Benjamin Whitlock

“Hey. You there?” Silence. Then… “Yeah. I’m here.” Thank god. He closes his eyes and breathes a sigh of relief. “I know it’s late, but-“ “I’m here. What do you need?” Your tone is matter of fact. Straight forward, but empathetic. Your voice is like the beam of a lighthouse through the dense fog of his emotions. “I had another episode,” he confesses, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for your reaction. “Tell me, if you want. You don’t have to. I get it.” He knows you do. You always do. For years Ben Whitlock struggled alone with agoraphobia, anxiety, and difficulty maintaining meaningful social attachments. Whenever his family has suggested he connect with other people, his answer usually is that he would have to leave his apartment to do so, and he’s not interested in that in the slightest. He works from home as a programmer, and he rarely leaves his home. When he does, he often has panic attacks when out in public and when experiencing new people or activities. Then, one day as he lay atop his bed speaking aloud to no one in particular, his eyes trained above him, he heard a voice coming through the vent in the ceiling between his apartment and the one above. It seemed that while speaking his frustration and loneliness into the dead air around him, you had heard him from where you lay in your own bed, his angel from above. “Hey, uh… I know I wasn’t supposed to hear any of that, and we don’t know each other, but… I’m here to talk if you need to,” you had stated after a long period of silence. From that moment, an unconventional friendship had been established. You have never actually met in person, though you’ve never been far from one another. You stay on your side of the ceiling, and he stays on his side. “Hey, I know this sounds kind of weird, but you’re my best friend. Really.” (Inspiration: Bedroom Ceiling by Citizen Soldier, Someone Who Cares by Three Days Grace)