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FIGHT FOR IT

Lizzie

APRIL 9, 1999

“Y OU NEED TO START OPENING UP TO THOSE DOCTORS , L IZ ,” C AOIMHE REPEATED WHEN we got home from my latest appointment. I’d listened to this exact same spiel all the way home from the clinic. Usually, Mam took me to all my appointments, but she wasn’t feeling good today, and since we were on our Easter holidays from school, Caoimhe had taken her place.

“I sat outside that door for forty-five minutes and heard your voice a grand total of six times.”

“You’re not supposed to eavesdrop,” I replied, flopping onto a chair at the kitchen table. “It’s breach of privacy.”

“Pssh. You’re my baby sister,” she replied, batting the air as if that was reason enough for her to invade my privacy—not that it bothered me.

On the contrary, I couldn’t have cared less.

I kept my mouth shut most of the time.

“Come on, Liz,” she continued to ramble as she whizzed around our kitchen, searching for snacks. “How are they supposed to fix you if you don’t tell them what’s wrong?”

They can’t fix me .

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” I reminded her, resting my chin in my hand. “That’s the whole problem, Caoimhe.”

“Well, at least you’re human again,” my sister replied, using her hip to close the fridge. “You freaked the hell out of us the last time you spiraled.”

Yeah, I already knew that.

Caoimhe had told me countless times.

Problem was, I had no memory of it.

Apparently, the new medication the doctors were trialing me on was the cause of my lethargy and I would feel better soon. I wasn’t sure about feeling better, but I definitely didn’t feel as hollow as before.

I could get of bed again, which was something I’d been struggling with for a while. I wasn’t screaming and raving, either—another bonus. I was back attending school regularly, and my parents were watching me with hawk eyes.

I wasn’t sure if I was out of the woods yet; I was afraid to get my hopes up on stability when my mind could snatch it away in an instant, but I wanted to be okay again.

When there was a knock on the front door, followed a few moments later by the sound of my sister calling out, “Liz, lover boy’s here for your daily visit,” I bit my lip and smiled.

Because if I had a hope of being normal, then I had to fight for it.

And I would.

For him .