Driving Me Mad (37 page)

The one constant, the one
person, my one rock that I’ve had since I was diagnosed who has
helped me get through everything is gone. How am I supposed to
survive now? Who am I supposed to go to? What in the world am I
going to do? God, I already miss him. Maybe I’ll just stay here
forever just to avoid dealing with the world.

The next day, Dr. Gunner
tries repeatedly to get me out of my room, but I ignore him. He
tries to bribe me with my parents, but it doesn’t work. I only get
up to use the bathroom, which is inside my room thankfully. The
rest of my time is spent staring at the wall, crying silently, or
sleeping. My mind shuts down and I don’t think. I just lie there
and exist.

Sunday comes and my stomach
begins to cramp. My eyes burn from a lack of sleep and I’m so
tired. There’s a knock on my door early that morning. I know it’s
early because breakfast hasn’t been served and no one is really
moving around.

“I have some breakfast for
you if you’d like to eat some.” It’s some nurse. She’s checked on
me often so far, and I wonder when she ever has a day off. She’s
not supposed to bring food into my room. I’m supposed to get out of
bed and go to the commons area if I want to eat. She walks around
and sets the food on the nightstand, making sure I see her and the
food. “Your parents are anxious to see you; they’ve been sitting in
the waiting room all day since you were admitted. You’ve even had a
friend stop by and sit with them.”

She must be talking about
Rebecca.

“Well, I just wanted to bring
you breakfast and let you know about your family. If you are going
to eat, it’d be great if you’d do it quickly, so I can sneak it
back out. I’ll be back in an hour.” With that, she walks out.

My eyes drift to the food and
my stomach hurts more. I sit up, deciding I should take advantage
of the nurse’s kindness. I slowly eat the food. Partly to savor it,
partly to make sure I’m not going to throw up. The food isn’t half
bad and I finish it all. I lie back down. The next time she enters
the room, she brings me something else.

“Here are some of your own
clothes your friend brought, and some things you’ll need if you’d
like to take a shower. It’s right outside your room.”

My voice doesn’t sound like
my own when I speak. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Honestly?”

I nod.

“I’m hoping if someone is
nice to you that it’ll help you. It’s been hard to watch your
parents sit in the waiting room and worry so much. You should
really think about venturing out during visitor’s hours.”

“I think I’ll take that
shower.” I’m not committing to anything yet.

The nurse shows me where it
is as if she never told me in the first place. The shower wears me
out, so I climb back into bed once I’m done. It feels good to be
wearing my own clothes, though, and not those uncomfortable,
scratchy hospital ones. It’s surprising when I don’t have a visit
from Dr. Gunner, but I’m okay with that.

Around lunch, I hear, “I
don’t care what policy is! You are going to let me see my daughter
right now!”

Mom? I hate that they’ve been
sitting out there with me being in here and too sorry to get up and
meet them. Before I can think too much about it, I get out of bed
and walk into the hallway, following the sound of her voice.

“I’m her mother and what she
needs is someone she knows! Not to be holed up in that room. I can
get her out. You need to let me see her!”

I walk around the corner to
see my father trying to calm her down and my mother with her fists
clenched on the countertop of the nurses’ desk. I wonder why they
let her on this side if they had no intentions of letting her see
me. You have to walk through a locked door to enter the ward.

“Mom?”

Their heads snap my way. Mom
comes rushing over and I break into tears. God, I’m so tired of
crying. Mom wraps me in her arms, crying just as hard as I am.

“We’ve been so worried. Are
you okay?”

I’m crying too hard to
answer. Dad says something and we start walking down another
hallway. We’re sitting in one of the commons areas, I guess,
because other patients glance our way. We sit down on the couch
with me in the middle and my parents hug me tight.

“I wanna go home,” I sob.

“I know,” Dad says, “but you
still have four days to go and you haven’t exactly shown them that
you’re capable.”

That’s such bullshit. They
hold me for a little longer before Mom breaks the silence. My
crying has calmed down some and she pushes my hair away from my
face, wiping my cheeks.

“Will you tell us what
happened?”

I lean against her, resting
my head on her shoulder so I don’t have to look at her. “I’m so
tired, Mom.”

“Please, Brittany,” my dad
quietly begs. “We want to understand.”

“I don’t even understand it.
I was driving and then I couldn’t stop thinking about crashing. I
went to Trace’s to tell him, but he broke up with me, so I left and
called Dr. Gunner. Now, here I am.”

“That’s why you didn’t want
us to call him,” she says.

I nod, the stupid tears
coming harder. “He thinks we were making each other worse. It
doesn’t make sense. How can he go from inviting me over and letting
me stay over there to all of a sudden breaking up with me?”

It doesn’t make any sense at
all.

***

I
feel like I’m
still standing on my front porch watching her drive away. I was so
sure I made the right decision and all I’ve done since she left is
worry that it might not have been. I certainly don’t feel any
better. I can’t stop thinking about how we were making each other
worse and how I most definitely didn’t want to lie to her, but I
also didn’t want to tell her.

Honestly, I’m surprised I
haven’t heard from her. But then again, why would she want to talk
to me after what happened? My phone rings and I pick it up,
surprised that it’s a call from Will.

“Hey,” I answer.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

I glance down at Lily, who is
lying at my feet. “Okay, I guess. You?”

“Same as usual. Look, I’m in
town on some business, and I thought I’d check in on you if you
were up to it.”

“You’re in town?”

“Yeah, and I’m hungry. Aren’t
you going to meet your old friend for lunch?”

I haven’t left the house
since Brittany left and I don’t feel like doing it today. “Sure,” I
say anyway. There’s a very good possibility that I’m going to go
crazy if I stay here much longer. I tell Will where he can meet me
and then get out of bed. As I shower, that whisper of thought
enters my head again and I try to ignore it.

Now I know for sure that I
made the right decision with Brittany. Having suicidal thoughts is
one thing. But with my history? I don’t want her here while I deal
with it. I don’t want her help. I don’t want her to know. I can
still remember the look on my dad’s face when I landed in Texas for
my mom’s funeral. He was miserable, grief-stricken, and felt
guilty. He knew about my mom’s struggles with depression, she
confessed to him her darkest thoughts of suicide, and he couldn’t
help her. He couldn’t stop her in time.

Not that I want to commit the
act, despite my thoughts, but I remember how my mom was worrying
about my dad. She didn’t tell me what she was considering or what
exactly she was worried about. I can only assume it was how she was
affecting him since she told him. It took years afterward to put
two and two together. I don’t want to do to Brittany what my mom
did to my dad. Dad couldn’t handle knowing, and I don’t think
Brittany could either. I’ve always wondered if Mom regretted
telling Dad and if that played a part in her final decision.

Shaking my head, I clear my
thoughts. I don’t want to think about my parents. I don’t want to
think about suicide. I don’t want to think about Brittany. I blank
my mind and am careful to focus solely on each task at hand. Soon,
I’m pulling up to a restaurant and meeting Will out front.

“You look like shit,” he says
with a grin.

“Feeling that way too,” I
reply as we clap each other on the back in a quick hug.

His grin is gone now. “Sounds
like it’s a good thing I’m in town then.”

“Why are you here?” I ask,
opening the door. “It’s the weekend. What business could you have?”
I’m tempted to ask if he’s heard from Brittany, but Will wouldn’t
cross that line and tell me anything.

Will shrugs. “Emergency
business, but it’s all handled now. You know me, always going the
extra mile for my clients.” The waitress leads us to a table and we
sit. “How are things with you, Trace? Still going well with the
girlfriend?”

“No girlfriend, and I already
told you things are shit with me.”

“What happened with the
girl?”

I glance down at the menu
even though I’m familiar with it. I probably should’ve chosen a
different restaurant than Brittany’s favorite, but it was the first
that came to mind.

“Trace,” Will pushes.

“Why the fuck do you care? I
thought you didn’t want to hear anything about her.”

Will doesn’t seem bothered by
my annoyance with him. “Just curious. Last time you mentioned her,
it was to cuss me out for the meds she was on. Quite a big change
from being so worried about her to not wanting to talk about
her.”

Our waiter appears and he
buys me some time as he takes our drink orders. But once he walks
away, Will just stares me down. I absentmindedly grip my neck and
then lean forward. Will is the only one who knows my history.

“Look, I’ve been having
suicidal thoughts again and I couldn’t deal with both, okay? I
can’t tell her that, and I can’t stand lying to her. I need to fix
me again.”

I’ve caught Will’s full
interest as he leans forward. “How bad?”

“Not as bad as before. All
I’m doing is thinking about it here and there. No attempts have
been made. You get why I broke up with her, right?”

Will shakes his head. “No, I
don’t get why you are constantly pushing away your support. You did
it when this shit first started, you did it before your mom died,
after she died, when you were married, and now once again. You need
to see a therapist, and if you laugh at me again, I’m going to
punch you in the throat.”

I fold my arms over my chest
and lean back in my chair as the waiter places our drinks in front
of us. I order what I got the last time I was here. Once he walks
away, Will starts in on me again.

“You’ve never seen one, and
you desperately need to. Don’t feed me that bullshit about how
since you are one you don’t need to see one, either. You got issues
you need to deal with. Have you even told your father yet about the
depression?” I stay silent and he shakes his head. “How long ago
did you break up with her, and what have you been doing since?”

“Did it Friday and been in
bed since.”

“I’m telling you this as your
psychiatrist. You need a therapist.”

“Have you heard from her?”
Okay, so maybe I will ask about her, just to get off this
subject.

Will narrows his eyes. “You
know I’m not discussing my clients with you unless—”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.”

“Why do you care if you broke
up with her?”

“Because I love her,” I
mutter.

He laughs. “You definitely
need therapy.”

He spends the rest of our
lunch alternating between convincing me why I need therapy and
filling me in on what’s new in his life. My mind keeps straying to
Brittany, though. Eventually, I interrupt my friend.

“I broke up with her because
I felt like we were feeding each other’s depression. Like we were
hurting each other more than helping.”

Will eyes me for a moment.
“It’s possible, especially since you like to keep stuff to
yourself. Another reason why therapy would be good for you. You
almost sound like you plan to get her back.”