A Tragic Kind of Wonderful(62)

Dr. Jordan keeps telling me to talk about everything with my real doctor, and Dr. Oswald says talking about things will help, too, but it was Dr. Dharni who got under my skin yesterday in Group. He said not thinking about trauma is like a dog licking a sore on its leg. It might seem like keeping something painful out of your mind is protecting you, but you’re actually making it worse, preventing it from healing.

Maybe I was just vulnerable in the hospital, but it was the first time I wondered if my ability to keep myself from thinking about something isn’t a superpower at all. I’ve always thought I had the strength to avoid thinking about painful things. What if I actually can’t think about them because I lack the strength?

I grab my phone and open the picture I took on the bridge. The letters scratched on the gray concrete look different when isolated on the screen, out of their environment. Here it looks more like a part of a tombstone. That’s what it is, in a way … except … it’s not just for Nolan …

It’s clear to me now why I go to the track and watch the long jumpers. It’s the closest I can come to visiting Nolan’s grave. Only I’ve been doing it most every day before school for over a year. That’s not paying respects, or remembering. It’s not saying good-bye.

I need to say good-bye.

*

Dr. Jordan told me everyone with bipolar disorder is different—endless variations of moods, emotions, intensity, frequency, reactions, episodes, delusions, breakdowns—but even so, according to him, I’m unusual. A lot of people have it much worse, he said, though he also likes to say I have my moments. In all his years of practice, he says, he never met anyone who cycled as fast as me without getting angry. Just lucky, I guess.

Not entirely luck. Something about it must run in the family. HJ doesn’t have rage fits, either, though she can get dark and moody, especially on her bad mornings. Thankfully she’s learned to isolate herself or keep her mouth shut till it passes. Nolan only got irrationally angry occasionally. When he did, I would hide for a while. I didn’t take it personally. It was just a state of mind, like being hungry. I came back when he calmed down.

My family definitely got dealt shitty cards, but something we have going for us is we’ve never wanted to hurt ourselves. No matter how depressed we get, how hopeless and pointless everything seems, including breathing, we want to keep on going. Even in mixed states, which HJ doesn’t get like Nolan and me, I’ve never wanted to do anything permanent or fatal. Neither did Nolan. I know it.

Dr. Jordan also said the suicide rate would be even higher except the desire to leave this world often comes with a lack of desire to do anything, including going to the effort of killing oneself. Is that irony? I just know all this adds up to why they’re so worried I’ll end up like Nolan.

It’s this dysphoric mania thing, where severe depression is mixed with a powerful energy and compulsion to act. For people who feel it, and who want to kill themselves, or are just overwhelmed by everything, it’s the worst possible combination. I’ve tried to explain to Dr. Jordan that for people who don’t want to commit suicide, like Nolan and me, it’s not dangerous. It’s just extremely unpleasant till it goes away. But he doesn’t believe me and keeps saying I have to be careful.

I wish there were a way to get people to understand that treating me different than everyone else makes things worse, not better.

*

I should take some Ativan now that I’ve sorted things out but I can’t get myself off the sofa. Mom keeps asking what I want to watch until I finally choose a wildlife documentary. I hope a soothing British accent will calm me down but it doesn’t even hold all my attention so I also mess with my phone to burn off extra energy and brain cycles.

I’m not ready to read all the messages on my phone from when I was in the hospital, yet having them hang over my head is making me anxious. I see one from Connor, a couple from Declan, lots from Holly, and the most from Zumi, a lot of variations of “Get well soon!” They don’t understand that I’m never going to get well.

“Mel?” Mom says. “Baby? Do you need anything?”

I shake my head. I do need something, but she can’t give it to me.

She wipes both of my cheeks with her thumb. “You sure you’re okay?”

“No, Mom. I’m not okay. But it is what it is.”

This is about more than Nolan. I need to say good-bye to everyone. Not the big good-bye. Just go back to my old life of refusing Holly’s rides, doing chemistry homework with Declan, not talking to Zumi or Connor, hanging out every day at the Silver Sands Suites, plus tell David we’ll never have that official first date. I need to end the drama and go back to how things were.

I stand up. “I’m going to bed.”

“This early?” Mom says. “Are you sleepy?”

“No.” I turn to HJ and say, “Maybe you can explain it to her.”

HJ frowns.

“Sorry,” I say to both of them. “Maybe I need to take something. Some Ativan. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I don’t take any pills. I’ll need my energy. Now that I know what I need to do, I can’t put it off any longer or I’ll be back in the hospital by Monday—I can feel it.

I can’t say good-bye to Nolan here. We left him behind when we moved. To do it right, I have to go back. As soon as possible. Alone.