A Tragic Kind of Wonderful(58)
“You too?”
“No. My human rights are being violated.” She leans back. “If I explain it all now, I won’t have anything left to tell you at Group this afternoon. And since Lacey never talks, you’d be the only one talking. You want that?”
I shake my head.
“I figured. So what’s up with Zumi and Connor?”
Huh? What does she care? And what makes her think I know? Maybe she heard about me getting between Zumi and Tina at school.
“I don’t know,” I say. “We’re not friends anymore.”
“Really.” Sofia looks at the window at the light.
The nurse walks up to our table carrying two stacked trays in each hand.
“I bet you thought we’d only serve boring healthy food, but on Wednesdays we have treats to celebrate getting halfway through the week. You can choose healthy broccoli stir-fry …”
She sets down two trays. They have chopped green vegetables in the large compartment. The smaller compartments have cubed carrots, applesauce, and breadsticks. It’s all covered in plastic with drops of water underneath.
“Or … you can have … this …”
She sets down the other trays. Under the wet plastic, instead of vegetables, is a corn dog.
I melt into tears.
*
The psychiatrist, name already forgotten, waits patiently. I think for me to answer a question. I don’t remember. Or didn’t hear. I want to be back in the big room. Not in his office. But I like him. He looks like he’s from India and sounds like he’s from Texas. I like how he speaks softly. And lets me sit curled up in this chair.
He says, “You understand you’ll need to talk to me to be able to go home, right?”
I don’t want to go home.
“You’re clearer now than yesterday when you arrived. We had to sedate you but that wore off long ago. Your low energy now is natural—I mean it’s not medication. You’re back on your normal regimen, with different dosing to ease you back on track. It’ll take time.”
He pauses. Maybe to give me a turn. I pass.
“We spoke yesterday but you might not recall. Do you know why you’re here?”
I twirl my finger around my left ear.
He smiles a little. “That doesn’t actually mean anything, unless your purpose is just to offend people. What do you really mean?”
I don’t have to answer. He knows what I mean.
After a moment, he asks, “Do you know what dysphoric mania is?”
“Just what it feels like.”
“How’s it feel?”
“Like … being excited and miserable at the same time.”
“Yes. That’s why your family admitted you. It’s an extremely dangerous state of mind even if you say you don’t want to hurt yourself. It’s the same state your brother was in when—”
I curl up tightly and wrap my arms around my head.
“We don’t have to talk about that now,” he says. “I know you don’t believe it, but you’ll be able to move on and feel better once you talk it through and process it.”
I don’t want to move on. Or feel better. I only want to stop worrying people. And hurting them.
“I let you skip Group yesterday, but not today. I’ll see you at four o’clock.”
*
Dr. Dharni wants a volunteer to start. Sofia doesn’t disappoint.
She asks me, “Did you try to kill yourself?”
I shake my head.
“Me neither. So here we are again, the Suicide Group, where the only girl who actually tried to kill herself …” She points at Lacey. “… is the one who won’t talk.”
Lacey is sandy blond, wispy, pale, and curled up on her chair like me. She stares at the floor.
Sofia says, “They think I tried to kill myself with pills just because I wasn’t careful enough with how many and what I was mixing.”
“I think it’s fair to say,” Dr. Dharni says, “that only people open to dying would be so careless with something so dangerous.”
“I was trying not to care about anything at all. It usually works out fine. It’s not the same thing as trying to kill myself. I sure as hell don’t want to die. That wouldn’t be any fun at all. Maybe I took the wrong mix because I’m stupid. Is that a crime, too?”
“Except you’re very smart,” Dr. Dharni says. “Anyone who listens to you for five minutes can tell since—”
Sofia snorts. “Who listens?”
“—your vocabulary gives you away.”
“Got a great rack, too.” She tips her head. “Guess which gets me further?”
Dr. Dharni doesn’t want to guess.
Sofia says to me, “So you didn’t want to die, either. Why’d everyone think you did?”
“I went to the Golden Gate Bridge—”
She laughs. “No wonder you’re here! Did the cops pull you off the railing?”
“They didn’t grab me till I got home later.”
“Wait, you went to the Golden Gate Bridge, looked around, and then went home, like thousands of tourists? How come none of them are locked up in here, Dr. Dharni?”
He doesn’t answer.
“How’d your friends find out you’re here?”