I can’t say the words out loud.
I can’t look in the mirror and admit my truth.
I’m crazy.
I hate that word. It’s so harsh and ugly.
So I continue to sit alone and suffer.
I tell myself that even if I had the courage to confess I am a girl who struggles mentally there is no one in my life I would burden with my illness. Think about it, who should I tell? Who do I ask to help me with the nightmare I’m living? My father? The man who suffers from it himself?
Or my mother who blames my father’s illness for the reason she doesn’t have a son anymore?
Blackie isn’t an option either. He’s got his own struggles, his own torment and for the first time in a long time, he’s trying to make that right for himself. He’s got a long road ahead of him he sure as hell doesn’t need my drama added to his full plate.
And then there is that other word that scares me to death.
Lithium.
It works for my father but there are thousands of people whom never adjust to the medication and are constantly having their dosages changed. There is also the possibility that Lithium wouldn’t even work for me.
Another scary thought.
I’ll continue living, struggling and envying those of sound mind. I’ll enjoy the highs, embrace them, and push through the lows, hoping one day I’ll find the strength to admit to myself, my family and the world that I’m ill.
I’ll fight until there is no fight left.
I climbed into my bed, not bothering to change my clothes, and stared up at the ceiling.
He’s going to realize the truth.
He’s going to find out you’re not some perfect angel sent to rescue him.
You’re damaged.
You’re a joke.
You think you can help him but you can’t even help yourself.
I closed my eyes and felt the tears fall from the corners of my eyes as my demon emerged and brought me to hell.
After I dropped Lacey off I took a ride, killed a little time before I had to drag my ass to the methadone clinic. I’ll give Riggs credit, he’s a mastermind when it comes to computers he hacked into the clinic’s files and got the take home prescription approved. He even switched my case and provided me with a different counselor so my usual one wouldn’t get suspicious.
I should’ve went back to the compound to get some sleep before hitting the road but every time I closed my eyes I saw Lacey’s face and the fear she tried to hide from me when I dropped her off.
She doesn’t realize I have spent a long time looking at her and that I know every emotion conveyed on her face.
That mask she tries to hide behind, it don’t work with me.
I told myself I didn’t have time to get into it with Lace, work through her anxiety but I promised to handle it. I’m a man of my word but, the thing was, I didn’t have a goddamn answer for her. I didn’t know how to make this shit work for me and her. I didn’t know how I would turn to Jack and tell him I was about ready to claim his little girl. I didn’t know how to choose Lacey and tell Jack to go fuck himself because any way you sliced it that’s what I was ultimately doing.
I zipped the duffel bag, not even sure what the fuck I had thrown in there, slung it over my shoulder and started for the door. I nearly bumped into Jack as I shut the door and stepped into the hallway, flipping the glasses perched on top of my head onto my nose.
“Glad I caught you before you left,” he started.
“Just about to head out,” I said, as I locked my door. He tipped his chin towards the steps and we made our way downstairs into the common room.
“You sure you don’t want to take Bones with you?” he asked, flipping one of the chairs backwards before he straddled it.
“Nah, no need. Besides, Boots, that crazy son of a bitch isn’t going to want to see anyone’s face but mine,” I said, pulling out the chair across from him and sitting down. He passed me a cigarette and lit it for me.
“That shit needs to change. You mention that when you get face to face with the man,” he stressed, taking a pull of his cigarette. “You tell him I’m the fucking president and all deals go through me from now on. He wants to break bread; he’s going to break it at my table.”
I cocked an eyebrow as I blew out a ring of smoke. It was obvious he was on edge, fighting for control of some sort. I studied him closely, deciphering if he was on the verge of a breakdown or just morphing into his “Bulldog” persona.
“What’s got you twisted?” I questioned as he shrugged his shoulders and leaned over the chair.
“Got a lot of shit on my plate, Black. I think you know that,” he flicked his ashes. “Do I really need a fucking reason to be twisted?”