At the risk of sounding repetitive, the best tool we have to deal with hard times is good communication. Communication won’t prevent the hard times, but it will help to keep things from getting worse by limiting bad responses.
And remember there is strength in numbers. Joining forces with your partner to get through the bad times will make the bad times easier to manage, not to mention that you won’t be so lonely. Plus, the relief of getting through a tough time is kind of an aphrodisiac, and the sex can be pretty amazing! I’m just saying.
Chapter Thirty-nine
“Hey, guys! I missed you, too.” Gus wagged his tail as he greeted Izzy at the door, and Lester promptly sat on her foot, a sign he missed her, too. “Where’s Jane?”
A quick look determined she wasn’t at the counter grading papers like usual. Izzy tossed the brownie she’d brought home for Jane onto the counter and wandered through the house, finally finding her on the back porch, drinking a glass of wine. The dogs settled around Jane’s feet, probably in the positions they’d been in when they’d heard the car pull into the garage.
Izzy leaned against the door frame and looked at her—so beautiful in the late afternoon sunshine. She rubbed at her goose bumps. “Hey, you. It’s chilly out here.”
Jane was bundled up in a hoodie and her warm slippers. It was weird to find her outside drinking wine by herself. A distant wood fire, probably in a fireplace, scented the cold, light breeze.
Jane looked tired again. Izzy wanted to make the weariness go away, but Jane hadn’t been too talkative lately. The disconnect lingered. “It feels kind of good. Lester nearly tore the doggy door out when he heard you come in.”
“Maybe we should get a bigger one. You know, one to accommodate all his bulging muscles.” Izzy laughed at her own joke.
Jane shrugged and barely smiled. Izzy pulled up a chair close to hers and sat. The cast-iron seat cold even through her jeans.
“Why are you out here?” Izzy took her hand, and Jane squeezed it.
“Just thinking. How’s Haley?”
“She’s doing a lot better.” Izzy unrolled her long sleeves. She’d explained Haley’s condition as postpartum depression. The earlier feeling of hypocrisy returned.
“Did you get to see the baby?”
“She left Simone home with Josh.”
“Then I’m not so jealous.” Jane’s eyes focused on the tops of some nearby trees, a group of crows dotting the gently swaying branches.
“I’ll ask her to bring the baby by this weekend.”
Jane didn’t answer.
“Are you okay?”
Jane glanced at her but moved her eyes quickly away. “Yeah. Why?”
“You seem a little quiet.”
“I’m in a quiet mood.”
It was Izzy’s night to cook, but she wanted to tell Jane about being bipolar. Her talk with Haley reinforced the knowledge that she should have done it months ago.
“A glass of wine sounds good. Do you mind if I sit out here with you and have a few sips before I start dinner?”
“Sure. I’m not too hungry anyway.”
Izzy went inside and poured herself a glass of wine. As always, she questioned drinking alcohol. The ingrained warnings about it not being a good mix with her meds or her condition ran through her mind. She poured half a glass, grabbed a jacket, and carried her glass and the bottle back out to the deck to see if Jane wanted a refill.
On the short walk back to Jane, she tried to summon words, but they wouldn’t come. None had come on the drive home from the coffee shop, either. I’m bipolar. I’m bipolar. I’m bipolar. The phrase resounded in her mind. They were the only words she could think of. Though they were true, they were artless. Overly direct. Sterile. She wanted the declaration to be less of a declaration and more a natural part of a conversation. But it took a conversation to make it happen, and Jane was far from conversational this evening.
Still, without a way to speak her truth, she moved the cast-iron chair back to the patio table and settled in the Adirondack chair on the other side of Jane. It wasn’t as close to Jane as the other chair was, but she wanted to see her face. She followed Jane’s gaze, which was still on the crows.
“How was your day?” she asked after a minute.
“Okay.” Jane accepted a little more wine.
“Mine was pretty good.” Izzy put the bottle on the table between them.
“That’s nice.” Jane sounded distracted, and Izzy wondered why.
They were quiet for a few more minutes, and Izzy still hadn’t figured out how to bring up the topic of her illness. Her stomach started to churn. She wanted to chicken out, but she refused. She finished off her wine and put the glass on the table. She wanted another glass for courage, but the last one was sitting like a vat of acid in her stomach already.
She leaned forward, clasping her hands between her knees. “Hey, so, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”
Jane looked at her for the first time since the glance when she’d arrived. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “I’ve wanted to talk to you about it for a long time. Since I met you, actually.” Jane’s glance wandered over her face as if she was searching for something. It made what she had to say more difficult.
“I’m listening.” Jane rested her wine glass on the arm of her chair.
“I wanted to tell you before, but the longer I didn’t, the harder it got,” she said. “And now, it seems like a super huge thing, but it isn’t.”
“It sounds pretty serious.” Jane switched her gaze from Izzy’s face to her wineglass.
“It isn’t.” Izzy paused. “Well, it is, but it isn’t.”
“Just say what you need to say.” Jane sounded resigned.
“Well, the thing is, I’m bipolar.” God. She’d said it. Her heart sped up. “I have been pretty much all my life, and I have it managed, but it’s still part of who I am, and I thought I should tell you, but how do you bring something like that up in conversation? So, I could never figure out a good time, and…” She was babbling. She let the sentence die. The silence unnerved her. She looked up at Jane, who was still staring at her wineglass. “Anyway, I thought I would let you know and see if you wanted to talk about it. I’m not sure what more I can say, but maybe you have questions or something?”
Jane continued staring at her glass, and Izzy wondered if she would even respond.
The crows in the tree silently scattered into the sky, flew over them, and disappeared over the house.
“That’s a pretty big thing,” Jane finally said.
“It is, but it isn’t.” She was relieved, but Jane was just sitting there, and she didn’t know what to do. “I was afraid to tell you early on because I didn’t want to scare you away. And then, like I said, the longer I didn’t say anything, the harder it was to bring up. But there it is. I’m bipolar, and I hope it doesn’t change how you feel about me.”
Jane looked at her, and her eyes weren’t so distant anymore. Izzy felt as if Jane was seeing her for the first time in several days—not just her outside but all of her. A small flare of elation rose in her.
“You being bipolar doesn’t change a thing about the way I feel about you. You are you, and I fell in love with you.” Jane’s words landed like a ball of sunlight in Izzy’s chest. She’d said the L-word! “Being bipolar, well, I guess it’s just a part of the wonderful woman I know and only one facet of who you are.”
Izzy felt such relief she almost started to cry. “I was so scared to tell you.” She wanted to tell her she loved her, too, but she didn’t want to tangle it up in this discussion.
“I’m sorry it was so hard for you.” Jane leaned forward in her chair, leaving her glass on the arm and clasping her hands together between her knees. “It’s bad timing, but I have something to tell you, too.” Jane stared at her hands.
“Okay.” Jane’s demeanor didn’t bode well for whatever it was, and the sun that had risen in Izzy started to sink.
“I need a little space for a while. I think I need to move out and get my head together.” Jane’s voice cracked on the last word.
Everything around Izzy receded. Nothing made sense. She watched Jane wipe away tears with both hands and stare at her hands again.
“What?” She managed to get the word out through lips that had become numb, much like the rest of her.
“This has nothing to do with what you just told me.” Jane wrung her hands. “But things haven’t been working out very well lately, and I don’t like how I feel.”
Izzy was dumbfounded. Where had this come from? How had it happened? “What? Um…why?”
“I do know I love you. I love you so much.”
She said it again. She loved her. But those words weren’t syncing up with the other words.
“I don’t understand.” Izzy wanted to cry. A howl was creeping up her throat. She couldn’t speak or it might come crashing out.
Jane stared at her hands; her white knuckles were stark in the deepening dusky light. “It’s all my fault. I feel like we aren’t connecting. You have all your things going on, and I feel like a distraction.” Jane rose and picked up her glass and the bottle. She looked at Izzy for a moment with a broken expression in her eyes and then walked to the door.
She couldn’t just say what she said and walk away! Izzy wanted to stop her, tell her they could work things out, explain that her illness wouldn’t be an issue, but she couldn’t get up. She was still too numb. Jane tucked the bottle under her arm and opened the door. She paused before going in.
“I already have my stuff in my car. Just a suitcase for now. I’ll take Lester, but I’ll have to leave the cats here until I figure things out.”
Jane watched her as if she expected a response, but Izzy didn’t know what to say. The howl was inches away from exploding from her throat. She could only stare at her with her mouth open. Hot tears streamed down her face. Some trailed into her mouth. But she couldn’t move.
Jane watched her for a few minutes and then turned into the house and shut the door.
Izzy’s chest was tight, and her limbs were numb. She didn’t know how long she sat there.
She’s leaving!
She hadn’t even said where she was going.
She pushed herself out of the chair and stumbled to the door. The house was silent. Gus was lying by himself near the door to the garage. Lester wasn’t with him. It was as if he knew Jane’s leaving was not just a trip to the store. She was gone. She stumbled to a barstool and fell into it, resting her arms on the counter and crumbled forward onto them. Jane was gone, and the tears wouldn’t stop.
* * *
You know when you get on an airplane and they do the safety briefing no one listens to? There’s a part where the flight attendant shows you how to affix your oxygen mask and says you have to put yours on before trying to help someone else. This advice also applies to issues in a relationship. No matter how hard you try to fix someone else, if you have your own issues, they will always get in the way. So, you have to address your own issues first before you address your partner’s.
Chapter Forty
Tori’s office looked different in the morning light. Direct sunlight into the waiting room gave it a cheery definition, contrasting with the light of late afternoon when the sunlight hit the other side of the building. Izzy wasn’t sure she liked seeing the office this way, especially in the mood she was in, but she couldn’t go to work. Not today. She was grateful Tori had an opening in her schedule. She cringed, remembering the panicked call she’d made to Tori’s emergency line the night before.
Izzy picked at the cardboard sleeve on her to-go coffee cup. She was groggy. She hadn’t even been able to drag herself out of bed to go running, and it was all she could do to take a shower and put on clothes. Gus hadn’t left her side since Jane left the night before. He lay at her feet now, her good boy keeping her grounded.
She stared at the quick blurt of texts she’d received last night on her phone.
I’m so sorry
I love you
I’m at a friend’s house
I’ll call you once I get my head clear
How long do you think you need? she’d texted back.
The response took a while to come.
I don’t know. But don’t call me. I’ll call you when I’m ready. I love you. I just need time.
If you loved me, you wouldn’t have left, she thought. No. That wasn’t fair. She owed Jane the space she needed. But why hadn’t she seen it coming? How had she been so blind?
“Izzy? Come in. And you brought Gus.” Tori bent to scratch Gus behind the ears.
Izzy stood in front of her chair before sitting. Gus sat next to her, leaning against her leg. “I told Jane.”
“Oh?” Tori put her cup down without taking the sip she was just about to take. She didn’t mention the hysterical call Izzy had placed at two a.m.
Izzy wanted to ask her if she had erased the initial message after listening to it. She didn’t want the embarrassing recording sitting in the Cloud, even if it was accessible only by the one person she trusted more than herself. It had been almost two decades since she’d used the emergency line Tori had given her, and she’d never been hysterical. Embarrassment aside, Izzy was grateful for the almost-immediate response. Just hearing Tori’s voice had calmed her. They agreed on a seven a.m. slot the next morning. Izzy knew by now that Tori wasn’t a morning person, so she appreciated the accommodation. Izzy was exhausted from a sleepless night. She sat heavily in the chair across from Tori. The couch might have been a better choice, but she wanted to see Tori’s reactions.
“She left me.” Her voice sounded far away. Gus rested his head on her leg.
“She left you.” It was a statement, not a question. Tori already knew from the call last night.
Izzy wanted to hear outrage, even though she knew she wouldn’t. “You’re not surprised.”
Tori tilted her head. “I’m just absorbing. Tell me how you are.”
“I’m not anything.” Izzy slumped in her chair and absently scratched Gus’s head.
Tori leaned forward in her chair. “What do you mean?”
“I thought I’d be devastated, that I’d fall over the edge or something.”
Tori made a motion for more. “Tell me more about that. You were pretty upset last night when we talked.”
Izzy grimaced. Shame washed over her. “I should have waited a little before calling you. All the ugly emotion sort of evaporated after I got off the phone with you last night.”
“Izzy, it’s not ugly. It’s pain. Justifiable pain. Did all of it evaporate? Or just the anguish?”
Izzy didn’t feel like analyzing her current emotions. She knew what was causing them. She just wanted to be told things would be okay, maybe get some tools for losing the woman she loved. “I don’t feel anything. It’s all quiet in there.” She’d expected her inner voice to say I told you so or something. But even it was quiet.
“Your body language tells me you have something major going on. Maybe it’s quiet in there, but you must feel something. Do you think you’re just tired?”
“I think being tired is part of it, but I’ve also been protecting myself all this time. After I talked with you, I must have just activated a shutdown switch or something.”
“Interesting. We’ve never spoken about a switch. Can you explain?”
Izzy searched for words. “I seriously thought I might go crazy again. Since the start, I was worried that, if my heart got broken again, I would land in the hospital. So maybe I’ve somehow built up some sort of protective shield against going crazy.”
“Is that what you’ve been thinking about since last night? Not going crazy?”
“Not at all. It’s sort of an observation in hindsight. At first, all I did was obsess about how I didn’t see this coming.” A few tears slipped from her eyes, and she wiped them away.
“Tell me about the protective-shield thing.”
Tori seemed to consider her explanation. “It’s true we do hone our coping skills. We’ve spoken before about how the worst thing that could happen to you is to lose control again and getting admitted to a hospital. What are your thoughts about how you’re coping?”
Izzy thought about it. “I suppose it’s a positive thing, right? It’s only been a few hours, though. The initial shock is supposed to be the worst part, right?”
Tori held her hand out. “I don’t know. It’s unique for everyone. What do you think?”
She pondered the question. “I guess it proves I can handle hard things. I don’t need to live in fear that I have this hairpin trigger just waiting to push me into the deep end. Or maybe I still do, but the meds keep it from triggering. Whatever it is, I don’t have to keep protecting myself from doing things that might result in bad endings. I can deal with bad things. Who seriously wants bad things to happen, actually? No one. But if they do, they won’t kill me.”
Tori’s brow furrowed. “You say they won’t kill you. Have you been worried they will?”
“Well, maybe not kill me.” She paused. That wasn’t true. “Actually, yes. I did think they would kill me. Not directly, but yeah. If things got bad enough, I have worried I might consider trying to kill myself again.”
She felt the shadow of the cold, dark chill that always descended upon her when she thought of the terrible time just before she was admitted to the behavioral-health hospital. It didn’t envelop her, though. She watched it like it was a movie: Kelly telling her she was getting back with her ex-girlfriend, tearing through her roommate’s cosmetics bag to find the pill bottles, and swallowing every pill she found. Thank God the bottles were mostly laxatives and only a couple of sleeping pills. But the intent had been real. She hadn’t wanted to live. All the feelings of worthlessness haunting her since before her adolescence had reached a brutal crescendo. No one needed her. Her family was big, and she wouldn’t be missed. Her friends didn’t understand her. And finally, Kelly, the love of her life, didn’t love her. Why try to get through it when she could just end it?
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