Relief flooded me that they didn’t know all the details. That old fear of them finding out the truth and then ditching me because of it curdled in my gut. But I couldn’t hide it forever and it was honestly exhausting to try. Dawson had assured me that they wouldn’t turn away from me, that they’d hold space for my issues and support me, just like he did. Maybe that was enough.
“Actually,” I began slowly, “I won’t be drinking much in the future, or probably at all.”
The four of them looked at me with a mix of curiosity and concern. I blew out a big breath before continuing, catching Dad’s encouraging nod to me across the room.
“See, the thing is…I have bipolar disorder. I’ve been kind of having a hard time of it this year—the last few years, actually—and that’s why I’m in here. I had a really bad episode last night and I, um…I’m finally able to admit I need some serious help to get better.”
Somehow, it set me more at ease that none of them tried to immediately brush it off and act like it was no big deal, watching as they processed the news carefully before their faces softened with understanding.
Aly affectionately squeezed one of my ankles over the thin hospital blanket, smiling softly. “I’m really glad you trusted us enough to tell us. I know that couldn’t have been easy.”
“Funny enough, I actually feel a lot better now that you guys know. I’ve spent so long trying to keep it under wraps and makesure no one found out, I didn’t realize how much it was draining me.”
“Was there a reason you didn’t feel comfortable telling us until now?” Bash gently asked. “We didn’t do anything to make you feel unsafe or judged, did we?…”
“No, it wasn’t anything you guys did or didn’t do, I swear.” I explained what had gone down at SHSU when I’d told my supposed “friends” about my disorder and how I’d handled the abandonment afterwards.
“What a bunch of cuntbags,” Micah snarled. “Oof, sorry about the language, Mr. Bishop!”
“No need to apologize to me. I was just fantasizing about putting their balls in a wood chipper,” Dad growled. Nate let out a short squeak and dropped his hands in front of his pants, his eyes bugging out.
“Well, I can guarantee that you are a lifetime member of the UT crew and that comes with an endless supply of love, support, and ass-whoopings for anyone who fucks with you.”
“And we’ll help however we can, whenever you need anything from us,” Bash added to his boyfriend’s reassurance.
My eyes burned at the unconditional acceptance they were all showing me and I choked out a thank you. My throat was going to permanently close with all these damn tears that kept coming up.
God, I hope this is just a side effect of my weakened state and I’m not gonna become one of those people that cries during Sarah McLachlan commercials or some shit…
I finally remembered my manners and introduced everyone to my dad, who seemed very pleased with the show of support he’d seen from my friends. Pretty soon the door opened again and a tall, middle-aged lady with platinum blond hair waltzed in.
“Ah, I was hoping you’d be awake! I’m the psychiatrist on-call, Doctor Johansson,” she said in a light Scandinavian accent.
“The white coat kind of gave it away,” I joked lamely. She chuckled and shook my hand.
“Aaand that’s our cue,” Micah piped up. “Autobots, roll out!”
The guys and Aly gave us quick hugs and made us promise to text them if either of us needed anything. I brought my attention back to the doctor, who was waiting patiently.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your visit with your friends, but I didn’t want to keep you waiting any longer for news. Now, from what I was legally able to learn from your therapist and from the information your partner here gave me about the past few weeks up to last night, I believe you had what we call a mixed episode. It was likely brought on by the irregular use of your medication, and the alcohol you consumed worsened the effects. It’s incredibly dangerous to mix your lithium carbonate and alcoholic beverages. To put it bluntly, you are very lucky that you didn’t cause more damage to your body.”
My stomach curdled as my mind worked to understand the influx of information. Dawson stepped closer and gripped my forearm, and I wondered if he needed the contact as badly as I did then.
“Umm, sorry, but what’s a mixed episode?”
Her kind smile put me slightly at ease even as embarrassment heated my cheeks.
“A mixed episode is when someone with bipolar disorder experiences both manic and depressive symptoms simultaneously. They are fairly common, especially in those who have a co-occurring disorder, like with your ADHD, or those who abruptly discontinue their medication. They can be quite serious. The risk for suicide is significantly higher since the depression often leads to suicidal thoughts and the mania can feed the impulsivity and energy to follow through on those urges.”
Nausea swelled in my gut thinking how close it had come to that last night. I glanced up at Dawson, the tension around his eyes and the way he was abusing his bottom lip with his teeth told me he was just as affected by her words as I was.
“So what happens now? What are his next steps?” Dad asked.
“My professional opinion is for you to enter a clinical treatment program to help you stabilize on new medication and learn to manage your symptoms long-term.”
My muscles went rigid at the suggestion. I knew that would probably be her solution, but everything inside me rebelled at the idea. Dawson slipped an arm around my shoulder and pressed his lips to my temple, rubbing soothing patterns up and down my bicep.
“You really think that’s the best option for me?”
