Chapter Seventeen
janae
Afraid I would see one of the guys, I ran through the house and up the stairs as fast as I could. I couldn’t take the throbbing pain. Landon had read me from head to toe. Everything I hated about myself, he noticed. I hated that restlessness had been my middle name since I was a child. My mother used to pinch and hit me to remain still at church and at the dinner table until she gave up. I was the disruptive girl in class who would talk too much or get up without asking permission, because to sit too long physically hurt. I would get into fights with boys and girls at school because I would react to the simplest comment instead of wondering if the other person truly meant to insult me. After a while, it became easier not to make any friends.
I’d wanted to yell until my lungs bled when Landon said he could tell I was sad. That my eyes were only two things… either dead or sad. Three years of being alone, working hard on myself, staying sober, and I was still depressed. Landon had called out the parts of me that I thought I’d hidden… that I thought no one noticed, like they were the most obvious thing about me. He had seen me. He saw me.
And what he saw, he didn’t want. Or even if he did, sooner or later, he wouldn’t.
How dare he tell me how consumed he was with me and that all my heart wanted to do was sing, only to chase his genuine feelings with how he believed I’d break his heart and that he’d never recover? The truth of the matter was that I’d never broken a man’s heart. They always left me or never claimed me in the first place. I’d wanted to laugh in his face and tell him that he would wreck me long before I ever hurt him. I wanted to scream that he’d gotten it all wrong. No one had ever truly loved me. Even the man I’d thought loved me for four years looked at his new woman in a way he’d never looked at me.
Busting through my bedroom door and locking it behind me, I scoured my suitcases for any pills I might have forgotten about. I had to find peace. Every inch of my body throbbed and begged for release. God, help me. God… please … I couldn’t… This was too much. Why me? Why allow me to be this close to heaven, only to land in hell?
Fuck. Fuck. Nothing.
I rushed to the bathroom and found my razor in my toiletry bag. I sank to the cold floor and pushed up my shorts to cut the top of my thigh. No man would see my inner thigh anyway. My ex had stopped sexing me a long time ago. The meds took away the things I hated, like my uncontrollable moods, dark thoughts, my impulsivity, and my restlessness, along with the parts of me I loved especially my creativity, my sexuality, and my carefree approach to life. How could I possibly win in this battle for my mind… for the battle of my heart and my soul?
I pressed the razor against my thigh, anticipating the rush of emotions and then the sweet, sweet release when the red line appeared against the brown of my skin. The sharp pain hurt more than I recalled, and the silver razor clanged when it hit the ceramic floor. I stared at my leg, and the cut began to clot, showing little blood because I didn’t slice as deep as I had in the past. How could that be? In the past, I’d barely felt any pain. I’d always reveled in the blood that leaked from my self-inflicted wound.
I looked past the ceiling to the great beyond reminding myself that I was healing. My physical pain was greater than my emotional pain. I could push through the darkness. A sliver of light peeked behind the gray clouds.
Slowly pushing up from the floor, I stared at my reflection. My eyes were wounded, like I’d just lost everything that I’d ever loved. I brushed back my wild hair, studying my face. My high cheekbones, the soft hair that framed my oval, asymmetrical face. The diamond chip in my nose, so tiny that it went undetected unless the light hit it a certain way. My full, bow-shaped lips, perfect for pouting and any lip shade. Like my mother’s, my skin was flawless, except for an occasional breakout because of makeup and improper cleaning. I could say without flinching that I was a beautiful woman. I could see what others saw and not the ugliness my mind often saw.
I kept looking at myself until my eyes only seemed sad and no longer desolate. Happiness would take time, and I would get there someday, I vowed to myself.
In the shower, I bowed my head and allowed the hot water to run over my hair and body. I couldn’t keep being afraid of my moods, scared to sleep, and when I would be triggered. I was no longer locked away in my condo, watching TV, exercising, writing music, and journaling. I was out in the world with people who could hurt me, even if unintentionally, like Landon. The more I engaged with the public, the more the inevitable scrutiny of my past behavior and decisions that I’d made would resurface. I’d been warmly received thus far and still felt like breaking with the tiniest mark against myself. What would happen to my psyche when I was publicly ridiculed or criticized? The last time that happened, I’d tried to take my own life.
It was time I fully accepted my struggles. If a man who’d only known me for a short time could see me, it didn’t make sense to hide anymore if I truly wanted to heal. I had to learn to be vulnerable with others and trust in me, my treatment team, and the process of living with this disorder.
Wrapping towels around my hair and body, I perched on the edge of the bed and called Del.
“I was just about to call you and the guys to congratulate you on your first show and tell you we have a lot to discuss now that your tour is trending. I’m on the way to Atlanta now, and we can all meet over dinner tonight. Proud of you.”
“Then you’re about to be prouder, because I want to use the reality show to talk about my struggles. Not just about how hard it is to be an entertainer but how much more challenging it is because I have bipolar.” My shoulders sagged in exhaustion. I was tired of fighting in silence.
“Are you sure?” Del asked. “It might be harder than you think to be honest with the world.”
“Everything in my life has been hard and I’m still standing, if barely.” I chuckled. “Why should this be any different?”
“In that case, you should reconsider speaking at the fundraiser tonight in Atlanta. They would love for you to say a few words. It won’t take long. Dip in and out. Raise some money for a good cause. You can say you’re a supporter of mental health rights if you’re not ready to share your diagnosis.”
I sank back on the bed and stared at the recessed ceiling.
“Janae? You still there?”
“Set it up.” I hung up.
The knock on the door startled me. I shot up, tightening the towel around me. Was I ready to see Landon and explain myself?
“The bus will be here in less than thirty, ahead of schedule. You ready?” Brian announced through the door.
“Yeah…” I cleared my throat of the lump of disappointment that swelled. “Yes. Thanks, Bri.”
“No problem.”
I closed my eyes and flopped back on the mattress, trying to console myself that I’d done the right thing by ending us now before deep feelings were involved.
Then why did my heart ache so badly?