through his curls, Nick spoke again.
“Is there anything I can do about the picture?” Nick asked.
“Would you be able to cover it up for me? I know it’s stupid. You know what, never mind I can deal with it.” Charlie rambled.
“Charlie, I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe, you know that,” Nick replied.
And so, when they both got out of bed again, Nick went back to the desk and grabbed the Post-it notes. Charlie instructed him which chapter the page was in and how to find it.
From that day forward, page 430 of Charlie’s Abnormal Psychology textbook had a picture covered in Post-it notes with Nick’s doodles of hearts and flowers in the bottom right corner.
Again, despite this small almost-setback, Charlie succeeded with high marks in the class. He had made it through. He had made everyone proud.
When the term ended after the final exam for the class, Nick met Charlie outside the building. Nick ran to him, picked him up, and spun him around.
“I am SO fucking proud of you, Char. You did it!” Nick yelled and set him down.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m a genius, whatever,” Charlie said sarcastically.
“Hey, I waited outside for you for a whole five minutes and you can’t even take my compliment? Wow, I thought you loved me,” Nick replied dramatically, turning away. Charlie grabbed his hand and spun him around to face him again.
“I love you, Nick Nelson.”
“I’ll love you till the day that I die, Charlie Spring.”
“Don’t say sappy stuff like that. You’ll make me cry,” Charlie said.
“I’ll never stop, and that is a promise,” Nick replied.
And they walked back home together. Hand in hand.