“You didn’t think that I—? That it’s possible I have something seriously wrong with me?” My mind raced even though I knew nothing about the disease other than the stereotypes society labeled it with. The only things I had ever looked into were what I thought I was dealing with on a daily basis, my anxiety, never having a reason to try to look any deeper.
“No!” She winced at how loud her voice was and immediately quieted down. “No, Rae, there’s nothing wrong with you. Dad had a disease and didn’t take his medication. You’re nothing like him.”
“You don’t know that,” the bandage on my arm started feeling like it was too tight, even though it had been fine most of the day. The collar on my shirt was choking me, my leggings digging into my waist too tightly as I tried to process the information. On the outside, my symptoms weren’t noticeable. On the inside, I was one overstimulation away from an anxiety attack.
She changed everything I knew about my parents with one confession. All this time, I thought they were both drunks, too preoccupied with themselves and their addictions to care about either of us, except for the rare occasion Dad wassober. I never had considered that either of them might have something seriously wrong and untreated.
“I do know that,” she said, grabbing a tissue from the box again, discarding the one she had twisted to shreds in the small waste basket, and gently dabbed at her eyes.
“How? Please explain how you are all of a sudden an expert on paranoid schizophrenia.”
“I googled the symptoms. You don’t have a single one. I’ve kept an eye on you like I always have, and never have you shown signs of a single indicator of the disorder.”
“Okay, so maybe I’m fine, what does that say about what happened?”
“Do you want to know Nanna’s thoughts?” She asked, color starting to come back to her face after the weight of the confession was lifted off her shoulders.
“Well, I can’t exactly ask her while she’s a pile of ashes sitting in a vase in your living room now, can I?” I knew I shouldn’t be giving her attitude, but she sure picked a shitty time to tell me something she should have told me years ago.
“She thinks it was because Dad was off his meds. Nanna told me when he was on them, he was functional, normal even, but being around Mom he didn’t take them.”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know Rae. I didn’t know enough about Dad before he met Mom. Nanna said there were times he would start taking his medsagain, but then they couldn’t afford their lifestyle. Since he was unemployed, the pills weren’t covered by insurance. Nanna always hated mom, you know that, so she blamed mom for making him choose drugs and alcohol with her over being sane.”
“So without Mom, Dad might have actually been a decent parent for more than just the occasional day he was sober. Did Mom have an issue, too?”
“If she did, Nanna didn’t know about it, and with her parents gone, there’s no one around to really ask. I don’t know if Dad would have been any different. There’s no way of telling how that would have changed anything, so don’t go stressing yourself out about something neither of us can change, please? They were both adults who made their choices, shitty as they may be.”
I glared at her, though it didn’t hold much bite to it as it usually would. Anger usually didn’t last when it was directed at my sister. She had never kept anything from me out of spite or because she thought I was weak. Mickey truly was always trying to do what was best for me. It still hurt —being kept in the dark wasn’t something I was going to drop once we made it through the current issue.
“We’re going to revisit this once I’m out of here. I don’t have the energy to dive into our family history right now.”
“We closed that door after mom and dad died, Rae, but if you want to open it and hash it out after you’re released, we can do that. Please forgive me for not telling you when I first found out.” Remorse shown in her eyes, deepwith regret.
“You know I do, but we will have it out over this,” I said stubbornly. Without our grandmother being around anymore, I knew she had a point that it was useless to dig into the past, but it didn’t stop curiosity from eating at me.
We spent the rest of the visit trying to talk like everything was normal, that I wasn’t currently being monitored for supposedly attempting to kill myself. I loved hearing stories about the kids in Michelle’s class. Children truly had no filters, and some of the stories she had about things they would say were gut-bustingly hilarious. She left once our half hour was up, promising to be back for the next visitation, her shoulders noticeably lighter than they had been when I had entered the room.
Once I was back in my room, I grabbed my journal. Although it was still early in the evening, I didn’t feel like socializing in the lounge with everyone else. Thoughts were racing through my head, weaving a web of darkness around the truth that no one believed. I needed to write them down, to take the torturous ideas oozing out of my mind and get them out. They were toxic, eating away at me until it was all I could think about before falling asleep. Causing him pain, even in fictional ways, was the only thing keeping me from breaking completely when the darkness settled in.
February 15th 2021
The past month has been close to perfect. When Craig realized we had been together for a year and decided that one day he wanted to put a ring on my finger, things started going back to the way they were before we started having problems. I’ve been trying my best to be more understanding of the stress that he goes through at work, and that he is a very independent person who never wishes to change.
Last night, however, was a disaster. For Valentine’s Day he told me we were going on a double date with his parents. I didn’t have an issue with that, and even though I didn’t know them well, I was fine with going to dinner with them. I had to work that day, so he texted me the address of where to meet them. I should have thought ahead and looked the address up because, like a complete idiot, I arrived in my scrubs from work while everyone else was dressed for the occasion. The restaurant didn’t have a ‘dress code’ exactly, but it was clear I was seriously underdressed compared to everyone else dining there.
I apologized to him multiple times before we even got into the building, offering to go home and change since he never told me to dress nicely. His parents were already at our table, and like a switch was flipped, he put his best face forward. His mother didn’t need tosay anything verbally when her face alone judged my attire. I had tried to apologize to her as well, telling her that I wasn’t told about needing to dress formally because Craig hadn’t said anything to me.
You would have thought I slapped him in front of her with how quickly she jumped to defend him. Lecturing me on how I needed to start thinking ahead and start presenting myself more respectably if I was ever going to be a part of her family. I was humiliated. Craig sat there and let her tear into me like I had insulted her dead mother instead of just wearing scrubs from work. I excused myself; the need to cry was overwhelming, and I didn’t care about leaving a bad impression by walking away from dinner.
Craig followed me out to the parking lot. At first, I thought he was going to apologize for his mother’s actions, but all he did was demand that I return to dinner because I was making him look bad. He tried to block the driver's side door of my car. When I tried to grab the handle, my control over my emotions slipping, he grabbed my wrist so tightly it’s still bruised today.
I apologized over and over again, reduced to begging just to be let inside my car so I could go home. If another couple hadn’t been pulling in to park on the other side of my car, I don’t know what would have happened. As soon as he dropped my wrist, I yanked the door open, not caring that it hit his arm, and scrambled in, locking it as soon as it was shut. I didn’t look at him as I drove away. I knew the embarrassment would hit me later, what the scene must have looked like with a crazy girl yelling at her boyfriend for no reason. I just needed to hide, I needed to not exist and try to forget the whole evening, if my heart would ever stop beating to the pace of a marathon inside my chest. His mother didn't need to say anything verbally when her face alone judged my attire. I had tried to apologize to her as well, telling her that I wasn’t told about needing to dress formally because Craig hadn’t said anything to me.
You would have thought I slapped him in front of her with how quickly she jumped to defend him. Lecturing me on how I needed to start thinking ahead and start presenting myself more respectably if I was ever going to be a part of her family. I was humiliated. Craig sat there and let her tear into me like I had insulted her dead mother instead of just wearing scrubs from work. I excused myself; the need to cry was overwhelming, and I didn’t care about leaving a bad impression by walking away from dinner.
Craig followed me out to the parking lot. At first, I thought he was going to apologize for his mother’s actions, but all he did was demand that I return to dinner because I was making him look bad. He tried to block the driver's side door of my car. When I tried to grab the handle, my control over my emotions slipping, he grabbed my wrist so tightly it’s still bruised today.
