Page 56 of The Golden Boy's Guide to Bipolar
Abuela does, though, and she looks at me all sad. “I’m sorry about your papi, mijo.”
“I wasn’t talking about him... ,” I say, and she just looks at me all sad like she isn’t fully aware my mom hates me too now.
Before she can answer, Moni rushes into a hug with Abuela. Apparently, there are some exceptions to Moni not liking hugs. She’s acting like they’ll never see each other again even thoughit’ll only be a weekend. She then comes over to me, and I almost think she’ll give me a hug too, but she offers me her usual high five instead.
“Bye, Lareina!” she says as she bends down and kisses Lareina on the head before waving at us all again and heading out the door.
I start to walk to the bedroom when Abuela stops me with a soft hand on my shoulder.
“Sit with me, mijo,” she says before going to sit down on the couch and patting the spot next to her. Lareina hops up into her lap.
“Okay?” I say, taking the patted spot.
“What were you saying about God earlier?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I say. Suddenly I feel like I’m being interrogated. “You wouldn’t get it.” God choseme. She wouldn’t understand what that’s like.
“I think you’d be surprised,” she says. “Do you talk to God often?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I can’t blame you for being jealous.”
She chuckles. “I talk to Him too, mijo.”
“Really?” I ask. Did God choose her too? No, no. That wouldn’t make any sense. God doesn’t choose just anyone. I’m special. I have to be, otherwise none of it makes sense.
“I do, but only when I’m manic.” She says the word “manic” like it’s totally normal, not something crazy people experience, or something to be ashamed about. It makes me sympathize with her, even if we’re not in the same situation.
“It’s not like I’m manic, though,” I say.
Abuela nods. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell when you are. Sometimes it—”
“I’m not crazy, Abuela.”
She winces at the word. “Are you calling your abuela crazy?”
“I... no?”
“Then you’re not crazy either,” she says, giving Lareina a few gentle strokes.
“I’m not... I’m not like you, though.”
“I believe we’re more alike than you think.” She offers me a smile, but I don’t return it.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” My ears burn at the idea. She’s wrong.
“I might not, but I think Dr. Lee knows enough about this to make a proper assessment.”
“How do you know what Dr. Lee said?” I snap back.
“Your mami told me, mijo.”
“How doesMamiknow? Why does shecare?” I demand. She disowned me, why is she still in my business?
“Cesar, you know that your therapist has to tell your guardian about your diagnosis, right?”
That fucking bitch. “She said whatever I told her was confidential!”
“She’s not going to tell anyone what you said, but she has to tell her about your diagnosis.”
