Page 15 of The Golden Boy's Guide to Bipolar
When I get inside, I lean my back against the door and sink, running a hand down my face. The phone call wasn’t necessarily a sign, right? It doesn’t have to mean anything just because it happened when Imaybethought about kissing Jamal... right?
It doesn’t occur to me that I forgot to take my meds until Sunday morning, when I pass by the pill counter and realize both the Saturday and Sunday pills are still in their slots. My stomach drops as I rush to get the missed pills out of the counter. Not because I missed them, but because I could have gottencaughtmissing them.
If Mami or Yami had noticed before I did, they’d never let me go a day without hovering over my every move again. This weekend is the first time Mami’s dared to leave me relatively unsupervised since my inpatient stay, so she definitely can’t know.
I drop the Saturday and Sunday pills in my palm and go straight to the bathroom, immediately flushing the one I missed. I pop the Sunday pill in my mouth, but I hesitate before swallowing.
Aren’t I supposed to be spiraling after missing a dose? I don’t really feel all that different today than I normally do. I feel... fine?
I don’t really know what pushes me to do it. Maybe it’s because I’m genuinely doing better. Maybe because I’m sick of being watched while I take my meds like some kind of prisoner. Or that I want to feel in control of one fucking thing in my life.
And if I already missed a dose and I feel fine, then what’s the harm in just... pausing?
Whatever the reason, I spit the pill out in the toilet, satisfied in the knowledge that maybe everyone is wrong about me. Maybe I don’t actually need to be babied for the rest of eternity. Maybe this is the beginning of me taking control of my own life.
I’m about to head back to my room when the door on Yami’s side of the bathroom opens and she walks in, rubbing her eyes.
“How was the movie?” she asks through a yawn.
“It was—” I start, but my phone dings mid-sentence with the email notification sound. “Good...” I trail off as I pull my phone out and check it, but the email’s preview makes the blood in my ears pump loud enough to hear my own pulse.
Subject: Re: miss you papi
I know it’s taken me a long time to explain...
“Uh, I’m gonna go back to sleep.” I give Yami a half-hearted excuse before going straight to my room so she can’t ask any questions.
I close and lock my door and sit at the edge of my bed, trying my best to hype myself up to open the damn email. The blood pumping in my ears turns to slush, and I’m suddenly dizzy. I have no idea what to expect from his response. Is he going to apologize? Will he say he misses us too? Or will he just confirm he’s disowned us?
Part of me wants to just delete the email without reading it, but I know if I do that I’ll always wonder what could have happened. And if I wait until I’m not scared, I’ll never be able to read it at all. So, I force myself to take three deep breaths, and open the email.
Subject: Re: miss you papi
I know it’s taken me a long time to explain my thoughts here, and I apologize for that. I thought maybe if I gave it some time, things would work themselves out on their own, but I guess I can’t make you change. I got your email and thought, it better be good. But you’re both still doing what you’re doing.
I can’t lie to you. I’m very disappointed.
You and your sister have been brainwashed, and I can acknowledge that my absence in the last few years has made this harder on all of us. But I can’t pretend to support what I know in my heart is not right.
If you only take one thing I say to heart, let it be this: It doesn’t matter what anyone has tried to convince you until now. What you’re doing is a choice. And you’re making the wrong one. I can’t just sit around and enable my kids to choose this lifestyle over family, and over God. You’re both throwing away my legacy and your own futures.
I won’t force you, but whatever you choose, you have to live with the consequences.
I stare at my phone until the words blur. I know what I have to do now. Or, what I have tonotdo.
Father John was right. Maybe I can’t control my feelings, but I can control my actions. I can choose what to do about my feelings.
This was the sign. I can’t be with Jamal. Not without facing the consequences.
7
When the Perfume Labeled “For Couples” Smells Better but It’s Not a Date
Cognitive Dissonance
Since Mami wasn’t sure exactly what time she’d be home, she told me and Yami not to worry about our New Year’s resolution of making Sunday dinner. I’m not proud of how relieved I was to get that text. After the email from my dad, I don’t know if I could have spent time making food with Yami without telling her about it.
What would be the point in telling her? Knowing what my dad thinks would just piss her off and make her feel bad. Besides, if Yami knew he’d emailed me—or worse, thatIhad emailedhim—she’d never let me live it down.
