Yes.
Maybe?
I try to think of something else but as soon as another car appears I feel as if I have to restrain myself to keep from purposely moving into the lane of oncoming traffic. Why does it sound like a good idea? The answer seems to hit me out of nowhere. I want something to take me away from this mental pain. Maybe physical pain will be better, right? At least I can be fixed that way. I can actually heal if it’s something physical. Unless I do more damage than that.
Like it’s just now occurred to me, I realize I’m thinking about injuring myself. The thought scares me so much that I decide to go to Trace’s a little early. I need to see him and tell him. This isn’t good. I’ve never wanted to hurt myself before. My hands tremble and begin to ache as I hold tighter onto the steering wheel, resisting that strong and growing urge to wreck my car. I can’t tell if I truly want to do this or not.
I park my car in its usual spot in Trace’s driveway. When I quickly glance at my phone, I see that I’ve missed texts from him. All of them asking me to come over and that he needs to talk to me. Seeing those makes me want to back out of his driveway and take my chances on the road. That gut feeling that something bad is going to happen triples. I hurry out of the car. He surprises me by opening it before I can knock.
My mouth opens, ready to rush out all the words I need to say about what I’m thinking and how terrified I am. Trace has the same reaction, but unlike me, he starts talking.
“I need to get this out,” he begins. “We can’t work like this, Brittany. We both have so many issues we need to work through, and I think us being together is hindering more than helpful. I’m so sorry. I think we just need time to get ourselves together. I think we need to take a break, just for now. Honestly, how can you do it? Be with me when I’m like this and you’re like this? Doesn’t it just make it harder and worse? I don’t see it doing much good right now.”
I interrupt him before more bullshit can spew from his mouth. “You’re breaking up with me?” My voice is too calm. How can I sound like that when I feel anything but?
“Not—” he begins, but I cut him off again.
“Either you are or you aren’t!” I snap.
“Just for a little while. I think—”
Without waiting to hear another word, I turn to leave. I can’t deal with this right now. Did he seriously just break up with me? He didn’t even invite me inside! He calls out my name, but I ignore him. I get in my car and leave, tears streaming down my face. A mile later, the first sob rips out of me and this time, I do let my car drift into the other lane. The moment I see a car, I chicken out and correct myself while ignoring their blaring horn.
I blindly reach into the passenger seat to grab my phone and then use the back of my hand to wipe my eyes. I pull into the parking lot of a store and call Dr. Gunner’s office. Please let someone be there. Please let someone answer.
“Hello?”
A rush of air leaves me at the sound of Dr. Gunner’s voice. The words begin to tumble out. “I can’t do this anymore and I’m scared because I can’t stop thinking about wrecking my car, and my fucking boyfriend just broke up with me, and I can’t do this anymore.”
“Brittany?” Dr. Gunner is one of those people with a clear tone to convey his concern. I can hear it in his voice now.
“Yeah.” I squeeze my eyes closed and try to stop crying, but I can’t.
“I need to you try to calm down, so I can understand what’s going on. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“What do you mean you want to wreck your car?”
“I don’t know. I just can’t stop thinking about crashing it.” I go into details about every thought I’ve had since the first bad one. “What am I supposed to do? I’ve never thought about anything like that before.”
“Where are you now?”
“Parked in the lot of some store.”
“Okay. On a scale of one to ten, how strong are the urges?”
“Depends. Ranges from six to nine depending on what I’m thinking about.”
“Here’s what I need you to do. I want you to stay on the line with me and drive to the hospital. You may hear me talking to someone else, but it’s just my assistant, Tiffany. You remember her, right?”
“Yeah,” I answer, switching my phone to speaker and blindly following his instruction to drive to the hospital.
“Good. She’s just going to let the hospital know you’re coming. I want you to keep talking to me, so I can know that you’re getting there safely. Do you want Tiffany to call your parents?”
“I guess,” I mumble.
“How far are you from the hospital?”
“About fifteen minutes, I think.”
“Great. I want you to drive carefully, take your time, and pull over if you need a break to just breathe or take a moment to get the thoughts tampered down.” His voice sounds a bit muffled and I assume he’s talking to Tiffany. After that, he talks to me constantly and gets me to respond every minute or so.
When I arrive at the hospital, I feel lost. “What am I supposed to do now? I’m here.”
“Go into the ER. They’re expecting you. Do whatever they ask you to do and be honest with them. Tiffany has called your parents and they said to tell you they are on their way and that they love you. I’m going to leave here and drive up as well, okay?”
The tears come faster at the mention of my parents. “Okay.”
He stays on the line until I’m inside the building. It’s not until an officer appears to lead me to another floor that I begin to worry. Why am I here? I’m not actually hurt. Why am I being admitted? My blood freezes when I ask the nurse.
Her eyes are full of pity as she places her hand over mine and says, “Honey, your psychiatrist is having you involuntarily admitted to the psychiatric ward. The officer is going to walk you up and leave you with a nurse who will get you settled in.”
“Wait. What? The psych ward?” Where the crazies go? That can’t be right. “What does it mean to be involuntarily admitted?”
“They’ll explain everything upstairs.”
The officer has run out of patience. “Are you ready?”
I nod, even though I’m not. I’m confused and tired and I just wanna lie down and cry. After being led upstairs, a nurse is waiting for me. She makes me change into these uncomfortable pants and shirt. She asks if I have any personal belongings on me and all I can hand her is my phone and car keys. I don’t have jewelry or a razor blade hidden somewhere. She tells me that an involuntarily admittance means an automatic seven-day stay here in the lovely psych ward while they watch me 24/7 to make sure I don’t kill myself.
She tells me that attending the group meetings is recommended and she explains how meals and medications are given out. She even tells me that I’m lucky because I’m in a room with a single bed. I don’t have a roommate. Yay me. The moment she leaves me alone with the door open, of course, I crawl onto the bed.
The sob-filled, gasping-for-air, full-blown meltdown begins. Every so often, I hear a nurse asking me a question as she checks on me, but I ignore her. My life is officially shit. I’m at rock bottom. I’ve lost my boyfriend and my mind, all in one day. How convenient.
Some time passes before I unfortunately hear a familiar voice.
“Brittany?” Dr. Gunner says.
“Go away.” My voice cracks and I hate it.
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk to me for a few minutes?”
“No, I don’t!”
“I can get you some dinner, even though you missed it, and I can make sure you see your parents tonight.”
In one swift movement, I yank my pillow from under my head, twist, and throw it at him. “Get out!” Before I lie down again, a thought hits me and I add, “And tell my parents not to tell my boyfriend I’m here, but to get my cell phone and tell Rebecca. She’s probably freaking out.” I roll over to face the wall again and wish I had my pillow.
“Okay. I can do that. I’ll see you in the morning the
n.”
Hope not. I lie there for what feels like forever. I don’t bother getting up when a nurse stops by and tells me I should get up to take my meds. I ignore her. Sleep doesn’t come and somehow, the tears never stop falling. I feel like an idiot that I’m in the freaking psych ward and all I can worry about is my breakup with Trace.
The one constant, the one person, my one rock that I’ve had since I was diagnosed who has helped me get through everything is gone. How am I supposed to survive now? Who am I supposed to go to? What in the world am I going to do? God, I already miss him. Maybe I’ll just stay here forever just to avoid dealing with the world.
The next day, Dr. Gunner tries repeatedly to get me out of my room, but I ignore him. He tries to bribe me with my parents, but it doesn’t work. I only get up to use the bathroom, which is inside my room thankfully. The rest of my time is spent staring at the wall, crying silently, or sleeping. My mind shuts down and I don’t think. I just lie there and exist.
Sunday comes and my stomach begins to cramp. My eyes burn from a lack of sleep and I’m so tired. There’s a knock on my door early that morning. I know it’s early because breakfast hasn’t been served and no one is really moving around.
“I have some breakfast for you if you’d like to eat some.” It’s some nurse. She’s checked on me often so far, and I wonder when she ever has a day off. She’s not supposed to bring food into my room. I’m supposed to get out of bed and go to the commons area if I want to eat. She walks around and sets the food on the nightstand, making sure I see her and the food. “Your parents are anxious to see you; they’ve been sitting in the waiting room all day since you were admitted. You’ve even had a friend stop by and sit with them.”
She must be talking about Rebecca.
“Well, I just wanted to bring you breakfast and let you know about your family. If you are going to eat, it’d be great if you’d do it quickly, so I can sneak it back out. I’ll be back in an hour.” With that, she walks out.
My eyes drift to the food and my stomach hurts more. I sit up, deciding I should take advantage of the nurse’s kindness. I slowly eat the food. Partly to savor it, partly to make sure I’m not going to throw up. The food isn’t half bad and I finish it all. I lie back down. The next time she enters the room, she brings me something else.
“Here are some of your own clothes your friend brought, and some things you’ll need if you’d like to take a shower. It’s right outside your room.”
My voice doesn’t sound like my own when I speak. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Honestly?”
I nod.
“I’m hoping if someone is nice to you that it’ll help you. It’s been hard to watch your parents sit in the waiting room and worry so much. You should really think about venturing out during visitor’s hours.”
“I think I’ll take that shower.” I’m not committing to anything yet.
The nurse shows me where it is as if she never told me in the first place. The shower wears me out, so I climb back into bed once I’m done. It feels good to be wearing my own clothes, though, and not those uncomfortable, scratchy hospital ones. It’s surprising when I don’t have a visit from Dr. Gunner, but I’m okay with that.
Around lunch, I hear, “I don’t care what policy is! You are going to let me see my daughter right now!”
Mom? I hate that they’ve been sitting out there with me being in here and too sorry to get up and meet them. Before I can think too much about it, I get out of bed and walk into the hallway, following the sound of her voice.
“I’m her mother and what she needs is someone she knows! Not to be holed up in that room. I can get her out. You need to let me see her!”
I walk around the corner to see my father trying to calm her down and my mother with her fists clenched on the countertop of the nurses’ desk. I wonder why they let her on this side if they had no intentions of letting her see me. You have to walk through a locked door to enter the ward.
“Mom?”
Their heads snap my way. Mom comes rushing over and I break into tears. God, I’m so tired of crying. Mom wraps me in her arms, crying just as hard as I am.
“We’ve been so worried. Are you okay?”
I’m crying too hard to answer. Dad says something and we start walking down another hallway. We’re sitting in one of the commons areas, I guess, because other patients glance our way. We sit down on the couch with me in the middle and my parents hug me tight.
“I wanna go home,” I sob.
“I know,” Dad says, “but you still have four days to go and you haven’t exactly shown them that you’re capable.”
That’s such bullshit. They hold me for a little longer before Mom breaks the silence. My crying has calmed down some and she pushes my hair away from my face, wiping my cheeks.
“Will you tell us what happened?”
I lean against her, resting my head on her shoulder so I don’t have to look at her. “I’m so tired, Mom.”
“Please, Brittany,” my dad quietly begs. “We want to understand.”
“I don’t even understand it. I was driving and then I couldn’t stop thinking about crashing. I went to Trace’s to tell him, but he broke up with me, so I left and called Dr. Gunner. Now, here I am.”
“That’s why you didn’t want us to call him,” she says.
I nod, the stupid tears coming harder. “He thinks we were making each other worse. It doesn’t make sense. How can he go from inviting me over and letting me stay over there to all of a sudden breaking up with me?”
It doesn’t make any sense at all.
I feel like I’m still standing on my front porch watching her drive away. I was so sure I made the right decision and all I’ve done since she left is worry that it might not have been. I certainly don’t feel any better. I can’t stop thinking about how we were making each other worse and how I most definitely didn’t want to lie to her, but I also didn’t want to tell her.
Honestly, I’m surprised I haven’t heard from her. But then again, why would she want to talk to me after what happened? My phone rings and I pick it up, surprised that it’s a call from Will.
“Hey,” I answer.
“Hey, how’s it going?”
I glance down at Lily, who is lying at my feet. “Okay, I guess. You?”
“Same as usual. Look, I’m in town on some business, and I thought I’d check in on you if you were up to it.”
“You’re in town?”
“Yeah, and I’m hungry. Aren’t you going to meet your old friend for lunch?”
I haven’t left the house since Brittany left and I don’t feel like doing it today. “Sure,” I say anyway. There’s a very good possibility that I’m going to go crazy if I stay here much longer. I tell Will where he can meet me and then get out of bed. As I shower, that whisper of thought enters my head again and I try to ignore it.
Now I know for sure that I made the right decision with Brittany. Having suicidal thoughts is one thing. But with my history? I don’t want her here while I deal with it. I don’t want her help. I don’t want her to know. I can still remember the look on my dad’s face when I landed in Texas for my mom’s funeral. He was miserable, grief-stricken, and felt guilty. He knew about my mom’s struggles with depression, she confessed to him her darkest thoughts of suicide, and he couldn’t help her. He couldn’t stop her in time.
Not that I want to commit the act, despite my thoughts, but I remember how my mom was worrying about my dad. She didn’t tell me what she was considering or what exactly she was worried about. I can only assume it was how she was affecting him since she told him. It took years afterward to put two and two together. I don’t want to do to Brittany what my mom did to my dad. Dad couldn’t handle knowing, and I don’t think Brittany could either. I’ve always wondered if Mom regretted telling Dad and if that played a part in her final decision.
Shaking my head, I clear my thoughts. I don’t want to think about my parents. I don’t wan
t to think about suicide. I don’t want to think about Brittany. I blank my mind and am careful to focus solely on each task at hand. Soon, I’m pulling up to a restaurant and meeting Will out front.
“You look like shit,” he says with a grin.
“Feeling that way too,” I reply as we clap each other on the back in a quick hug.
His grin is gone now. “Sounds like it’s a good thing I’m in town then.”
“Why are you here?” I ask, opening the door. “It’s the weekend. What business could you have?” I’m tempted to ask if he’s heard from Brittany, but Will wouldn’t cross that line and tell me anything.
Will shrugs. “Emergency business, but it’s all handled now. You know me, always going the extra mile for my clients.” The waitress leads us to a table and we sit. “How are things with you, Trace? Still going well with the girlfriend?”
“No girlfriend, and I already told you things are shit with me.”
“What happened with the girl?”
I glance down at the menu even though I’m familiar with it. I probably should’ve chosen a different restaurant than Brittany’s favorite, but it was the first that came to mind.
“Trace,” Will pushes.
“Why the fuck do you care? I thought you didn’t want to hear anything about her.”
Will doesn’t seem bothered by my annoyance with him. “Just curious. Last time you mentioned her, it was to cuss me out for the meds she was on. Quite a big change from being so worried about her to not wanting to talk about her.”
Our waiter appears and he buys me some time as he takes our drink orders. But once he walks away, Will just stares me down. I absentmindedly grip my neck and then lean forward. Will is the only one who knows my history.
“Look, I’ve been having suicidal thoughts again and I couldn’t deal with both, okay? I can’t tell her that, and I can’t stand lying to her. I need to fix me again.”
I’ve caught Will’s full interest as he leans forward. “How bad?”
“Not as bad as before. All I’m doing is thinking about it here and there. No attempts have been made. You get why I broke up with her, right?”
Will shakes his head. “No, I don’t get why you are constantly pushing away your support. You did it when this shit first started, you did it before your mom died, after she died, when you were married, and now once again. You need to see a therapist, and if you laugh at me again, I’m going to punch you in the throat.”
Driving Me Mad (Sanity Book 1) Page 23