“So.” Dr. Deb begins. “Here’s how this is going to work. Your mother has some things to share with you. About what she’s been going through these past months. And then you all will have a chance to speak. Ask any questions. Share thoughts or feelings you may have. I am here simply to support this conversation. And offer any knowledge I may have after treating and getting to know Anna during her time here.”
Mama shifts nervously on her pillow. Papa reaches for her hand. But she doesn’t notice and instead clasps them together. Making a tight fist with her knuckles. “This is harder than I thought.” She says. Glancing at all of us and then looking at Dr. Deb. “I know I put you all through a lot this summer … and … well. I need you to know that I’m really committed to addressing this. Head-on.”
“What even is THIS?” Eve speaking a full sentence for the first time since we arrived. “Why can’t anybody just give us a clear answer?”
“Eve.” Dr. Deb says. “That’s a very valid question. Let your mom finish.”
“I have a mental illness called bipolar disorder.” Mama begins. Looking down at her hands. “Bipolar II. I’ve sort of known something was not right for many years but I didn’t want to admit it. In fact. Dr. Shell my therapist in Baltimore suspected I was bipolar when I was still seeing her. But then I stopped going before we moved. I just didn’t want to hear it. I don’t like the idea of being a sick person. I thought I could just ignore it. I thought it was normal to have such big feelings all the time. It’s part of what makes me an artist! But. As you know. It got really bad this summer.”
Mama keeps talking. But I am going through words and definitions in my brain. Trying to remember anything about mental illness or bipolar but I come up blank.
“So.” Dr. Deb steps in now. “Bipolar can affect how a person feels acts and thinks. It’s an illness of the brain. It affects everyone differently. But there are two general moods that happen to a person with bipolar disorder.”
Dr. Deb keeps talking. But it’s as if she turns into a robot reading definitions to us out loud. I close my eyes. I am still dizzy with the altitude and this information is making it worse.
Mood 1: Depressed (adjective)
“This is when your mother is feeling very low and sad. It’s different than regular depression because when she’s in this state it’s very hard for your mom to stop feeling this way.”
Mood 2: Manic (adjective)
“This is when your mother feels like everything is great. She might have a ton of energy. Her thoughts race and she has a lot of new ideas and might start projects. Spend money. She can be really happy one moment but also very irritable the next. She can also do things that are dangerous because she may feel like she can do anything.”
“Like shredding all your music?” I find myself saying out loud.
Papa looks over at me and raises his eyebrow. Eve shifts even closer to me. Her arm leaning into mine hard. Like she is having a hard time sitting up on her own. Mama rubs her hands together. But looks me right in the eye. “Yes.” She says quietly. “I was most likely manic that day. I didn’t really think about what I was doing.”
Mama is so small. She looks like a little girl. Sitting there. Biting her lip. I know she is telling us something important. But the tips of my ears get hot hot hot. All summer. Me and Mama alone in the house. And she knew. She knew. She knew something was wrong for years. My head rings and rings and rings. Dr. Deb’s mouth is opening and closing now. And Papa is also talking. But I don’t hear them. Eve leans into me like a fallen tree. I lean back into her. We sit there and try to understand that Mama is still Mama. But also. She is a stranger.
“Do you girls have any questions?” Mama’s voice breaks through the ringing finally.
I shake my head. My head that feels so light. Like a dried leaf. I might just float away.
“This is not easy. For me. And I’m going to be managing my bipolar for the rest of my life. Taking medication that helps my moods and also making sure I’m going to therapy again. Every week. And exercising. But girls. I just want you two to know. That this is not your fault. It’s just the way my brain chemicals work. And it’s not always going to be easy. But thanks to my time here I’ve gained some tools and routines to be healthier.”
“Do I have it?” I feel Eve lean back into herself. Her voice cool and smoky like a field right after lightning has struck. “I mean. Is it like cancer? If someone in your family has it can we get it too one day?”
Mama looks at Dr. Deb.
“No. Eve. You don’t have it. It is true that genes affect the way our bodies develop. And yes you do share genes with your mom and dad. And sometimes people with bipolar also have a family member who has had it.” Dr. Deb confirms. “But Eve. I don’t want you to worry. Bipolar is something that shows up later in life. Far from now. And when you know the signs and what to look for it is very treatable and manageable. So as long as you go to the doctor regularly. And take care of yourself. No matter what happens. Even if it turns out that one day you do develop bipolar symptoms. You’re going to be just fine. And so is your mom.”
But not me? What about me? My head floats.
Eve is sitting up on her own now. No. She is standing up. “This is BS.” She says. “I do not think we should be listening to some witchy doctor who doesn’t even have any real furniture in her office! What do you even know about us? About our family. You think you know my mom after one stupid month! I’ve known her my WHOLE LIFE. And she is not sick. She just had a bad summer. We are not sick. This is trash. TRASH!!!!!” With that Eve kicks her pillow and storms out of the office. “I’ll be by the car.” She yells.
Papa reaches for Mama’s hands. This time she sees and lets him take them both in his. “I’ll go talk to her.” He says. I wind my shoestrings around my fingers.
Dr. Deb says: “I know this is hard. It’s going to be a process for everyone.”
And I know she’s trying to help. But I want to throw my pillow at her. We. Are. Not. Broken. My head screams.
Hereditary (adjective)
While Mama and Papa check out in the Brightree lobby. I look up the word on Papa’s phone.
Characteristics that are passed or capable of being passed from parent to child through the genes.
When I hit USE IT IN A SENTENCE a recorded voice says: “Blue eyes are hereditary in our family.”
Bipolar is hereditary in our family. I repeat in my head. Freckles are hereditary in our family. And I can’t stop thinking of all the new ways I do and do not belong. Because. As Dr. Deb explained to me after Eve stormed out. “Genes are passed from biological parents to their biological children. So you. You share genes with your birth mother. But not your mom.”
And I know I should be positive for Mama. So we can all start the “healing process.” But as we head to the car I can’t stop thinking a horrible thought: What traits did I get from my biological mom? How will my body and mind develop as I get older?
“Are you coming Makeda?”
I am frozen in the parking lot.
“What’s wrong?” Mama is holding the car door open for me.
But I can’t speak. I am having a hard time breathing. We are so high up. In the mountains. And I feel so small. As if the sky is pressing down on me. Pressing me back into the earth like a seed.
“Come here peach.” Mama is saying to me now. Her arms wide open. “It’s ok. It’s ok. Breathe.”
I pick up one foot and then the other. And then I am in her arms. Gasping for air. Crying. As Mama smooths my forehead and kisses my cheeks and holds me tight. Like I needed her to hold me all summer long.
Showing
We are home again. I cannot sleep even though I am so tired from my outburst by the car. Mama and Papa went to bed hours ago. But when I peek out my door. I can see Eve’s light still on. My chest throbs. She’s been in her room since we got back. Since she leaned her whole weight into me at Brightree. And then stood up and left me alone.
“Let’s give her
some space.” Mama had said. “She’s angry with me. Let her be angry. I’ll talk to her soon.” And so on the drive home Eve sat next to me with her headphones on. Staring out the window. Her arms crossed against her chest. And in the front seat. Mama did the same. Except she and Papa listened to NPR on the radio. Eve didn’t even notice I was crying.
No. Leave her alone. She doesn’t care about you. So I close the door to my room. I build a nest with my blankets. I curl up like a baby bird in the middle of it. I try and fall into a dream but every time I open my eyes I am in my room. Scenes from the long scary summer flashing before my eyes. Around 2am I hear a tapping at my window. Footsteps. Humming. I open my window and the Georgia Belles swarm in. Smelling like the mountains at dusk. Sun kissed and dusty. But in my room they are smaller than I remember. Their shadows my height or even a little shorter. Their voices still clear and true.
Keda girl Keda girl
Get up get up
The world’s a hurt
The world’s a storm
Hold on to your own
Keda girl Keda girl
Give give give
Live live live
You gotta make mistakes
To grow grow grow
Let your words go
Let yourself show
And before I know what’s good for me. Before I can open my mouth and answer with my anger. I am on my feet. I am across the hall. I am opening Eve’s door. I am crawling into bed with her. Where she too is curled like a baby bird. Sobbing.
Inheritance
“I’m scared.” Eve says.
“Me too.” And it’s a small relief to not be patrolling the house or fighting with my blankets or singing/arguing with the Georgia Belles. Eve and I are curled like two yin yang halves in her bed. We are under her blanket. Eve flips on her iPhone flashlight. And then we are our own little planet. I wait for Eve to kick me out or say more but she doesn’t. We lie in our silence and just breathe. I imagine that the two of us are floating through space. Nobody knows where we are. Except the stars.
“You still awake?” Eve says after a while.
“Yep.”
“Oh. Ok. Well thanks for coming in here. I was kinda losing it I guess.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“How?”
“Just had a feeling. We’re sisters after all.”
Eve starts taking in big gulps of air. She’s crying again. “So. You don’t hate me?” She manages to get out.
“I thought you hated me.” And as soon as the words escape my mouth I feel my shoulders loosen and I unclench my palms. I did not realize I was holding them in tight fists.
“No.” Eve says. “I don’t hate you. I just. Well I guess right now I’m just mad at myself. I sometimes feel like I’ll never be normal. You know?”
Normal. That’s a word I look up a lot.
(Adjective)—Common or ordinary: not peculiar
“YOU don’t feel normal?” I can’t believe it. “But you fit in everywhere! You make friends so easy and you get jobs and you look just like Mama.”
“What’s that got to do with anything? Looking like Mama?”
Let yourself show. Let yourself show. “I just don’t think you know what it feels like. Not to look like anyone. That’s all. Where do I fit?”
“You fit here! With us. Your family.”
“Sometimes. But then sometimes I don’t. Like when we fought at Aunt Sarah’s.”
Eve sits up now. She wipes her face with the back of her hand. “I know.” She says after a long pause. “I’m really sorry. I don’t know why I said what I did … it was…”
“Racist.”
“Right. Ouch. That hurts.”
“I know it hurts. But it’s true. You’ve been making me feel ‘not normal’ all summer. I mean. Do you even believe in me?”
“I do! I’m really sorry I hurt you. I believe in you. I do.”
We sit in another silence. Now I am the one gulping for air. Eve watches me spin. Then she pats the space beside her. I crawl over and sit in the crook of her arm. She lets me lean hard on her until my breathing is even and slow again.
“Look.” She says after a beat. “If I’m being honest sometimes I get jealous. Of you. You know. You never have to worry about getting what Mama has. I do. You’re kinda free from that drama … like when we go out in public. People don’t assume you’re just like her. Or that you’re with her. That you’re … sick too.”
Free. That’s another word I go back to again and again.
(Adjective)—Not bound by the power of another. Able to be and do as one wishes.
“Well I think you’re free.” I find my voice again. “At least people look at you and can tell you belong. I could get sick too. I have someone’s genes too! And we BOTH deal with Mama’s moods in public. Or in private. It’s hard for me too.”
“I know…”
“You don’t know. You don’t know. You don’t know.” I start to breathe heavy again. “You act like I’m just like you. But then when you’re angry you make me feel like an outsider. That’s not fair. It’s not my fault you’re scared. I am scared all the time.”
“Ok. Ok.” Eve tries to calm me. But I can feel her heart beating fast too. “I didn’t realize I was doing that … I’ll do better. I promise.”
We lean into each other. We inhale and exhale. The blanket gets hot and sweaty. But we don’t move. We sit in our hard truths. We float through space. We yell all our fears into the dark. All night long. We talk. We doze. The whole time. Leaning leaning into one another. Like two trees who inherited the same earth. But look up and see very different skies.
Reset
The next morning we undo ourselves from the nest of Eve’s bed and brush our teeth standing side by side in the bathroom.
“Cinnamon maple or apple spice?” Eve asks after she spits and rinses.
“Cinna-mi-a-min please!” I say with my mouth still full of foam.
When I get to the kitchen she hands me a steaming bowl of oatmeal and a spoon. “Thanks!” I say.
“No problem.” Eve says back.
We join Mama and Papa at the kitchen table and begin spooning food into our mouths as if we haven’t eaten in days. Over his paper I watch Papa raise his eyebrow at Mama. Mama shakes her head at him as if to say: Daniel. Don’t make a big deal. Don’t ruin this.
So Papa just grins at us and then takes another swig of coffee. Eve kicks my foot under the table and I kick hers back. We giggle. We shovel more oatmeal into our mouths. Mama takes her meds. Papa slurps his coffee. And if I close my eyes. I can feel a rhythm coming back. Faint but steady.
I Have a Secret Wish
Mama is home
But she is not herself
She walks around
Like this is not her house
Like she is a hotel guest
And even though
She wakes up by eight
Tries to stick to a routine
Meds with her breakfast
A walk on the ditch
An errand or talk therapy
Journaling during lunch
A walk with Papa or us
Before dinner
Dinner and meds
Reading in bed by ten
Sleep ten hours
And repeat
She still does not
Play her violin
She reads to me
Like a robot
She smiles
Like she is somewhere else
Keda girl Keda girl
The Georgia Belles sing
Give it time
Give it time
But I miss her energy
The juneberry red in her cheeks
I wish she wasn’t sick
I want her
To tell me I’m hers
And laugh like she used to
Before we moved
Before she tried to end it all
Sometimes I wish
We were still at the cabin
Da
ncing with the rugs pulled back
Dancing like we’d never stop
New Faces
On Monday Papa drops us off at Mr. John’s house for group. Eve and I file in with some of the usual faces: Emma Carl Jesse and Melody. As we take off our shoes in the doorway Vienna runs up and gives Eve a huge hug. Amy and Alyse wave at me from the living room where they are already seated in a circle on the floor.
“Hi Keda. How was your summer?”
I spin around. Huck is standing so close that I accidentally hit him with my book bag.
“Oh sorry. I uh. Good. It was good.” I start to say but then my head screams: Good? It was a mess. “I mean. It could have been better. How was yours?”
“Same.” He says. “Kinda sucked.”
I smile at him with relief. But before I can ask why. Mr. John calls us to attention in the other room. Huck and I slide into the circle which to my surprise has grown by a few new faces. Including a girl with teal and black twists in her hair. Big black eyes and long lashes. And skin almost the same muddy color as mine.
“Welcome back everyone!” Mr. John claps. “Let’s do a quick round of names and check in since we have some new people joining us this year. Everyone give me ONE word that describes your summer.”
Our words are all over the place. Carl’s is awesome. Emma’s is confusing. Vienna’s is stressful. Eve’s is painful. Amy’s is dirt. Alyse’s is short. Jesse’s is soccer. I say messy. Huck says never-ending. And Mr. John just says work.
And then the three new faces go. But they get a little more time to introduce themselves.
“I’m Liza.” A girl with fiery red hair and hazel eyes starts. She’s wearing a loose pair of jeans cowgirl boots and a shirt that has a picture of some band called The Runaways on it. “I’m in 8th grade I guess but I read at a college level. I live on a horse farm. And my summer. I guess the word that describes my summer is ‘sunburnt.’ Like you can put all the sunscreen you want on me but I’m still gonna be red as a plum. But I just can’t be inside all the time you know? I have to be riding or doing chores or just reading under a tree. I can’t help it if the sun’s out to get me…”
For Black Girls Like Me Page 15