History Is All You Left Me(91)
“We should get going.”
Not only am I going back to school this week, but I have a therapy appointment this afternoon with a new doctor. Dr. Anderson was fine and all, but I’m starting over with this psychiatrist my mom’s friend recommended to her. Hopefully Dr. Fergesen doesn’t make me anxious, or I’ll walk out of her office too. I’ll figure out my next move from there.
We throw on our coats and go outside, walking to the clinic.
“I know I’ve been lying to myself about how well I’m actually functioning, and I know I may not be able to scrub myself clean of all the impulses and anxiety completely, but I want to see if I can take some control of my own life back,” I say.
“You’re welcome,” Wade says.
“I didn’t say thank you,” I say.
“I noticed. I thought I’d nudge you in the right direction.”
“Thanks for forcing me to be honest with myself,” I say.
“Anytime, champ,” Wade says.
I smile at him before looking ahead. There’s nothing wrong with someone’s saving my life, I’ve realized, especially when I can’t trust myself to get the job done right. People need people. That’s that.
Even though I’m incredibly anxious as to how this session will go, I feel like I can do anything right now, like make snow angels in nothing but a T-shirt and boxers and never get sick, or race Wade up the side of a building, not giving a single damn about gravity.
I’m on his left, of course, but in the middle of his story about his earliest memory at the movie theater, I shift to his right and hold his hand, which does feel weird, I can’t lie. But it feels good, too. I’m no longer waking up on the wrong side of my life.
HISTORY
Sunday, November 13th, 2016
My closet is dusty and so are my clothes after burying some of Theo’s things back there. I change out of my shirt and jeans, throwing them on the floor. I’m walking to my dresser when my phone rings. I’m a little nervous I’ll now have to tell Theo about Wade, but it’s what has to be done for everyone involved. Still sucks. But it’s not Theo calling. It’s his mother.
“Hey, Elle—”
She’s crying.
Everything is blurring from there. She’s lying about Theo drowning this afternoon, right? I don’t know why she would do this, but there’s no way it’s true. But she’s not lying. I’m crying with her as I run out into the living room, passing the phone over to my parents. My eyes hurt and I can’t breathe and I need air.
I go outside and run as I hear my mom calling for me. I bullet down the stairs and almost trip several times and I don’t care. Knock me out, Universe, I don’t care. I get outside and it’s freezing and it’s the first time I realize I’m in nothing but my boxers and socks. My feet are wet instantly, but the cold isn’t slowing me down from racing into the street. I don’t want to do this; I don’t want to live and be here without Theo. I see a car coming, and I can throw myself out from behind this parked one.
I’m going to do it.
I’m going to do it because he broke his promise.
The car is a few feet away, but I throw myself into a mound of snow behind me instead, shivering and crying. Theo wouldn’t want me to hurt myself. But I also don’t know how to be alive in a universe where I can’t talk to Theo McIntyre.
TODAY
Sunday, January 7th, 2017
I have to say goodbye to you, Theo McIntyre.
I’m kneeling before your headstone, my knees buried in the snow, and I hope you know this is what’s best for me. My psychiatrist is treating me with exposure therapy for my OCD, and medicine because she’s diagnosed me with a delusional disorder. I’m not convinced she’s right, but I have to face a version of truth that’s painful—you aren’t actually listening to me. This thought gets me scratching my palm and pulling my earlobe, because if you haven’t heard a single thing I’ve said to you since you died, then you died without knowing the truth.
But now that I’m here, where we buried you, maybe I can talk to you.
I haven’t lost my love for you, I swear. I’m actually nervous I may never lose my love for you, as if I’ll start dating someone else and while I’m piecing together that new puzzle, that new story, I’ll find myself reaching for you-shaped pieces. This might be okay for two or four or six or eight pieces, but anything more than that, and I’ll be left with a puzzle that has half your face, half someone else’s. That’s not fair to the guy who’s expecting me to give him my all the way I did with you.
It’s not fair to Wade.
You’re always going to be my first favorite human. No one can steal that from you. But now I have to get it together and allow room for more favorite people, to trust that Wade and Jackson are worthy of their own crowns.
It’s been rewarding to be this honest lately. I’m determined to stay this honest, as if lives depend on it, which I guess they sort of do. No one will die if I lie, but lives can grow and be fuller when I tell the truth. Being honest will end the fight I have with myself when I’m with Wade, and I can see him for himself instead of someone around to fill up the emptiness.
Maybe when Jackson was here he had this talk with you, too. It kind of makes me sick, like we’re all abandoning you for something that wasn’t your fault. But I guess the point of all this is, Jackson and I will always keep you close, but we’re putting ourselves first, and we’re going to move forward as we’re sure you would want us to.