“Jesus, Mom,” I say exasperatedly, watching Ella walk away. “Whiplash much?”
“What?” she asks innocently. We begin walking in the opposite direction, toward Isabella’s bakery, Bake, Batter, and Bowl.
“Don’t pull that. You know exactly what I’m talking about.” I look over at my mother to find her grinning at me. “What?”
“You like her. Them. All of them.” She’s smiling from ear to ear. “I was ready to be a bitch. Read her the riot act. Blast her for treating you poorly.”
“Mom, you don’t have it in you to be a bitch,” I say with a chuckle.
She scoffs. “The hell I don’t! You were miserable for years, Leo. There aren’t many things I wouldn’t do for my children. Treating an ex-girlfriend like trash is definitely something I can handle accomplishing.”
“I wouldn’t say I’ve been miserable for years,” I lie. I hate that she saw right through the mask I wore, but I never could hide things very well from my mom.
Cocking her head to the side, she studies me with a sympathetic look covering her face. At sixty-six, my mother is beautiful. Only recently deciding to forgo hair dye, silver strands are now scattered throughout her dark brown locks, but the curls matchGianna’s perfectly. Eyes the same chocolate brown as mine, sparkle with love and compassion. “Leo. Not many can see your hurt like I can. They think you protect your heart, when in reality, you wear it on your sleeve. Or at least, you did. But I think you gave it to Ella when you were still a boy, and you never took it back.”
Clearing my throat, I reply, “I didn’t. But she says she can’t be with me.”
“What a choice of words,” Mom says with a laugh. “She can’t be with you. Not that she won’t. Can’t.”
“I know. I’m trying to play the long game here. Not pushing anything. I stop by and say hello when she’s working. Text her occasionally. Offer help when I can.”
“Gia said she’s the reason why you’re back in Ella’s life. Is that true?” she asks.
“Yes, but don’t tell Gia that. It’ll go to her head,” I joke, and Mom laughs. “Ella’s had a rough go of it since her sister died. I don’t think anyone would have known if Gia hadn’t randomly decided to call Ella one night. Caught her at a bad moment, and she unloaded on Gia. Gia called me and asked me to help, and I didn’t know who I’d be helping. Honestly, if G had told me, I doubt I would have gone. I thought El had moved on. Thought the kids were hers.”
“Leo,” Mom gasps. “How did you not know?”
I shrug. “No one talks about El, and I certainly don’t ask. Saw her with a baby the one time I was out with you four years ago, and after that, I avoided town altogether. I didn’t want to be reminded of what could have been. I was struggling enough as it was without thinking about Ella all the time.”
Mom slips her arm through mine, squeezing my forearm gently. “That’s the thing about love. Just because we avoid something doesn’t mean we forget.”
Ain’t that the truth.
“Alright, Leo,” Josh says, snapping his notebook closed. “Did you do the homework I sent you?”
I sigh. “Yes, but it was weird.”
Josh chuckles. “You’re not the first person to tell me that, and I doubt you’ll be the last.”
I’m in my third session with Josh. The first two were basically meet-and-greets where we got to know one another. While our active duty times did overlap, I was never in the sandbox with Josh. He was in a completely different career field, and we didn’t even have any of the same superiors. But it’s still somewhat promising to know he understands the life of a soldier in a war zone, even if he can’t empathize with being traumatically injured.
Josh approached me with a couple of different ideas for therapy. We decided upon Cognitive Processing Therapy, which will be talk-based. Basically, Josh and I will talk through my experiences in the military, during which time Josh will help me to retrain my brain to challenge the misbeliefs I think about my time in the military. We’ll tackle the IED explosion head on, looking at all the details that have shaped my life. His goal is to modify and conceptualize the unhelpful beliefs I’ve lived on for so long.
I like talking with Josh. He has a sarcastic nature, and I don’t feel emotionally drained after our sessions like I did with the doctors through the VA. Even through telehealth, a session would leave me borderline catatonic. I couldn’t talk to people for days, choosing to escape into my own bubble. Even my parents didn’t know how depressed I was, how triggered I became while reflecting on my injuries.
I’ve yet to admit to anyone, even Josh, that I debated on ending it all. What good was I when I couldn’t even stomach looking at myself in the mirror? I was convinced I was unlovable, a stain on the world, and would be better off dead.
I’ll never forget sitting in my room at a hotel near Walter ReedNational Military Medical Center, staring at two full bottles of opioids. I’d managed to survive the next to last surgery using only over-the-counter medications, and for the most recent surgery, the doctors didn’t think twice about prescribing more opioids. Why bother asking the patient if they needed more? Just prescribe it. No problem. Didn’t matter that the previous surgery was only a couple of months before this one. Just divvy out the drugs.
Pouring them out, I counted forty-five tablets. Earlier that day, I’d received the call letting me know the Army was done with me. I was finished. Medical discharge. I wasn’t any good to them with a bum leg. The Army was the only career I’d ever wanted to do, and it was over without my approval or input. I had no other skills.
I’d separated the tablets into three piles, figuring I could swallow fifteen at a time. As I’d filled my palm with the first pile, my phone rang with a call from Gianna.
I’d answered it, because I wanted to hear my twin sister’s voice one last time, and to tell her I loved her.
“Hey, sis,” I’d said.
“I love you, Leo. You know that, right?” G had said, and her voice trembled with fear.
