Page 9 of The Golden Boy's Guide to Bipolar
“Nope. And I gotta go,” I say as I reach to close the door, but she stops it from shutting with her foot.
“Look, I know Yami hates me now, but you don’t have to pretend you do too. What happened is between me and her, okay?” She moves the empanadas so they’re resting on one hip like a baby. “Don’t you even want to know my side of the story?”
“Not really,” I say, to keep from drawing out the conversation. “I’m staying out of it.” I don’t have to know Bianca’s side of the story. All I know is that she and my sister used to be best friends, until she outed Yami when we both went to Rover sophomore year. They’ve hated each other ever since. That’s enough story for me.
“Good,” Bianca says with a little smile that I can’t quite read. It could be genuine, but she could also be pulling some shit right now.
I smile back politely, then go to close the door. But she’s talking again before it closes, so to keep from being a dick, I stop it from shutting.
“So, we’re good?” she asks, still smiling.
“Uh, sure, whatever,” I say, since I know any other answer would start shit, and I really do have to go.
“Okay, good, because I like you.” She winks.
“?’Kay, bye.” I shut the door before she can get another word in.
What the hell was that?
I’m not usually one to bring a list of talking points to my therapist, or even know what the hell I’ll be talking about in any given session, but today is different. And not because I actuallywantto tell her about anything, but because I need an unbiased opinion here, and asking my mom or Yami would open me up to a swarm of questions that are either none of their business or that I don’t even know the answer to myself.
I want to get back together with Jamal. But as much as I hate to admit it, I have some concerns. Which means I could actually use Dr. Lee’s help right now. This is only our third session, so she doesn’t really know that much about me yet. She’s my sixth therapist in as many months, but my mom finally put her foot down and said she’s not letting me switch again before giving Dr. Lee a real chance.
Dr. Lee is the first psychotherapist I’ve seen, though, which means she can therapize meandprescribe medication, so I let her go through the meds spiel before getting into the other stuff. She quickly asks if I’ve noticed any changes or side effects from my medication, and about my recent six-months-on-meds bloodwork I got to make sure the meds weren’t giving me any health problems. All clear. Now on to the important shit.
I’ve learned from experience that a new therapist will ask all kinds of irrelevant questions trying to get to the bottom of things. So, in order to avoid wasting any time, I pull out the list I made on my phone’s notes app and start reading immediately after sitting on the couch in her office.
“My mom probably already told you a bunch of shit, and I know you have all my records, so you don’t have to pretend to besurprised that I’m bi or that I went inpatient last year or anything else you already know, okay?”
Instead of answering, she just nods and silently writes something down in her little notebook, waiting for me to go on.
“Okay, so here’s what you need to know....” I go on to info dump as quickly as I can from the list on my phone. About Jamal, and that we were secretly together for over a year before I broke up with him as part of my penance. About how we stayed friends ever since but ended up kissing the other night. About how we still love each other, but I didn’t want to act impulsively like I usually do because I don’t want to fuck things up. And about how I don’t exactly love myself, and I’m worried that means I can’t expect someone else to. Basically, I tell her everything I think might be relevant to the question I came here to ask her.
“So, with that context, do you think I’m ready to be in a relationship again?” I ask her as soon as I finish running through the list.
“Well, I think the fact that you’re even asking me shows you’re making progress.” Dr. Lee’s expressions are usually tiny, probably because she doesn’t want me to know she has actual feelings or something, but I can still see her mouth’s micro smile and happy brown eyes as she answers.
“Okay, but, like... what’s the answer?” I say, trying not to gag at the unexpected compliment.
“Well, let’s talk about it,” she says, and I roll my eyes. That’s exactly what I’mtryingto do. “You mentioned not loving yourself as one of the reasons you’re having doubts. Do you mind if we dive into that a bit?”
“Um, sure...”
“I want you to think about someone else in your life who youcare about and love deeply. It doesn’t have to be romantic love, just anyone in your life you have love for.”
“Okay...” I find myself thinking of Yami.
“Now imagine that person is struggling with self-love the way you are. Do you think that would make this person unworthy of your love? Would it make you love them any less?”
“No,” I admit, “but don’t you think it’d make it easier on Jamal if I’m not... you know...” I trail off. I don’t know how to end that sentence. Sick? Broken? Unlovable?
“No, I don’t,” she answers without me having to say it. “Working toward self-love is a great goal, but I don’t think it’s fair to say that those who aren’t there yet don’t deserve love in their lives.”
“So, you’re saying I’m ready?” I ask, letting myself feel a tiny bit hopeful.
“Well, I can see you’re being careful not to be impulsive about this, which is good. Having healthy boundaries for yourself is a good step. But I’m afraid I can’t speak to whether you’re ready for a relationship or not. That’s a decision only you can make.”
I roll my eyes again. I don’t ask therapists for advice very often, so she shouldn’t take it for granted. But I guess she might not realize that yet, since we’re still fresh. I remind myself I can’t just ditch her for another therapist this time, so I resist the urge to fire back about how unhelpful that answer is. I let out a measured breath, and an equally measured response. “Then how am I supposed to figure that out?”
