“Nah,” He said after another moment and went back to notpaying attention.
Kendi scooted a little closer to me on the couch and whispered, “He’s a paranoid schizophrenic; the amount of medication he’s on makes him a zombie.” I nodded at the explanation, my mind still hung up on Brandon's outburst more than anything going on with Tyson. Medicated or not, he didn’t give me the creeps like Mr. Clean the pedophile did.
“You’ve all had some wonderful coping skills to share with everyone,” Jessica started, “Now let's try to expand on those. I’ve printed off some examples of scientifically proven methods that can be used outside of the clinic for you to try.” She pulled a stack of papers out of her bag and started handing them out to all of us.
Glancing at the paper, I found most of the suggestions were pretty standard, at least from what I had learned on my own throughout the years of dealing with anxiety and self-harm. Exercise, writing, music, therapy, meditation, and breathing exercises were among some of the examples listed.
She spent the remainder of the hour helping us decide which options we were most likely to try outside the clinic. She spent time not just helping us decide, but also really thinking through how to incorporate the ideas into our everyday lives once we left our respective programs.
My heart hurt for Thelma when she admitted she wasn’t allowed to be around her grandchildren until she was at least six months sober from alcohol, but Jessica did a wonderful job beingcompassionate with her, even offering to print her off a list of local art classes she could look into to keep up the practice once she left. She promised her that once she started throwing herself into a hobby, those six months would fly past, and by being sober, she would be able to be the best grandmother she could be.
May 18th 2020
It’s been a while since I’ve seen Craig. We haven’t been intimate in a few weeks, he said he felt like our relationship was becoming too dependent on sex, and how shallow it was to make it the foundation of our future. We finally went out on a date last weekend, but I’m afraid I messed it up.
After dinner, we had been talking about cars. I confessed to Craig that I had never driven a manual car before. The Eclipse he drives is a manual. Though I’ve never really had the desire to learn how to drive one, he told me he could easily teach me in the restaurant’s parking lot.
It started off ok, until I kept stalling it out. The seat was too low and too far back for me to see properly over the steering wheel. But he said it was broken and couldn’t be moved to accommodate my height, or rather, the lack thereof. I found it difficult to press down on the clutch without pulling myself up on the steering wheel so my leg could reach, but even that trick didn’t help.
On the fifth time, the car stalled out when I tried to put it into gear, he started hitting his fists on the dashboard. It scared me to the point that both my feet came off the pedals, and the car jerked quickly toa stop. He grabbed the keys out of the ignition, as I started crying. I shouldn’t have done that, I shouldn’t have cried so much when he was just upset, because I might have done damage to his car. He doesn’t like crying; it makes him yell.
I got out of the car as he continued yelling, telling me that I had almost totaled his car, that I needed to be medicated if I was going to cry this much over constructive criticism. Sitting down on the curb in front of an empty storefront, I watched him get into his car and leave.
I think we are over this time. I know I shouldn’t have cried; he’s made it clear that he doesn’t like that, but my heart was broken all the same.
I had to call my sister to come pick me up, and lied to her. She’s not a huge fan of Craig and has been wanting me to break up with him for a few months now. I don’t know why I lied; it just felt like telling her the truth would be a betrayal. I told her that I had been drinking with some co-workers, and we had some miscommunication, and I accidentally got left behind when they ordered an Uber.
She picked me up without asking any questions, though the look on her face made me think she didn’t really believe me. I don’t know if Craig and I will be able to work this out, but on the off chance we can, I don’t want her hating him more than she already does. She wouldn’t understand that I was left there because it was my fault.
Chapter seven
The Phoenix
September 24th 2023
After group therapy was over, the nurses didn’t continue with our schedule for the rest of the day. Whatever issues Brandon was causing was taking most of them away from their duties, including my first individual therapy session. That gave the rest of us free use of the lounge until dinner time.
I wished more than anything I had some of my personal belongings with me, so I asked if I could call my sister from one of the phones in the hallway. The nurse who was left to babysit us let me know we could use the phones at any time as long as it wasn’t between 10 p.m. and 6 a.m. They were heavy and old, completely secured to the wall. We weren’t allowed cell phones during our programs, so the old rotary phones were the next option. Luckily, my sister's number was the only one I even had memorized anymore, otherwise I would be up shits creek farther than I was already.
Thankfully, she answered on the second ring, her voice more formal than it would have been if she had known it was me calling her.
“Hello?”
“Hey Michelle, it’s me.”
“About time they let you call me, I’ve been in the dark about what’s going on! How are you, Rae?” I had to bite my lip for a second, the pain keeping the tears from falling at how heavy my heart felt from missing her. Having grown up with only each other to rely on, we were bonded more closely than a pair of conjoined twins. She was my rock, my one consistent person in a world that was changing faster than the tides.
“How's Riley?” Forever my top priority.
“He’s fine, Rae, that asshole had him shut in a room when the EMTs arrived, but I’ve been staying at your house with him since then. How are you? The doctors told me you tried to kill yourself, and I wasn’t allowed at the hospital until after your intake was complete.” She was rambling, a trait she had only when her anxiety was high. “They said visitors might cause you to have another episode and wanted to get you settled in.”
“It’s complete now. I didn’t try to kill myself, Micky, I swear I didn’t.”
“I know you didn’t, I know, what the fuck happened?”
I twisted the small cord around my fingers, creating a noose around each one and hanging them one at a time. Pulling the cord until the tips of my fingers turned bright red and started to tingle. The image made my throat throb with the memory of what had happened. It wasn’t long and was probably kept short to preventpatients from wrapping it around their necks since it was easily accessible in a public hallway.
“Look,” I told her, “we have visiting hours tonight. Why don't you come here so I can talk to you in person? I was hoping you could bring me some clothes so I wouldn’t be stuck wearing scrubs the entire time.”
