Chapter 39 #2
“Was there a reason you didn’t feel comfortable telling us until now?” Bash gently asked. “We didn’t do anything to make you feel unsafe or judged, did we?…”
“No, it wasn’t anything you guys did or didn’t do, I swear.” I explained what had gone down at SHSU when I’d told my supposed “friends” about my disorder and how I’d handled the abandonment afterwards.
“What a bunch of cuntbags,” Micah snarled. “Oof, sorry about the language, Mr. Bishop!”
“No need to apologize to me. I was just fantasizing about putting their balls in a wood chipper,” Dad growled. Nate let out a short squeak and dropped his hands in front of his pants, his eyes bugging out.
“Well, I can guarantee that you are a lifetime member of the UT crew and that comes with an endless supply of love, support, and ass-whoopings for anyone who fucks with you.”
“And we’ll help however we can, whenever you need anything from us,” Bash added to his boyfriend’s reassurance.
My eyes burned at the unconditional acceptance they were all showing me and I choked out a thank you. My throat was going to permanently close with all these damn tears that kept coming up.
God, I hope this is just a side effect of my weakened state and I’m not gonna become one of those people that cries during Sarah McLachlan commercials or some shit…
I finally remembered my manners and introduced everyone to my dad, who seemed very pleased with the show of support he’d seen from my friends. Pretty soon the door opened again and a tall, middle-aged lady with platinum blond hair waltzed in.
“Ah, I was hoping you’d be awake! I’m the psychiatrist on-call, Doctor Johansson,” she said in a light Scandinavian accent.
“The white coat kind of gave it away,” I joked lamely. She chuckled and shook my hand.
“Aaand that’s our cue,” Micah piped up. “Autobots, roll out!”
The guys and Aly gave us quick hugs and made us promise to text them if either of us needed anything. I brought my attention back to the doctor, who was waiting patiently.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your visit with your friends, but I didn’t want to keep you waiting any longer for news.
Now, from what I was legally able to learn from your therapist and from the information your partner here gave me about the past few weeks up to last night, I believe you had what we call a mixed episode.
It was likely brought on by the irregular use of your medication, and the alcohol you consumed worsened the effects.
It’s incredibly dangerous to mix your lithium carbonate and alcoholic beverages.
To put it bluntly, you are very lucky that you didn’t cause more damage to your body. ”
My stomach curdled as my mind worked to understand the influx of information. Dawson stepped closer and gripped my forearm, and I wondered if he needed the contact as badly as I did then.
“Umm, sorry, but what’s a mixed episode?”
Her kind smile put me slightly at ease even as embarrassment heated my cheeks.
“A mixed episode is when someone with bipolar disorder experiences both manic and depressive symptoms simultaneously. They are fairly common, especially in those who have a co-occurring disorder, like with your ADHD, or those who abruptly discontinue their medication. They can be quite serious. The risk for suicide is significantly higher since the depression often leads to suicidal thoughts and the mania can feed the impulsivity and energy to follow through on those urges.”
Nausea swelled in my gut thinking how close it had come to that last night. I glanced up at Dawson, the tension around his eyes and the way he was abusing his bottom lip with his teeth told me he was just as affected by her words as I was.
“So what happens now? What are his next steps?” Dad asked.
“My professional opinion is for you to enter a clinical treatment program to help you stabilize on new medication and learn to manage your symptoms long-term.”
My muscles went rigid at the suggestion. I knew that would probably be her solution, but everything inside me rebelled at the idea. Dawson slipped an arm around my shoulder and pressed his lips to my temple, rubbing soothing patterns up and down my bicep.
“You really think that’s the best option for me?”
I wanted to do what was right, what would help me genuinely heal and grow stronger so that this never happened to me again. If she felt this was the way to go, I’d push through whatever bullshit fears I had from before and commit to it. For Dawson and myself.
“I do. However, your partner did share that you’ve had some problematic experiences in the past with residential treatment, is that right?”
I gave a jerky nod and leaned into Dawson more, breathing in his woodsy scent to calm my thudding pulse.
“If I may, I have a personal suggestion that I think you will be much happier with.” She paused and gave me an assessing look.
“My wife is the staff psychiatrist for a treatment facility just west of the city, Harbor House. I worked there myself for some years and I can honestly say I’ve never seen another program equal to it.
They have an impeccable therapeutic record for recovery with a low rate of relapse and the facility itself is top-tier. ”
Dad jumped in with several questions about the treatment and types of therapy they used, even down to the building itself and the amenities it included.
I had to admit, it sounded like a dream.
Dr. Johansson pulled up photos that she’d taken herself from her time there, showing us the immaculate grounds and the swanky, yet comfortable rooms. It even put the bougie facility my mom had forced me into to shame.
She left us to talk it out and research the place ourselves, letting us know they were keeping me for one more night of observation and fluids before releasing me so we had some time to decide.
Eventually, Dad set down his phone after looking into everything he could find about the place, perching on the end of the bed with a hopeful, pleading expression.
“Well, everything I could find online so far points to it being a really great place. So what do you think, kiddo?”
Despite the glowing recommendation from the doc, my mind couldn’t help but cling to the idea that it was nothing more than another gilded cage, a beautiful tomb to rot in as I lost even more of myself.
“Dad, can I have a few minutes to talk it over with Dawson?”
To his credit, he didn’t bat an eye at my request. He pecked a kiss on my forehead and went on a hunt for coffee, leaving us alone. I levered myself over and patted the bed beside me. Dawson climbed on and wound his arms around me, tucking my head under his chin.
“What if it doesn’t work?” I whispered, like saying it out loud would somehow jinx me.
“Can I say something without you getting upset or mad?”
I tensed in his hold, but dipped my head in agreement.
“I think a large reason you’ve had so much trouble is the mindset that really dug its claws in when you first got diagnosed.
You’ve had so much shame and anger around having bipolar disorder, it’s like you’ve been in survival mode.
You fight it and hate it, but it’s a part of you.
You have to learn to live with it instead of against it.
It’s okay to give yourself some grace when you stumble, baby. ”
“I don’t know how,” I admitted wetly. “I want to—to stop hating myself and not look at myself as a mistake anymore. I want to change, for good this time. I just don’t know where to even start…”
Dawson tilted my chin up, his gorgeous blues boring into mine like two waves crashing together. He stroked my cheek in a feather-soft caress and I sank into the touch.
“I think you start with accepting that you’ll have bad days, but they’ll come with a ton of good ones too.
You start by celebrating the good days, but having compassion for yourself when you mess up because we all do from time to time.
You start by telling yourself you are worthy of every bit of goodness that comes your way.
You start by not being afraid to adjust the plan if something isn’t working, and remind yourself that you do not have to go through a single minute of it alone.
I will be there every step of the way, forever and always. ”
He rested his forehead on mine, both of us breathing each other in as his words settled between us.
I was scared at the idea of starting all over again with my treatment, of going back to the beginning and relearning how to be me, mental illness and all.
But sometimes you had to hit rock bottom to know which way was up.
“I’ll do it.”
Dawson leaned back to look me in the eye, his lips slowly curving up at the corners. “You mean it? Are you sure?”
“I do and I am. I’m still anxious about it, but I want to do this.
Not just for you though. You’re right about a lot of things, but the biggest is that I’m worth the effort to get better and to live my life with you.
If I’m supposed to love myself, I think this is the first step in that direction; giving myself my best chance. ”
The blinding smile he flashed me flatlined my heart, and the way his eyes crinkled with joy sparked it back to life.
“I am so goddamn proud of you, Theo. And I love you more than words can say.”
I grinned back at him, but as I stretched up to kiss him, an odd thought hit me out of the blue.
“Oh fuck! Isn’t your game tonight?” I panicked. “Holy shit, you’re supposed to be over there! You don’t have to stay, I’m good—”
His lips covered mine, effectively cutting off my freakout and I went boneless under the lazy assault of his tongue diving into my mouth. He released me way too soon, my head hazy as I looked at him through hooded eyes.
“I already told Coach I won’t be there. I don’t care about missing the game. There is nowhere else on earth I need to be than right here. My place is and always has been right by your side.”
Before I could respond, he reclaimed my mouth and I melted into him. His kiss was liquid gold poured into all the cracks, reforging me into something new. Still broken, yet healed. Still imperfect, yet somehow all the more beautiful for it.
And maybe someday I’d find a way to love those imperfections too.
Someday.