Call Me Crazy (17 page)

I knock on the front door and then turn the knob. It’s open. I step in and I’m a little creeped out that nothing has changed in three months. I mean, I don’t know what should have changed, but it’s almost like even the dust hasn’t moved, like the house is holding its breath. I square my shoulders trying to fortify myself to face my parents.

“Mom?” Even though I don’t say it very loud, it sounds like I’ve yelled into the high ceiling that travels up with the staircase. I walk towards the kitchen, my footsteps too loud to my ears. The silence is making the hair on my neck stand and my palms are beginning to sweat. My eyes land on the kitchen counter, on the little pink paper that has a B at the top of it. I have to bite my cheek to keep the tears from coming. Now I wished I had run out of tears. I snap up the paper from the counter and see my mother’s unusually pretty handwriting for an attorney:

Tally,

Dr. Stacey called us and told us you would be coming home today and your father and I are so sorry that we couldn’t be home. We both had to be in court and it wasn’t something that we could reschedule. I hope you understand. There’s some money for you in your room along with your car keys. You know the rules, be home by curfew. Love you,

Mom

As soon as I read the last the word, I drop the paper and run for the foyer bathroom. I get the lid up just in time to throw up. I groan when I realize my hair has fallen forward. “Ugh, gross,” I mutter. You know you’ve hit rock bottom when you have no one told hold your hair while you puke. I’m not sure if I’m done yet, so I don’t get up. I’ve come home from being gone three months, and not on some vacation or summer camp. I’ve come home from a freaking mental hospital and my own parents aren’t home to greet me. How’s that for building a support system?

After several vomit free minutes, I slide down on the floor and lean back against the wall. The cold of the tile seeps through my jeans and I fight back a shiver. I’m really not sure what to do and that’s beginning to bring on the familiar shortness of breath and clammy skin.

“Okay Tally, think about what you learned. What do you do when there’s no plan, no order?” I’m talking out loud now because I can’t stand the quietness. I’m so used to the noise of the hospital that the lack of it is suffocating.

“A list. She said to make a list of things that I need to do and then mark them off one by one.” The other tidbit that doc shared with me about the list is to only leave one task showing at a time because there are days when just looking at a list can cause you to just give up and go to bed. I push myself up to my feet, wipe my mouth on the hand towel, and then head back to the kitchen. I grab the pink letter my mother left me and flip it over quickly so that I don’t have to see her words again. There’s a pen lying haphazardly nearby, as if she had written the note quickly and then tossed it down.

“Okay, what do I need to do?” I ask out loud. I click my tongue as I think of something.

One:
Stop talking to yourself

I chuckle as I think about Candy and what she would say to that, “but it freaks people out and that is totally worth being deemed crazy.”

Focus, Tally.
I don’t say this out loud. I tap the pen against my cheek and try to get my thoughts in some semblance of order.

Two:
Shower

The longer I stare at the paper, the more frustrated I get at not having anything to write down. Finally, I drop the pen. I’ve already accomplished number one, so it’s time to take care of number two. I let out a small laugh as I realize how that sounds. “Take care of number two, that’s awesome.”

Damn, I think, maybe number one is going to be more difficult than I thought.

~

Clean body, clean hair, and clean clothes, that about covers it. Holy crap! I’m an old person. I’m ticking off the little things I have to do and the most difficult one is to not talk to myself.

I sit down on my bed and pick up the money, my keys, and my phone. I stare down at them in my hand. I have a choice: go out and be social or curl up in the bed I haven’t slept in for three months and let sleep swallow me. For most teens my age, it’s a no-brainer. Go out, duh. But for me, the bed is looking very nice. I’m about to set the contents in my hand on my bedside table when the song Stronger, by Kelly Clarkson, comes blaring out of my phone. I smile because I know that Nat had to have been the one that programmed it. I look at the screen and sure enough, her silly face is on it.

“Hey,” I answer.

“Hey, I know you just got home, but I was wondering if you wanted to have a sleep over.” She laughs, “That sounds so ‘junior high’, doesn’t it?”

“Regardless of how it sounds, yes, I would like that,” I tell her and inside I do a teeny, tiny dance. Don’t judge. I’m celebrating my little victory.

“Your parents won’t care?”

I swallow hard to keep from blubbering all over the phone. “They aren’t here.”

I have to hold the phone away from my ear to keep from busting my ear drum as Nat breaks into a string of expletives.

“What happened to your parents, Tal? They weren’t always asshats.” She finally says now that she has calmed down… somewhat.

“I don’t know. They just both have really busy jobs.” The excuse sounds lame, but it’s all I have.

“I’m going to head over now, so I’ll see you in a few.”

“’Kay, see ya.” I hit the end tab on my phone and take a deep breath and let it out. We’ve never been a religious family, but in this moment, I am saying thank you to God for Natalie.
You could have had Trey, too,
I hear that little voice that sometimes pops up at the most inconvenient times, and I shake my head. No, I answer. I couldn’t have had him. If he found out I was actually a patient at Mercy, he would have turned for the hills and not looked back.

I realize I have another thing to add to my list;

Three: Don’t respond to the nagging little voice

Nice.

~

“Can I just say that your parents are asshats”? Nat tells me as she flops onto my bed.

I laugh, “You already have. Twice.”

“Oh… Well I’m sure I’ll say it more. You should make an asshat jar. That way every time I point out they’re asshats, a dollar goes in the jar.” She looks pleased with herself and I find myself smiling. It’s small, but hell, it’s a smile, and that means a victory dance. Of course, I don’t bust out dancing in the middle of my room.

“What are you smiling about?” she asks me.

I think about it for a minute, then shrug. She said she wants to know and learn, so here goes.

“I’m doing an inner victory dance,” I tell her and hold my breath, waiting for the laughter to come. It doesn’t.

“What’s the dance for?” she asks and I can see in her eyes that she’s genuinely interested. She’s not laughing. Man, three victory dances in a few hours. That’s got to be a record or something.

“Get comfortable,” I tell her as I stretch out on my stomach on my bed, head propped up on my hands. “You’re fixing to get the cliff notes on pretty much every therapy session I’ve been in.”

~

“
Wait,” Nat interrupts me for the umpteenth time in the last forty-five minutes. I’m surprised to realize that she really wants to know what is going on with me. What’s even stranger is that I
want
to tell her.

“You actually told
your psychiatrist that you had lied to Trey?
And
that he thought you were skinny dipping with mixed company, but really you were rescuing an old, crazy lady from a pond?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t te
ll her the part about Candy and going on our little field trip.”

“So what happened with Trey?” She asks, “Did he come back?”

I told her about how he stayed gone for three days and enjoyed her gasps

“That was such a butthead move,” she says, “but it definitely doesn’t rise to the level of asshat.”

I giggle and continue. But then I tell Natalie how he treated me the last three days we were together and she says that he is forgiven.

I’m getting to the difficult part and I’m not sure
that I am ready to relive those feelings. 

“Did you tell him you were leaving?” she asks and takes the choice right out of my hands.

I shake my head, “I would have had to tell him the truth. Nat, you don’t understand how amazing it was for someone to treat me like a normal person.”

Her face falls and I realize how my words sound.

“No, I didn’t mean that you don’t. You totally do. You’ve been great. It’s just that he isn’t tainted by the memory of what I looked like, you know, on that day.” I grind my teeth and stuff the memories back into the cage. Dr. Stacey has been pulling them out gradually, but I keep the ones we haven’t dealt with safely locked up in that place in my mind, that place we all have and that we all avoid.

She reaches over and takes my hand and gives me a reassuring smile, “I get it. He’s your ‘you had me at hello’ guy.” I smile at the reference she uses to describe what she believes is another person’s soul mate. I don’t know what I believe, but I know that what Zeke said was true.  Trey was a once in a lifetime kind of love.

“I left him a letter,” I look up at her and then back down at my hands. I realize that the sleeves of my shirt have ridden up a little and Nat hasn’t once looked at them. I tug the sleeves back down anyway.

“Go on;
give me the cliff notes of that, as well,” she says as she motions with her hand for me to continue.

“I told him what he means to me and what our relationship did for me. He gave me hope, Nat. Hope that I can have normal relationships that I can live, really live. And I told him that I love him.”

There are tears in her eyes. “That’s the most beautiful thing ever. You could totally make a movie about it. And it would be awesome, accept for the lead chick who is a dumb ass.”

Okay, not what I was expecting.

“What?”

“If he is as wonderful as you say he is, he would still have wanted you. He doesn’t sound like the type to judge. And it sounds like he was good for you and in case you forgot, you don’t have a whole lot of good in your life right now. I mean, I’m
it,
Tally and I love you with all my heart, but I won’t be enough.”

I think back on Dr. Stacey’s words.
“The medication is only ten percent of controlling the disease. The other ninety percent is you choosing to fight.”
The sound of her voice is so clear in my head it’s as if she is sitting right in front of me.
“Tally, bipolar disorder is something you have, not something you are. You control it, not the other way around and the way to do that is to keep people around you who can help you see signs that your sliding too far one direction or the other.”

“You’re right, Nat,. I know you love me, but I’m going to need more than one person.”

“Correction, Batgirl, we are going to need more people. We are a package deal, okay? Well, except for guys.”

That makes me laugh.

“Tally,” her voice is softer now, “I need you to know something.”

“Okay, it can’t be worse than what I’ve been through, so quit worrying, and just tell me.” I try to sound light hearted to ease her nerves.

“Dr. Stacey called me at the beginning, when you went to Mercy. You’re parents gave her permission to talk to me. She told me that she wanted me to considerably limit visits and phone calls. I didn’t like it, but she explained that even though we are best friends and she knows that I don’t see you any differently. At that point, I was a reminder of what had happened and who had been there. She just wanted the best for you. That’s why I didn’t call much or come see you.” She looks at me and I know she is waiting to see if I’m going to be upset.

“I was never angry at you about not coming around much. I figured you were working and busy and that was okay. I didn’t expect your life to go on pause just because mine did.”

She lets out a relieved breath. We both become statues as we hear the garage door opening. My parents are finally home. Woo-hoo.

“Just so you know, I’m staying tonight, even if they don’t like it.” Nat snaps, though I know it’s not directed at me.

“Thank yous” just don’t seem adequate anymore, but I say it anyway.

I hear the familiar click of my mom’s heals on the stairs and my dad’s deep voice as well. Wonderful, they’ve decided to make a dual appearance. I sit up and the tension that Nat had helped relieve was back in full force. My spine is straight, my chin jutted forward, and my lips stretched in a thin line across my face. I imagine if my eyes could shoot lasers, now would be the time they would be fully operational.  There is a small tap on the door and then it opens as usual, without my saying to come in.

I see my mom’s face first and a small part of me wants to run to her and beg her to never leave. But that part was smaller than the part telling me to protect myself from rejection.

She smiles, and for a slight moment, I think I see fear in her eyes. Then she opens her arms. It would be rude not to hug her so I get up and let her wrap her arms around me. To my surprise, it is a fierce hug, like she’s trying to convey to me what she can’t say with words. When she finally lets go of me, I see that she has put her mask back on. The ‘we are a perfect family, no crazy daughters live here’ mask. My dad steps around to stand beside her and I can see that he is uncomfortable. He shifts from side to side on his feet and looks everywhere but at me.