Page 48 of The Golden Boy's Guide to Bipolar
My instinct is to deflect again, but now I’m having second thoughts. It’s not like I have anything left to lose, right? I guess the only reason I usually don’t like telling Dr. Lee all my business is because I thought she’d go blabbing to my mom. But now that my mom doesn’t give a shit about me, I can say whatever I want. “Anything I tell you is confidential, right?” I ask, just to be sure.
She looks up from her notepad with a micro-pleased expression. “As long as you don’t express any instance of hurting yourself or others, or any plan to. That kind of thing I would have to report. Your guardian will know about your medications and diagnosis, but everything personal you tell me is confidential.”
“I hooked up with the girl who outed my sister. Jamal and Yami both know about it, so they want nothing to do with me anymore, and my mom hates me now because I got expelled.”
She’s quiet for a while as she writes something else down.
“What are you always writing about me?” I snap. The writing didn’t bother me at first, but now I can’t help but imagine she’s documenting all her judgy thoughts so she can make fun of me to her therapist friends, I don’t know.
“It’s just a memory aid, so I can refer back to it later if I need to identify any recurring patterns. Which brings me to my current theory...” She flips through her notebook at that, like she’s double-checking something before saying it out loud. “I think you might be experiencing a manic episode.”
“The hell does that mean?” I shift uncomfortably on the couch.
“It means you’re experiencing a period with a high intensity of emotions and energy.”
“Are you saying I’m crazy or something?” I ask, gripping tightly to the arm of the couch.
“?‘Crazy’ isn’t the word I’d use for it,” she says. “But based on your previous records, and what I’ve learned from our sessions, I’m diagnosing you with bipolar disorder. Bipolar can cause these types of long shifts in mood and energy, which we categorize as mania and depre—”
“I know what bipolar is,” I interrupt, rolling my eyes. I’m definitely not that.
“Okay, that’s good. You’re already ahead of the curve then. You should also know there’s a support group for teens with serious mental illness that meets here every week after your session. I recommend you check it out.”
Serious mental illness. Bipolar. The words feel foreign, like they can’t possibly be used to describeme. I’m supposed to be that happy-go-lucky guy with straight As who falls asleep in class sometimes. I’m supposed to be good at everything I try. I’m supposed to be the golden boy. Not the fuckup. Not the problem child. Definitely notthis.
“I’m not fucking crazy,” I say.
“Again, that’s a loaded word. I wouldn’t call anyone crazy who didn’t self-identify that way.” God, she’s so condescending it makes me sick. “I’m here to answer any questions you might have. How much do you know about bipolar disorder?”
“I know enough,” I say. Enough to know I definitely don’t have it.
“Well, I think this diagnosis could actually open a lot of doors for you and answer a lot of questions. Now we know where some of your impulsive decisions might be coming from. We know that when you go through a period of this much energy, or a period of depression, that it’s only temporary. I hope that can bring you some peace the next time you experience that.”
“I’m not that impulsive,” I mumble. She doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about.
I just tune her out while she goes on explaining irrelevant shit tome about a disorder I don’t have. Eventually she looks at the clock in the corner of the room. “That’s about our time for today. The group session starts in a few minutes, would you like to stay for that?”
“Nope!” I say as I get up and walk out.
Dr. Lee is wrong. She doesn’t know anything about me. I’m not going to that group today, or ever.
Since I won’t be officially reenrolled at Rover until Monday, the rest of the week drags on while Moni’s at school. The chores feel endless, and I swear time flows backward at one point. Even on Friday, the boredom doesn’t end when Moni’s done for the week, since she has her own chores, homework, and violin practice to do.
Lucky enough for her, though, she gets out of practice early since her dad called to talk to her. I know Abuela’s been talking to both Tío Paco and my mom with updates about both of us, but my mom hasn’t asked to talk to me the way Tío Paco does with Moni. I have to keep reminding myself it’s a good thing.
Moni puts her dad on FaceTime, so I do my best to mind my business while I scrub the grout between tiles with a toothbrush. Still, neither of them is exactly discreet, and like I said... I’m bored.
“So have you made up your mind about which college you want to—” Tío Paco starts, but she doesn’t let him finish.
“I already told you I’m not going to school for music anymore.”
An audible sigh. “Mija, do you know how many young girls would kill for a scholarship to Curtis? How many would kill for your spot atJuilliard?You can’t throw away your chance at a future just to make a point.”
I cringe at how familiar this conversation is. It honestly makesme relieved my mom is so done with me. Abuela starts making dinner quieter, like she’s also pretending not to listen.
“And what point would that be, exactly?” Moni tilts her head in an innocent question mark.
“You know very well what I mean, Monica.”
