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This Piece of Life

I just want to get away. Get away from this house, get away from the last three days, and get away from how ragged my life feels. I want to get away from the questions.

“How are you?”
“Are you feeling better?”
“Do you think you can go home?”
“Are you a danger to yourself?”
“Will you try to kill yourself?”

I just want to get away. So why am I driving home? I guess I told them I would be there, and I do want to see them. But even friends are hard to deal with. Good intentions don’t go anywhere on their own. And sure enough, I’ve kept them waiting. My mother didn’t even let them in…strange. Is she afraid of everything that is about me?

He’s brought flowers. That’s sweet, I think. Anne is here too, and they’ve just been standing in the night. All this concern, for me, and I don’t know what to do with it.

I just want to give them a hug, and to be held for a moment. It’s nothing said, but it goes a long way. And those questions. As I let them in the door, they let their questions slip out. At least they waited a bit. I say I’m fine. I say I’m feeling better. I think I am.

We go up to my room, and I can see their eyes drift over the wreckage, the hole I put in the dry wall, with just a hint of blood from my hand where my knuckles hit the edge. The room, like so many things, is still half broken. The mirror is gone, but the shards are picked up. I can still see where they scarred the dresser and walls, the cuts still fresh. The bed is moved back to where it was, but the closet door is still missing. Seventy-two hours seems like a long time when you’re in the hospital, but it has done almost nothing to heal this place. My clothes are scattered around, some from when I tore the room apart. Some are from my mother scavenging the ruins, finding things for me while I was gone. Hard to tell one from another, this madness and how people take care of me now, when all I see is nothing like what my life used to be.

Ryan and Anne are trying to be upbeat for me, but it’s painful. They’re so scared. Especially him. I guess he didn’t know me much. Anne is upset by what I’ve done, but she expects it at least. She’d seen things get worse since the summer. We talk about school, and we talk about the play. I know I’ve lost my role, and Ali will be a good replacement. But we can’t really say more. Everything seemed to come out there on the stage, when it was so easy to hide in all the drama for so long. But even eccentrics seem to have their limits, and I’d sailed on past them. Talent, they say, is forgiven its oddities. Perhaps I had simply exceeded my talent, or maybe I really had gone mad.

“When are you going back to the hospital?”

Why did he ask that? God, I just want to forget I’m going back. Did it ever occur to them that the last thing I want to talk about is the thing that they want to talk about the most? So many ways to bring that hurt up, and it’s always the good intentions.

My little sister comes up through the door. Damn this small house… She’s trying to get attention. She’s just a kid, but nobody seems to know what to do. It’s comic relief, but nobody’s laughing. She has a baton, and keeps poking at Anne and me. She’s the one person who doesn’t understand that she’s supposed to treat me differently now. I wish more people didn’t understand that, but this time it just comes out as her bratty side. I just want to get away from her.

Let’s go get some coffee. At least we’ll be out of the house. Some things you can run from, some things you can’t. But I can at least get moving from a bit of what’s hurting.

And I can smoke in the car, too. Don’t say I never figured out how to help myself. I have a few fancy ones left, from France. They don’t have filters, but they still taste a lot better than the regular stuff. He wants to know where I got them, my mother of course. I don’t think he approves, but that’s just too bad. This is a small amount of peace, and I can’t believe they don’t prescribe nicotine. Unlike their drugs, this works, at least for a little while. Anne drives, which is good. I’m tired from the pills, and they’d worry about it anyways. The night is calm, and I can watch the smoke drift slowly, then rush out as it nears the window.

We walk in the door, and I see Betsy is working tonight. I don’t think I thought about that, but I guess I didn’t avoid her.

“How are you?”

I sigh in my mind, and try to smile in my life. I calm my voice, and try to give the quickest possible explanation that I’ve been diagnosed as Bipolar, spent the last few days at the hospital, and that I don’t know when I get back.

“Take care of yourself, hon.”

It’s sweet. That counts for something.

We talk a little more, trying to avoid the obvious, which is good. For a few moments, I’m just having coffee with my friends. Ryan keeps looking nervous though, and it’s hard not to remember then. After a while, we all start checking our watches too much. I fidget with the stir stick for a moment more, and then give up. We go back to my house, it’s almost time for me to head back to the hospital. I give Anne a hug, and we hold each other for a long moment.

“It’ll be alright. I love you, Laura.”

I turn to him. I ask for a kiss goodnight. Judging by the look on his face, I needed to clarify. On the cheek. I just want to get away from how cold things are. I just want to get away from how hurt things are. I just want to get away.

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Written as memoir, from the perspective of my friend. God bless her, where ever she is today.