by Lissa Kasey
Range of Emotions
A Survivors Find Love Novel
Lissa Kasey
Range of Emotions : A Survivors Find Love Novel
Copyright © 2018 Lissa Kasey
All rights reserved
Cover Art by Designrans & Lissa Kasey
Published by Lissa Kasey
http://www.lissakasey.com
A Note from the Author
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Please be Advised:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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To Christy, Amilyn, and Susan. Thanks for helping me get through this.
Facts about Mental Health
Anxiety affects over 40 million adults in the USA.
People with anxiety are three to five times more likely to end up in the psych ward.
Panic disorder affects 2.7% of adults.
It’s not uncommon for someone with anxiety to also suffer from depression.
Depression is the leading cause of disability in the entire world.
Prologue
Can you believe I’m on written warning? Nate wrote to Jamie in an instant message.
WFT? For being sick? was Jamie’s reply.
Correct. And even though I technically can work from home, I’m not allowed to. If Nate could figure out why in the past six months he’d begun having chronic migraines three to six days a week, he’d have happily fixed the problem so it wouldn’t have threatened his office job. Boss says someone in the past abused it, and they want everyone working from the office.
The office that you have to travel an hour on a city express bus to get to every day?
Yep. Nate’s job had moved from a suburban nature sprawl on the outskirts of the Twin Cities, Minnesota, to downtown Minneapolis. It was only thirty-six miles, but a world of difference going from nature walks and two floors to a fifteen-story high-rise in downtown. Nate actually suspected his migraines were environmental. Could be stress, could be smog. There was no way to combat those and keep his job. He was the most financially comfortable he’d ever been in his life. Not making big bucks by any means with his just under fifty-grand-a-year salary, but he wasn’t living on ramen anymore. He had no savings because he spent it all to cover out-of-pocket medical expenses and his enormous deductible testing for solutions to his migraines. All for doctors to tell him they couldn’t find anything wrong with his head. Yet he had to spend most days sitting in the dark just to keep it from throbbing.
They had progressed from happening just a few times a year, to monthly, then weekly, and finally several days a week. The pain was so intense sometimes that Nate feared an undiscovered tumor. Only the scans came back with nothing. No explanations. Just more pills shoved in his face. Most of which made him ill.
He sighed and glared at the computer screen. If his head didn’t hurt, he’d actually call Jamie. Sometimes just hearing his friend’s voice helped soothe him. It wasn’t that long ago that Nate had fancied himself in love with Jameson. They’d met years ago, when the internet had still been a primitive thing, through the game World of Warcraft. Of course it had taken them years to meet in person, spending a long weekend together at DragonCon, but they were forever friends, even though Jamie was as straight as Nate was gay. They talked online almost daily. Sent each other gifts for holidays and birthdays, and just understood each other like most others couldn’t. Worlds apart. Yet not.
I’m so tired. Nate typed. He felt bad. Always complaining. He had a decent life. Lived paycheck to paycheck, paying the mortgage on a small townhome, leasing a brand-new economy car, paying student loans. He was average. Sure he had no family, having been disowned years prior. He was introverted and didn’t have a lot of friends. But he wasn’t living in the ghetto or dying of cancer. He didn’t really have a right to complain. He was just tired. Physically. Emotionally. Was it normal to be thirty-seven and just feel ready to be done with everything? He wondered if it was time for another medication check for his antidepressant drugs. Were the pills helping at all anymore?
Come stay with me, Jamie wrote back. It wasn’t the first time he had offered. Jamie lived on an island off the coast of the state of Washington. A place called Friday Harbor. Nate had never been, but Jamie talked about it a lot. Sent him pictures often, and Nate dreamed about it on occasion.
Can’t afford it.
You can. You’re just afraid. You told me last month you had one of those property management places out to look at your townhome. Said you could rent it out for almost twice your mortgage.
I have other bills. Nate reminded him. Not just the house. The car. My credit cards. Student loans. And the cats. Nate was bad. He had the horrible habit of rescuing cats. Right now he had three who were all on special diets. Needy cats, the lot of them. Old and more than a little craggy in Leo’s case, but they were his family.
Nate’s phone rang, making him wince, but he answered it, and put it to speaker. “Bring them,” Jamie said.
“Jamie…”
“Nate, you said your head is often better when you’re outside. I’ll take you into the woods. It will be nothing but us and nature. Maybe that will fix your head.”
Nate sighed. “City boy, remember? Never been camping a day in my life.”
Jamie laughed lightly. “Yeah, I remember. Funny how your head hates the city. But think about it. What do you have to lose?”
“Um, everything.”
“No.”
“You want me to quit my job and just give up everything to mooch off you for a while?”
“Why do you think of it that way? You’re my best friend, Nate. If something happened and I needed a place, you’d make room for me, right? Help any way you could?”
“Of course.” Even if Nate hadn’t at one time been madly in love with his best friend, he’d still have helped Jamie. If anyone had ever been there for him, it had been Jamie. Even after Nate confessed his love and Jamie had apologized for not feeling the same, that had been years ago.
“I love you, Nate. Want you safe and happy. Is that too much to ask?”
Nate smiled at the warm feeling Jamie’s words awoke in his gut. Even if Jamie’s love wasn’t the same as Nate’s. “I love you, too. I’m just afraid that you’ll get tired of me.”
“Not going to happen. I just wonder what it will take to make you realize you need the change. Your manager,” Jamie snarled the word, “insulted you again yesterday in a group meeting. No reason. You texted me from the supply closet, crying.”
“I wasn’t crying.” Nate had been. But it hadn’t been the supply closet. There was no lock on that door, which was odd. It was a tiny room called a ‘Wellness’ room, with a single chair and a sink. Nate often laid on the floor with the lights out when his migraines became too much.
“No one should have to take that from their boss.”
“He’s not my boss. Just a senior of my own position.”
“So why is he allowed
to insult you? Belittle you?”
“I just made some mistakes is all.”
“To him, I think breathing is a mistake for you. Christ. I’ve never even met the guy and I hate him.”
Nate often wondered why he’d been chosen for the position. He worked for a student loan company, hearing cases and writing up decisions for defaulted loans and wage garnishment authorization. He saw a lot of people in bad situations. A lot of others who obviously didn’t know how to manage money. He’d been in the position nine months and every day was made to feel like an idiot, whether it was from missing a comma in a decision write-up, or being a few pennies off on a calculation spreadsheet that no one externally saw. He enjoyed the challenge of the job, but hated always being made to feel worthless and stupid.
“You could commit for like a year, maybe,” Jamie went on. “Rent out the house, drive out with the cats, maybe find a local job. Something simple. Less stress. If you get enough from renting out the house, that will pay for your mortgage, car payment, student loans, and credit cards. You could give yourself a reboot. See if it fixes your head.”
“And make it difficult to find another good paying job,” Nate pointed out.
“Nate, your job doesn’t pay all that well. I’m a park ranger and make almost what you do. We aren’t the most well-paid lot. Your office job is not the be all end all.”
“Because you have EMT and prior police training. I’m not exactly park ranger material.”
“Most everything on the island is fifteen-an-hour minimum now. Not ‘cause of any mandate, but because it generates business. The few holdouts are struggling. But I know the diner, bakery, and the grocery store start at fifteen.”
“And I make almost twenty-three per hour.”
“And are too sick to do anything but visit hospitals and clinics,” Jamie pointed out.
“I’m sure your little island doesn’t want a homo like me.” It was the last real protest. Washington State was very progressive, Nate knew that. But he didn’t think a small town like the island Jamie lived on, was rainbow flag waving.
“We’ve got plenty of homos. Bastian and Charlie are always the talk in town because everyone wants Charlie and thinks he’s odd for dating a doll painter. Jason and Graham are in town holding hands at least once a week. There’s the lesbian couple who own the bookstore, and Troy who works in the pharmacy. I’m pretty sure there’s an EMT who’s gay too. And it’s not like you’re so flaming you’re going to set the island on fire. Why are you fighting this? Fear? I’m here, Nate. You won’t be alone. Don’t you trust me?”
He always did pull out the big guns. Jamie was easygoing, but never delicate. He was sort of a bear, physically and personality-wise. He was a good sized guy, stocky, a little scruffy with golden-brown curls and ever-present facial hair of some kind, and could stop a room with his presence. Mostly he was quiet and reserved, preferring to watch rather than dive into the thick of things. But he wasn’t the sort of guy who got shoved around. Nate, however, was. Nate was short in stature and in nerves. He didn’t push back often, no matter how much someone battered him around.
“Of course I trust you,” Nate breathed, letting out the truth. “But what if I get there and you hate me? Or can’t stand being around me? What if the headaches don’t go away and I can’t ever find work again?”
“What if?” Jamie asked. “What if the mountain and sea air clear your head? What if you find working at a bakery more fulfilling than wading through people’s finances? What if taking a break from the city is exactly the step you need to stop crying every night and feel like maybe, just maybe, you can go on?” The silence lingered between them for a minute. “I know, Nate. I hear it in your voice when we talk. I can tell in your posts online and how you avoid certain topics. I know you’re battling your depression. I get it. I just don’t want it to keep eating you until there’s nothing left. So I’m extending my hand. Asking you to take a break and trust in someone.”
And wasn’t that the most terrifying thought—trusting in anyone other than himself. For so long he’d been alone. Every time in his life he’d reached out, he’d been slapped down. “Jamie…”
“Nate, please. It’s killing me to watch you slowly dying out there.”
“It’s supposed to be that easy? Just pick up my stuff and drive?”
“Sure.”
“Would you?”
“If our roles were reversed, yeah. Pretty sure the city has nothing to offer me though. Remember I went to college in Seattle, grew up in LA. Had enough of big cities and people then. I like the Harbor. It’s quiet. Air’s clean. We don’t have giant malls or theme parks, but we have mountains, a couple of state parks, and lots of alpacas.”
“Jamie…”
“Nate. One year. That’s how long you’d have to rent your house out for anyway, right?”
“But…” Nate could only wonder what would happen, with his life and his career. In reality, he’d gone to school to be a writer. For all the good that did him now. A Bachelor’s of Arts degree got him nowhere but this stupid desk job. “Okay.” He couldn’t believe he said it, considered it, even thought a second about it. “But not yet. I just need a little more time.”
Jamie sighed.
“I’m not ready yet,” Nate confessed.
“Will you know when you are?”
Nate wasn’t sure. Everything had gone downhill from that moment. One medication change after another as suddenly his depression was being treated instead of his migraines. Both got worse. He’d had many a phone conversation with Jamie about the same thing. A year and a half passed. Nate had never been ready. He didn’t think he would ever be.
Chapter 1
A year and a half later.
Nate bounced the lamb-shaped, stress ball on the floor as he walked. The puke-green, low pile carpet made no sound while he followed it around the ninety-degree turn in sock-clad feet. The only sound came from a young woman violently throwing up in one of the rooms he passed. A familiar refrain from the past few days. Seventy-three steps to a tiny end of the hall meeting room, a one-hundred and eighty-degree turn, and he was headed back the way he had come.
He passed the tiny kitchen area filled with locked pantries and fridge, and empty white tables. Turned again at the short hallway next to the tiny television area and the giant desk that made up the nursing station. His back to a double-wide locked door. The door to the outside. It’d been over a week since he’d been out there.
Later in the day as bedtime neared, Nate often wondered what he was doing there. How had his life degenerated to this? Locked in a mental ward. Pacing the hall. Alone. Exhausted. Depressed and terrified of everything.
A year ago he had been independent. Worked the same office job for over eight years. Owned a townhome and three ancient cats, leased a car, and lived just like everyone else in the world. He wasn’t a party animal. He tried to eat right and exercise. Yet he still ended up here. Confused. Alone. Hopeless.
The mornings were the worst. Nate went to bed at night, almost feeling like himself again. Able to think and reason. Only to awake in terror the next morning. Fear of nothing at all. Depression so deep he wondered why he bothered to breathe for one more second. How had he gotten here?
The sad reality was that he’d checked himself in again. Four times in a year. Each time worse than the last. Each time a new drug added. Each time more and more lost to himself. Hope had vanished after the fourth or fifth medication was added. Nothing helped. In fact, he really began to believe everything was making him worse. That’s why he’d tried to come off everything. Which put him right back where he was now. At the hospital, praying for a miracle of some god he’d never really believed in, to save him from himself.
Soon it would be dinner time. He lived for the structured moments. Three meals a day, art class, group therapy, sometimes a movie or a group game. It kept his mind busy and off the insanity that had befallen him over the past year.
Inside he could ignore the way the worl
d crashed around him. He was on the verge of losing his job. Sick time and disability had run out. Soon the house would be foreclosed on. He had no savings as it had all been eaten up by medical bills to pay premiums and ridiculous out-of-pocket deductibles for his shitty work insurance plan. Twice he’d taken money from his 401k to pay medical bills. Over twenty-thousand dollars, just to end up back here. Alone. Broken. A failure.
Nate left the small stress ball at the nursing counter and disappeared into his room to cry. At least his roommate wasn’t in. If there was anything worse than being stuck in a psych ward, it was having to share a room with a complete stranger who was just as, if not more, broken than he was. Try sleeping with room checks every fifteen minutes by the nurses, and a roommate who had to sleep in a giant beanbag crammed into the space between the tiny twin bed and the wall, while listening to some hip-hop music on earphones loud enough that three rooms over could hear every word.
Sleep might help Nate’s mood. If he could sleep. The occurrence was rare. Two hours a night at most. Broken sleep led to worse days. He’d never been this teary in his life. He’d also never had an episode of depression last this long. He curled into his bed, a wood platform with a three-inch mattress on it, wrapped the thin white blanket around himself, and sobbed into the cushionless pillow beneath his head. He worried about his cats, left to a neighbor’s care since he had no family who acknowledged him. The idea of failing his pets made him feel the worst. His poor fur babies who had already been unwanted by others due to their own illnesses.
What if the doctors didn’t let him out this time? The thought always tickled the back of his mind. A fear of forever being locked away, wandering halls in burgundy scrubs, eating bland foods, and telling doctors what they wanted to hear, even if it was all just lies.