He purses his lips and taps his pen against his notepad. “Are you going to finish the story or am I supposed to connect the dots on my own?”
“Long story short, she shoved me and I ain’t no bitch, so I punched her right in the nose. It broke, but the girl was a fighter, I’ll give her that. We fought for a bit, she ripped out my extensions, and security broke us up. How was I supposed to know the psycho was gonna press charges? SHE HIT ME FIRST! She’s the reason I’m here and she’s not faultless in all this.”
He doesn’t respond, but he takes a bunch of notes and circles something along the way. I can’t take it anymore. I snap. “Why the hell are you smirking?” My anger ironically seems to please him.
“Okay, I’m going to tell you what I’m thinking, but I don’t want you to get too attached to the idea.” I wait, searching his eyes for any clue. “Flynn, you display almost all of the signs of someone with Borderline Personality Disorder.”
“What does that mean?”
“Usually it’s genetic, but looking at your family history, it doesn’t seem like that’s the case. People living with Borderline Personality Disorder, or BPD, have a history of unstable relationships, an active avoidance of real connections to not risk abandonment. You’re impulsive and have frequent mood swings. I mean, I could put your picture in the DSM-Five.”
“You lost me.”
“I don’t know how none of the other doctors caught this, even as a slight inkling. It’s startlingly obvious, if you ask me.” Probably because I never took any of them seriously.
“So…that’s it? I’m cured? After a few sessions, you figured me out?”
“Well, no, not exactly. Like I said, it’s early and maybe there are things I’m missing. But I am going to start you on Lithium as a stabilizer. You’ll have to keep coming to therapy, of course, and the medication will take some time to kick in, but it will stabilize your moods and mania.”
“You think I’m crazy?” I don’t know if I’m angry or upset at this realization.
“No, Flynn, you’re not crazy. Mania refers to your manic episodes. The mood swings, all those symptoms I listed. I do think the medication could help you.”
I thought I’d be relieved if Liam found something wrong with me. I mean, I guess I never thought there was something actually wrong. I thought I was just a walking nightmare.
If taking medication will get my mom off my back and Liam back in my bed, it may be worth a shot.
My mom is all but singing as she drives to the pharmacy to fill my prescription. She doesn’t trust me to get them filled myself, which means she insisted on being my chauffeur. I wish I would’ve fought her harder. She’s all, ‘isn’t this marvelous, dah-ling? Dr. Whitmore fixed you right up. Jolly ho, time for tea.’
I don’t know why in my head I hear her talking like someone out of Downtown Abbey, but whatever.
“Meds aren’t an instant fix, Mom. I won’t wake up tomorrow and become Carson.”
“Thank God for that. Don’t get me wrong, I love her and Ava, but I don’t need a grandchild from you, not yet. You’re too young.”
“I’m the same age Carson was.”
“Exactly. Too young.” I roll my eyes and she pats my thigh. “We’re proud of you, Flynnie, for sticking it out with Dr. Whitmore. He seems like a good man.”
In and out of bed.
The wait for my medication seems to take ages and the pharmacist does a consultation once it’s filled. She tells me I should avoid drinking while taking the medication and I’m already prepared to barge right back into Liam’s office and call this off. Avoid alcohol? No, thanks.
I notice my mom’s face contort as the pharmacist fills me in on the medication. Her brows crinkle and it’s almost as if she can’t look directly at me as we leave. I can hear the thoughts running a thousand miles per hour through her head, but she won’t say anything to me.
“What, uh, what did Dr. Whitmore say about your diagnosis, exactly?” Her fingers are white as they wrap around the steering wheel and she glances at me out of the corner of her eye.
“Um, I don’t know. DPB or something? I didn’t, like, write it down.”
“BPD?”
“Yup, that was it.” Her mouth forms an almost imperceptible frown, but it doesn’t go unnoticed. “What is it?” She says nothing. “He also said it’s a hereditary disease, which was weird, since neither you or Dad have it, right?”
She’s gone mute. I’m not even sure she’s heard me.
We drive the rest of the way home in complete silence, except for the racing thoughts controlling my mind. Some of the things my mom has said combined with this diagnosis leave me with more questions than ever. It’s like a puzzle in my head, trying to make connections but there’s one crucial piece missing.
I’ll just have to figure it out on my own.
Seventeen
Liam
I take a seat in the circle in the middle of the room. This place makes my chest tight and emotions I don’t want to come to the surface bubble up and threaten to choke me. I come here every year at this time and even though it kills me, it somehow also helps me.
People surround me, filling the adjacent chairs with grief-stricken faces. Tear stains already line their cheeks. People with fresh grief, and some like me, who experience a dull, quieter ache every day. It’s still there, never forgotten, even if it’s not as loud as
