Page 62 of Score
Especially to Monk.
“Okay,” Dr. Palmer says, pulling back and smiling. “Talk to you soon.”
“Thank you for everything, Doc,” I say, my voice wavering with tears. “Goodbye.”
The subway ride to the small apartment I share with two other people in Queens affords me time to think. The Brooklyn-based production company where I work has been exactly what I needed. Not too much pressure. Just enough pay to survive and benefits for my meds and therapy costs. Now I’m leaving the city I wasn’t sure I could make it in. Needing a fresh start, I knew going back to Finley wasn’t an option. I changed my number and even ignored the emails Petra sent checking on me. Dr. Garrison wasthe only person who knew what really happened, and the only one I’ve kept in touch with.
I’ve since discovered that ghosting is pretty common for people who have bipolar. You often do some out-of-pocket shit when you’re manic. Once you stabilize, it’s like someone took over your body and while they were in charge they made these awful decisions in proxy that wrecked your finances, ruined your reputation, and decimated your relationships. It’s so hard to face that many times people just start over.
That’s what I did after Finley. I had to. My literal survival was at stake, and that part of my life was a painful memory I didn’t need to add to all the other things I was trying to figure out about my brain and body. Besides, it was such a short chapter of my life. Not even a full year. Finley wasn’t that hard to put in the rearview mirror.
But Monk…
I didn’t just leave him behind. When we broke up, in many ways I deconstructed, leaving parts ofmyselfback there with him, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get those back. We weren’t together that long, but for a few glorious months before my life ran into a ditch, I was happier with Monk than I’ve ever been. Leaving him was like ripping off a limb that won’t ever regenerate, but you must learn to live with the phantom ache where it used to be.
Some of the tears I shed on Dr. Palmer’s shoulder were for him, for what I walked away from. For how I hurt him and never fully explained myself. If I ever see him again, I’m still not sure I would. Because what if hedoesunderstand? Forgives me? Gives us another chance? Another manic episode is more likely to happen than not at some point, and I wouldn’t do that to him. I’m not saying we’d both end up dead like my parents, but I firmly believe we’d both end up hurt. Walking away from Monk that night was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but knowing what I do now, maybe it was one of the wisest.
I’ve set aside dreams of marriage and a family, even though sometimes when I see parents with their kids in the park, it aches and I can’t help wondering what might have been possible in a different life.
This shit is hard, though. It’s a life of constant vigilance, a pharmaceutical balancing act, a circus of psychiatrists and therapists and support groups. I can throw a kitchen sink of solutions at my bipolar disorder, and there is still no guarantee of stability forever. Always.
But I try.
Trying is half the battle because giving up is the greatest temptation.
As soon as I get home, my roommate Tessa is all over me.
“Oh, my God!” squeaks Tessa, an aspiring Broadway actress who dresses up like a pastrami sandwich to pay the bills. “You ready to play?”
She’s still wearing her hoagie buns, which look even more incongruous with box braids hanging to her waist.
“I can never take you seriously,” I laugh, tweaking her lettuce, “when you’re covered in fake mustard.”
“Pays the bills.” Tessa grimaces.
I pull her close and squeeze. I wouldn’t even be in New York had it not been for this woman.
“Have I thanked you for all you’ve done for me?” I ask, the smile melting from my face and giving way to tears.
“Only about a million times.” She rolls her eyes, but I don’t miss the tears she blinks away. “Us gems gotta stick together, right?”
“Yeah, we do.” I tilt my head to rest against hers and offer a shaky smile. “Gems for life.”
When I first met Tessa in an online bipolar support group, we clicked right away, even though we’d never met face-to-face. We were both in the arts, and we deepened our friendship first through messaging, then phone calls and video chats. Even though she’s a Sagittarius, she referred to herself as a Gemini because of the twin sign’s duality. She always said she’d rather be called a jewel than crazy. It stuck and we became the gems. When she heard about a PA position at a production company through a friend of a friend six months ago, she begged me to consider moving to New York. The aunties nearly had a fit, but I finally persuaded them I’d be fine… even though I wasn’t sure I would be.
And Ihavebeen fine, in no small part because of the support Tessa and I offer each other.
“What am I gonna do without you?” I ask tearfully.
“Same thing I’m gonna do without you.” She shrugs. “Blend in with the normies. We gotta keep ’em fooled. If they figure out how extraordinary we are, they’ll be all weird about it.”
I laugh and squeeze her closer.
“We got this, kid,” she whispers, her voice shaky, even as her strength shines through. “Don’t forget we got that magic in us.”
Tessa has Bipolar 2. Generally speaking, folks with Bipolar 2 tend to deal with depression and hypomania, but not as much full manic episodes. Tessa, like so many others, was misdiagnosed for years. In her late teens, she started taking meds for unipolar depression, which only exacerbated her symptoms. She spent a few months on the streets, her family worried sick and unable to find her, before she got the appropriate help. She has three suicide attempts, a string of broken relationships, and an abysmal credit score to show for those years, but with the correct diagnosis, the right medication, and coping skills, she clawed her way back and is somehow still the most optimistic person I know.
“If you need me,” she says, cupping my cheeks between her hands, “SOS.”
