Page 23 of The Golden Boy's Guide to Bipolar
She finally forces a smile. “It’s okay, mijo. I still have money on you being the next Jeff Bezos.”
“Ew, that’s not a compliment.” Yami gags.
Mami clucks her tongue. “You know what I mean,” she says, and I do.
She means I’m supposed to have a bright future. That I’m the always-exceptional straight-A student who can do no wrong, no matter how much detention I get. Being a prodigy is a lot of pressure. Sometimes I wish I could just be mediocre. That I could just beokayat something, let alone bad at it.
“Are your meds working all right?” She changes the subject when I don’t respond to her whole Jeff Bezos failure of a compliment.
“They’re fine,” I lie, almost interrupting. My meds weren’t doing shit when I was on them, so it’s not like there’s anything different to report. Besides, I don’t want my mom worrying about me any more than she already does. “Can I go now? I have homework.” I lie again; I finished my homework in detention.
“Okay, mijo,” she says, all sad, then pulls me in for a tight hugbefore going to join Yami in the living room. I let her hug me even though I don’t know why she’s doing it. I just got detention for the however-manyth time this year. I should be getting grounded, not hugged. It’s all just so much worse.
She gives me one final squeeze before letting me go, and I get the hell out of there as quick as I can. I stay in my room through dinner, counting down the minutes until Jamal calls me.
I know I shouldn’t be looking forward to talking to him. Usually, hearing Jamal’s voice makes me feel better, but it got complicated after talking to Father John and getting that email from my dad. That light, fluffy feeling Jamal usually gives me is still there, but now it’s mixed with a heavy dose of guilt and shame.
So when seven finally hits, I let the phone ring a few times before bringing myself to answer it.
“Hey, you,” I finally say.
“Hey, you,” he responds. “How are you today?”
“I’m good!” I say automatically. “You?”
“You sure?” Jamal asks. “Yami told me you got detention.”
“Yeah, and?” I say, rolling my eyes. Goodbye three-second-long light fluffy feeling. This time it’s not even replaced with shame or guilt, but annoyance. I don’t need JamalandYamiandmy mom to be on my ass. And I don’t appreciate Yami talking about me to Jamal behind my back.
“And you’re deflecting. Are you okay?”
That’s when a wall builds up around me, and I suddenly don’t want to talk to Jamal anymore. “Okay, well, deflectthis,” I say as I hang up the phone.
Andnowthe guilt and shame kicks in.
10
When You Have Absolutely No Reason to Be Jealous so Of Course You’re Not at All Jealous
Inflated Self-Image
Every day, I pretend to take my meds before spitting them out in the toilet. Every day, I’m more and more suspicious of the circumstances that made me have to go on them in the first place. Like, if the meds weren’t making me feel better, whatwerethey doing?
Jamal’s interest in sci-fi pops into my brain, and I feel like this all being some kind of dystopian brainwashing plot isn’t as far-fetched as I used to think. Part of me knows I’m probably being paranoid. That this fear isdefinitely,most likely,probably, maybe irrational.
But it’s better safe than sorry, right? Besides, sometimes not taking my meds in the morning is the only solid win I have in a day, and I’m not about to give that up.
So I have a new routine now. One I’m fully in control of. Every morning, I stick the pill in my mouth and pretend to gulp, then go to the bathroom as soon as my mom looks satisfied and spit it out in the toilet.
Of course it doesn’t change much. I still fall asleep at school instead of at night. I still get detention more than I should. My mom still looks at me like I’m a kicked puppy. But at leastIdid something.
It’s not until several days into the new routine on Thursday when somethingdoeschange. I reach for my bag to get my homework out while Coach V tries to entertain us in detention, but a thought stops me: What’s the point?
I already know all this shit. Even if I don’t do the homework, I know I’ll ace the tests. It’s not like homework itself counts for enough of my grade to make me lose my scholarship on its own, so does it even matter? I’m sure it’ll be fine. Instead of working on something productive, I just stare at a stain on the wall listening to The Thoughts.
The Thoughts haven’t come during the day in a while, but I welcome them now because maybe it’ll mean tonight will be peaceful.
I decide to start doing a technique Dr. Lee taught me in our first session and respond to the voice in my head like it’s a real person. Someone mean enough to say whatever it’s saying. Since I wouldn’t take that shit from a real person, I guess it does kind of help to respond to it in the same way.
