Page 99 of The Golden Boy's Guide to Bipolar
“It’s a process,” Nia says. “Sometimes it takes a while for them to really kick in, and sometimes you have to try a few to find the right ones, but once you do, it’s like magic.”
“Mine took a couple weeks before I started noticing a change,” Avery adds. “Like, I know I’m still mentally ill, but I can deal a lot better now.”
“It’s all about communication,” Dr. Lee adds. “As long as you let me know when you have any side effects or if a few weeks pass and you still feel like your meds aren’t working, we can go from there.”
“Okay,” I say.
Maybe Dr. Lee isn’t as bad as I thought. I don’t know if I fully trust her yet, but at least I know she doesn’t have any ulterior motives about my medication.
Could medication actually make me feel better? I don’t know. But for the first time in a long time, I let myself feel a tiny bit hopeful.
Day Four: Phone Call
Jamal has managed to call me every night since I’ve been in the hospital, but I’ve always been in group or the line has been busy, so aside from the first night, we’ve missed each other until now. When the staff tells me the phone’s for me, I recognize his number immediately.
“Hey, you,” I find myself saying.
“Hey, you,” he says back.
And even though we can’t talk long, even though it’s just a “hey, you,” I still feel like it’s a sign that things might just be salvageablebetween us. Maybe Abuela was right. Maybe it’s possible to fix things. Maybe I even want to.
Day Five: Visiting Hours
When I get called to the visiting room the next day, I’m surprised when it’s not my mom or Yami, but Doña Violeta who wants to talk to me. We both sit at the table staring at each other for a bit before either of us says anything.
It’s weird seeing her without her music blasting on her porch. She’s usually so enveloped in the melody that she sways as she speaks and talks rhythmically with the beat, but today she seems to be choosing her words more carefully.
At first I want to stay mad at her. She did lie to me about that doctor’s appointment before dropping me off at Abuela’s. Then again, I know it was my mom who put her up to it. I know everyone was just scrambling trying to figure out what to do with me. It sucks, and it still stings to think about, but if Yami and Jamal can forgive me after everything I’ve done, maybe there’s a little extra grace to go around.
“Do you want to play a song on your phone or something?” I ask after we’re both just quiet for a while, but Doña just shakes her head.
“You are my music today, mijo.” She smiles sweetly, rocking back and forth in her chair as if there was a melody playing. She still doesn’t say much, and I can’t bear to just stare at each other like this.
“How did you get better?” I blurt out. Doña Violeta was practically inconsolable for over a year after her husband died. She didn’ttake care of herself, barely ate, and spent all her time crying on her porch.
“That’s a good question.” She smiles again. “I guess I let the people around me help me. I allowed myself to lean on my loved ones. On you, and your mami, and Yamilet. And when you went to the hospital last year, I realized I needed to take care of you back. Loving you was loving myself.”
I think back to the poem on my bathroom mirror.
Si te amo y respeto, me amo y respeto yo.
If I love and respect you, I love and respect myself.
And I do love, hard. I love Doña Violeta. I love my abuela. I love Moni. I love my mom. I love Yami. I love Jamal.
I’min lovewith Jamal. Still.
And I’ve treated everyone like absolute shit. Hurting them to hurt myself. And it worked, for a while. But I don’t want to hurt them anymore. Maybe I don’t want to hurt myself either. I don’t feel like the solution is to push everyone away anymore. I want to fix my relationships. I want to deserve their love. I know it’ll take work, and time, and a lot of healing, but I want to do it.
It’s like Jamal said. They’re all an integral part of my universe, and I can’t even begin to unravel who I am without the community standing beside me, the community whose roots I’m growing and blooming from. And maybe spring isn’t as far off as I thought.
36
When Talking About Feelings Might Actually Get Us Somewhere Just This One Time
Acceptance
When we get home from the hospital the next morning, both Abuela’s and Doña Violeta’s cars are parked on the curb. I try to gauge my mom’s reaction without being too obvious, but she doesn’t seem fazed. Did she plan this?
