I wanted to do what was right, what would help me genuinely heal and grow stronger so that this never happened to me again. If she felt this was the way to go, I’d push through whatever bullshit fears I had from before and commit to it. For Dawsonandmyself.
“I do. However, your partner did share that you’ve had some problematic experiences in the past with residential treatment, is that right?”
I gave a jerky nod and leaned into Dawson more, breathing in his woodsy scent to calm my thudding pulse.
“If I may, I have a personal suggestion that I think you will be much happier with.” She paused and gave me an assessing look. “My wife is the staff psychiatrist for a treatment facility just west of the city, Harbor House. I worked there myself for some years and I can honestly say I’ve never seen another program equal to it. They have an impeccable therapeutic record for recovery with a low rate of relapse and the facility itself is top-tier.”
Dad jumped in with several questions about the treatment and types of therapy they used, even down to the buildingitself and the amenities it included. I had to admit, it sounded like a dream. Dr. Johansson pulled up photos that she’d taken herself from her time there, showing us the immaculate grounds and the swanky, yet comfortable rooms. It even put the bougie facility my mom had forced me into to shame.
She left us to talk it out and research the place ourselves, letting us know they were keeping me for one more night of observation and fluids before releasing me so we had some time to decide. Eventually, Dad set down his phone after looking into everything he could find about the place, perching on the end of the bed with a hopeful, pleading expression.
“Well, everything I could find online so far points to it being a really great place. So what do you think, kiddo?”
Despite the glowing recommendation from the doc, my mind couldn’t help but cling to the idea that it was nothing more than another gilded cage, a beautiful tomb to rot in as I lost even more of myself.
“Dad, can I have a few minutes to talk it over with Dawson?”
To his credit, he didn’t bat an eye at my request. He pecked a kiss on my forehead and went on a hunt for coffee, leaving us alone. I levered myself over and patted the bed beside me. Dawson climbed on and wound his arms around me, tucking my head under his chin.
“What if it doesn’t work?” I whispered, like saying it out loud would somehow jinx me.
“Can I say something without you getting upset or mad?”
I tensed in his hold, but dipped my head in agreement.
“I think a large reason you’ve had so much trouble is the mindset that really dug its claws in when you first got diagnosed. You’ve had so much shame and anger around having bipolar disorder, it’s like you’ve been in survival mode. You fight it and hate it, but it’s a part of you. You have to learn to livewithitinstead ofagainstit. It’s okay to give yourself some grace when you stumble, baby.”
“I don’t know how,” I admitted wetly. “I want to—to stop hating myself and not look at myself as a mistake anymore. I want to change, for good this time. I just don’t know where to even start…”
Dawson tilted my chin up, his gorgeous blues boring into mine like two waves crashing together. He stroked my cheek in a feather-soft caress and I sank into the touch.
“I think you start with accepting that you’ll have bad days, but they’ll come with a ton of good ones too. You start by celebrating the good days, but having compassion for yourself when you mess up because we all do from time to time. You start by telling yourself you are worthy of every bit of goodness that comes your way. You start by not being afraid to adjust the plan if something isn’t working, and remind yourself that you do not have to go through a single minute of it alone. I will be there every step of the way, forever and always.”
He rested his forehead on mine, both of us breathing each other in as his words settled between us. I was scared at the idea of starting all over again with my treatment, of going back to the beginning and relearning how to beme, mental illness and all. But sometimes you had to hit rock bottom to know which way was up.
“I’ll do it.”
Dawson leaned back to look me in the eye, his lips slowly curving up at the corners. “You mean it? Are you sure?”
“I do and I am. I’m still anxious about it, but I want to do this. Not just for you though. You’re right about a lot of things, but the biggest is that I’m worth the effort to get better and to live my life with you. If I’m supposed to love myself, I think this is the first step in that direction; giving myself my best chance.”
The blinding smile he flashed me flatlined my heart, and the way his eyes crinkled with joy sparked it back to life.
“I am so goddamn proud of you, Theo. And I love you more than words can say.”
I grinned back at him, but as I stretched up to kiss him, an odd thought hit me out of the blue.
“Oh fuck! Isn’t your game tonight?” I panicked. “Holy shit, you’re supposed to be over there! You don’t have to stay, I’m good?—”
His lips covered mine, effectively cutting off my freakout and I went boneless under the lazy assault of his tongue diving into my mouth. He released me way too soon, my head hazy as I looked at him through hooded eyes.
“I already told Coach I won’t be there. I don’t care about missing the game. There is nowhere else on earth I need to be than right here. My place is and always has been right by your side.”
Before I could respond, he reclaimed my mouth and I melted into him. His kiss was liquid gold poured into all the cracks, reforging me into something new. Still broken, yet healed. Still imperfect, yet somehow all the more beautiful for it.
And maybe someday I’d find a way to love those imperfections too.
Someday.
