Before You Go

TWENTY-FOUR

The day I finally lost my shit last year had been excruciatingly bad, enduring the looks and whispers, but most of all the silence. Nobody talked to me. The professors didn’t even call on me anymore and my friends no longer looked at me, not even Megan. She was into self-preservation, and when Paige Adams offered Megan a lifeboat as her self-appointed BFF, she took it without looking back.

Thomas was back playing on the team again, and really suffered no consequences for what he did. I, on the other hand, was forced to sit out of our biggest dance production of the year.

And once that happened, I couldn’t deal with any of it anymore.

When I got to my dorm room that afternoon, I locked myself in with all the pills I could find. I washed them down with a Diet Coke and spread out on the floor until everything went black.

What happened next is still a little fuzzy.

I remember there was pounding on the other side of the bathroom door and screaming. Then I heard a loud bang and crunching sound, and then someone lifted me up. I tried to talk but the words wouldn’t come out.

When I woke up, I was in the psych ward.

New Beginnings is a catch-all psychiatric inpatient hospital in a small town four hours southwest of Chicago. It’s where I was summoned; despite the fact there are dozens of places near the city. Mom said the distance would be good for me, but we both know the real reason I was sent there. She was embarrassed and wanted me gone.

That made two of us.

TWENTY-FOUR

“Tabby, are you in there?” asks a voice that would normally have me smiling, but right now only brought me dread.

I clear my throat. “Just a minute,” I say.

I slowly stand up, feeling all the blood rush to my head. I quickly find a compact in my purse. The face in the mirror is blotchy and swollen and my eyes are bloodshot. I do my best to rectify the problem.

“Thanks for telling me, Jules,” Noah says from the other side of the door. “I’ll take it from here.”

“Tabby?” His voice shakes now.

I finish powdering my face and open the door.

“Oh hey,” I say, like it’s completely normal for me to be hiding out in his office.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Taking a break. What are you doing here?” I challenge.

“I was waiting for you after class and Jules told me you left early. She thought you might be here.”

“Well, yeah, I do hang out here sometimes. You know, new school, no friends and all.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened? You look really upset.”

He takes a step forward and I step back. It’s always a clumsy dance with us.

“No, it’s nothing. I’m just not feeling well.”

“Jules said Jenna was being a bitch to you.”

Beginning to feel cornered, I snap, “Well, Jules seems to be ready to spill all kinds of information, doesn’t she?”

“I think she was worried. She heard me ask Jenna where you were,” he says. “I know Jenna comes off a little rough sometimes, but I’m sure she didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Well, don’t worry,” I say as anger rages under my skin. “Your precious Jenna isn’t the issue.”

“Tabby,” he takes another a step forward and grabs my arm.

I wiggle out of his grip.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

He pulls me to him but I can’t do this. I don’t want him to touch me. I don’t want him to see me like this.

“Let me help,” he pleads.

“Noah, please just leave.”

He doesn’t move. He just stares at me with hurt slapped across his face.

Jules pushes her way through the door and nudges Noah out and says, “I’ve got this.”

“Okay,” he shrugs. “I was just trying to help.”

“I want to be alone, Jules,” I say, moving to the corner of the room wishing I could disappear.

“I know you do, but I’m not leaving,” she says. “I know this is about more than Jenna. I know it’s something serious, I can see it all over you. I’m sorry, Tabby, I don’t want to push. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. I just want to stay with you for a while, make sure you’re okay. Deal?”

I nod, torn between keeping everything inside—like I’ve always done—and taking a chance to finally let someone in.

Jules grabs a seat next to me on the floor and gives me a hug. That’s all it takes for the storm to come rolling in. My body convulses as it all pours out—tears and snot and cries of pain. Jules squeezes tighter.

We brave the storm together until my breathing slows and my head stops spinning. I realize it helps having her near. A real friend. Something I don’t think I’ve ever really had.

“I’m here, if or when you want to talk,” she says.

“Well, now you’re scaring me. You sound like my shrink.”

She laughs. “Yeah, I do. I guess it must rub off. I’ve spent a lot of time with people in the psychiatry business.”

“Really?” I ask feeling a little less like a freak.

“Really. You don’t have to be embarrassed around me. I’ve experienced all sorts of crazy. So, did you do inpatient, outpatient, or group?”

Shaky and sick, I take a chance and tell her the truth.

“All of the above. I spent most of the spring in a suicide ward.”

“What happened?” she whispers.

“One time…” I cough and my throat tightens.

I can’t do it.

“You can talk to me, Tabby,” she says.

She puts her hand on my shoulder. It’s warm, calming.

I try again.

“One time, after a really bad day,” I say trying to steady my voice. “I totally flipped out. Panic attack or something. And I grabbed a bunch of pills.”

Deep breath in and out.

“My brother found me in my dorm room after I took the pills,” I continue. “My family thought I was trying to kill myself.”

“Were you?” Jules questions.

“No,” I snap.

“Tabby?” her softness returns.

“No, I wasn’t,” I lighten my voice a little too much. “I just needed a break. My life was…intense at the time and I wanted it all to stop for a while.”

“Do you think the treatment helped?”

“I’m not sure,” I say. “I don’t remember much. I was pretty out of it. They had me on all kinds of drugs. My dad didn’t agree with the program or the drugs. He pulled me out of there in July and brought me to Minneapolis. Now it’s outpatient once a week. I think it might be helping. I feel better at times.”

“Maybe the real question is: Do you want to get better?”

I don’t answer her.

“What about for Noah? You know, he’s crazy about you.”

“Well, I think I just changed all that.” The words hurt coming out.

“He’s a good guy, Tabby. Don’t give up on him yet. But this isn’t about him, it’s about you. Life is a bitch, but it’s easier when you come at her swinging.”

I can’t help but laugh. Jules has a way with words.

“That would make a good fortune cookie.”

“How ’bout this one: You can’t hide in your room, safe within your womb forever.”

“Yeah, nice try. I think that’s from Simon and Garfunkel?” I shake my head. I can’t believe we’re talking about this right now. I can’t believe I’m okay enough to talk about this. “I Am a Rock, really? What are you, like eighty or something?”

“What do you mean? That is the anthem of the depressed, no matter your age. I touch no one and no one touches me. Come on, it doesn’t get any better. And by the way, you were pretty quick decoding the lyrics, Grandma.”

“Yeah, I have my dad to thank for my knowledge of geriatric music.”

“Hey, seriously though. I think I might know of something that could help make you feel better about things.”

“What?” I brace for the answer.

“Well, it’s actually a place. I could take you tomorrow.”

“Where?” I cringe

“You’ll see.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Nope,” she grins, pulls me up, and looks at her watch. “Come on, let’s pull ourselves together. We still have another class.”

We go to the restroom and fix our faces.

In the mirror I look different. Taller. Stronger. The best part? Somebody is standing next to me in the reflection. Jules smiles and links her arm through mine.

“So, are you the rock or island?” she asks as we walk out.

I play the song in my head: I am a rock, I am an island.

“Oh, I am a rock, for sure.”

“And a rock feels no pain,” she sings.

“And an island never cries,” I follow along.