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I’M BIPOLAR

Hugh

MARCH 18, 1999

L EAVING MY MAM IN THE KITCHEN WITH C ATHERINE AND M IKE , I HEADED STRAIGHT upstairs, anxious to see my friend. When I walked into her bedroom, Liz was where I thought she might be: curled up in a ball on her bed. The small lamp on her bedside locker illuminated her motionless frame.

Kicking off my shoes, I moved straight for her bed, not stopping until I was lying on my side, facing her. Her eyes were open, but they were dull and lifeless. “Hey.” Smoothing her hair back, I rested my palm on her cheek and whispered, “I’m here, Liz.”

Her hand shot out to fist my shirt, but she made no move to speak. She didn’t even blink. She just continued to stare right through me. It was like a part of Liz knew I was here, but that part was trapped inside a frozen cage.

“It’s okay.” Shifting closer, I nuzzled her nose with mine before resting my brow against hers. “I hear you, Liz.”

She was breathing—I could see her chest rise and fall—but she wasn’t here. Every now and then, a single tear would trickle down her cheek. I made it my personal mission to wipe each one.

“You can sleep,” I whispered, stroking her cheek. “I’ll stay right here and keep the monsters away.” She had to be exhausted. I knew I was. But she didn’t close her eyes.

Reaching up, I brushed another rogue tear from her cheek before quickly swiping one from mine. “I won’t let anything hurt you.” Whether it was the right thing to say or not, I said it. “Because you’re my best friend in the whole wide world.” Sniffling, I cupped her cheek again and leaned in close. “And I’m always going to love you, Lizzie Young.” I pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. “No matter what.”

When I moved to pull back, I felt her tug on my shirt, pulling me closer, bringing me back to her.

Calling me home .

“Hugh,” she managed to say, though her voice seemed slurred.

“Yeah, Liz.” I wiped another tear from her cheek. “It’s me.”

“Hugh.” Finally blinking, she opened her eyes and tried to locate my face. “I love you, too.”

“I know you do.” My heart seemed to soar and break all at once. “Did they give you medicine to make you sleepy, Liz?” I knew they had. She was completely spaced out. “Hmm?”

“Yeah,” she replied groggily. “I was…uh, bad at school.”

“You weren’t bad, Liz,” I told her, fucking hating when she said that about herself. “You’ve never been bad.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Not sure.” Liz tried to shake her head. “Just am.”

“Well, I am sure, Liz,” I told her, feeling my heart shattering into a thousand pieces. “I’m sure that you’re good and kind and the most amazing girl I’ve ever met.” Swallowing down my emotions, I smoothed a hand over her hair and leaned in close to whisper, “You are all of the good things in the world and none of the bad. You won’t feel this way forever. Okay? You’re going to feel better again.”

“No, I’m not, Hugh,” she mumbled drowsily, eyelids fluttering shut. “I’m bipolar.”

“Bipolar?” I croaked back. “What do you mean you’re bipolar, Liz?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Is that what they diagnosed you with?” I asked, feeling beyond concerned for my friend, while I worked frantically to register the word bipolar and bring what information I had on the matter to the forefront of my mind.

“Liz?” Sitting straight up, I took her hand in mine, feeling a million complicated emotions crash through me all at once. “Did the doctors say you’re bipolar?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Liz.” At a complete loss, I stared down at the girl I’d spent most of my childhood adoring and croaked out, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Too scared,” she mumbled, squeezing my hand. “You’d leave.”

“I wouldn’t leave,” I strangled, chest heaving, as I tried to make sense of all I’d learned in such a short space of time. “I won’t leave,” I quickly clarified, heart thundering violently. “I’m not leaving.”

Bewildered by the complex emotions I had for this girl, I took her hand in mine and kissed the back of it. I had no idea why I did it, only that I needed to. “I’m staying, okay?” I kissed her hand again. “No matter what.”

“I need you.”

“I know.” Nodding, I cradled her hand to my cheek, needing to feel her touch. “I need you, too.”

“So tired.” With her eyes still closed, she nodded sluggishly before mumbling, “Please stay.”

“I am staying,” I promised, attention flicking to her hand I was still holding. “Right here.” Turning it over, I stared in horror at the deep welts on her wrist. “Brian didn’t do that to your wrist, did he, Liz?”

Nothing.

“Liz,” I said, a little sterner now, attention still riveted to her wrist. Beneath the fresh cuts were older scars. Deep scars. Ones I’d never noticed before because she always wore dozens of bracelets. “Where did these scars come from?”

“Don’t go,” was all she replied, and it was a barely coherent mumbled slur. “He gets me when you’re not here.”

“It’s okay, Liz. You can sleep,” I whispered, resigned to the fact that I wasn’t getting answers tonight. She was too out of it. “I won’t let the monster get you.” Trembling, I blinked back the tears filling my eyes because I knew this was bad. “Or the scary lady.”

“No matter what?”

“Yeah, Liz.” Sniffling, I used my shoulder to wipe the tear on my cheek. “No matter what.”

I waited until I was sure Lizzie was asleep before sneaking out of her room and straight into their family bathroom. I spent enough time at this house to know where everything was kept. Including the prescription Liz took daily.

Stalking over to the cabinet above the sink, where they kept the medicine, I swung it open and started rummaging through the countless bottles until I found one with her name on it.

Elizabeth Young .

Clonazepam .

Quickly pocketing the bottle, I kept searching through the bottles until I found another one with Lizzie’s name on the label along with the word Olanzapine and shoved that in my pocket, too.

Beyond pissed off, I stormed down the spiraling staircase, moving straight for the kitchen, with only one thing on my mind.

Answers .

When I walked into the kitchen, Catherine and Mike were sitting opposite my mother at the kitchen table, drinking coffee.

“Hugh,” Mike acknowledged, while Catherine offered me a watery smile and asked, “Did Lizzie speak to you, love?”

“Yeah, she spoke to me,” I replied, moving straight for the table and pulling out a chair next to Mam. “She spoke a lot, actually.” Taking a seat, I retrieved both bottles from my pocket and set them down on the table in front of me. “As a matter of fact, she had a lot to say about this .” I took my time glaring at each of them individually before asking, “Why didn’t any of you tell me that my best friend is bipolar?”

Mind reeling, I sat at the table in the Young family’s kitchen, listening as the grown-ups around me spoke to me like they were communicating with a toddler.

In the past forty minutes, I’d lost count of how many times I’d heard the words, “Lizzie just gets a bit down in herself from time to time” or “she has her up and down days, but it’s nothing for you to worry about” or, my personal favorite, “she’ll pull herself together in no time.”

Yeah fucking right.

Did they honestly think I was buying any of this?

Their daughter wasn’t just down. Liz had bottomed out to the point where she couldn’t lift her head off the pillow. This wasn’t the first time it had happened, either. I knew because I’d witnessed similar episodes in sporadic fashion all the way back to the first day we met.

I knew that when she got sad, she couldn’t be coaxed out of it.

Nothing worked .

The grown-ups told me that when her mood dropped this low, it was called a dark episode, and I thought that might have been the most sensible comment I’d heard all night. At least the word dark accurately portrayed how lifeless she became. How, when she went dark, she reminded me of a corpse with a beating heart.

“She has a very complicated mind.”

“The best people do.”

“Elizabeth has struggled since she was a toddler.”

“But those were mostly tantrums.”

“She hit puberty far earlier than we hoped, and because of that, her hormones are causing her some problems.”

“But that’s nothing for you to be concerned about.”

“Once her body gets used to the new medication, Lizzie will be back to herself,” Catherine said, offering reassurance instead of actual facts. “Please try not to worry, Hugh.”

Drumming my fingers on the table, I strived for calm when all I wanted to do was scream. Why were they doing this to me? Why were they so insistent on puking out this watered-down, kid-gloved explanation?

“Is it my turn?” I asked when all three of them looked like they were fresh out of bullshit to spew. “Can I speak now?”

Lizzie’s parents nodded, while my own mother pressed a hand to her forehead.

“Can you please not talk to me like I’m dull of comprehension?” I asked them, unable to conceal the bite in my tone. “I’m young, I accept that, but I happen to possess the ability to grasp sensitive topics.”

Sighing wearily, Mam pressed her thumbs to her temples. “Oh, Hugh.”

“I’m serious, Mam,” I shot back, unwilling to climb back into the infant-labeled box they put me in. “I’ve been friends with Liz for going on five years, and I’ve always known she has mental health issues. Contrary to our friends, I’m not blind, dense, or oblivious to what’s happening to Liz. She’s my best friend, for God’s sake. I want to help her, but I can’t do that if you guys don’t let me.”

“I know you mean well, Hugh, but you’re a child,” Mike interjected, sounding even wearier than my mother. “You don’t have the slightest understanding of what’s happening here, son.”

“I have a better grasp on this than you…think,” I replied, forcing myself to add think at the end of my sentence.

Because regardless of how I felt about Mike, falling out of favor with him might jeopardize the time I got to spend with his daughter.

“I know she’s cutting herself,” I decided to throw out. Their reactions assured me they weren’t expecting me to know. “I know she’s been doing it for at least a year,” I added, mentally retracing my memories to the first time I’d seen unexplained marks on her body. “I can help ,” I reiterated, imploring her parents to let me in. “You can trust me. I swear you can. All you have to do is just let me in!”