Page 24 of The Golden Boy’s Guide to Bipolar

If there’s any upside to being here, it’s that I don’t have to fake taking my meds every morning. Abuela has no reason to

think I wouldn’t take them, so my meds get to stay in the bathroom where I can do with them what I want. That little bit of

freedom makes me just a little less grumpy when Abuela wakes me and Moni up before the sun even comes out. Apparently, it’s

time for our horoverse reading. Once we’re all sitting in the living room, she hands both me and Moni a piece of paper and

a marker each.

“I like to print off our verses so we can write notes in the margins. I underline stuff that sticks out to me, but you can

mark yours up however you like.”

I look down at my paper to see the famous “love is kind” verse.

Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I have become sounding brass or a clanging cymbal.

And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith, so that

I could remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I

give my body to be burned, but have not love, it profits me nothing.

Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up; does not behave rudely,

does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; bears all

things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never fails. But whether there are prophecies, they will fail; whether there are tongues, they will cease; whether there

is knowledge, it will vanish away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect has come, then

that which is in part will be done away.

When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away

childish things.

For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known.

And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

Abuela reads it out loud to us while I start immediately marking it up. Instead of underlining stuff I like, I find myself

crossing things out.

I don’t hear what Abuela and Moni say next. It’s a few minutes before I’m done blocking out the parts I feel like and making

this whole verse actually relevant to me. I look down at the page one more time.

1 Corinthians 13

Though I xxxxx xxxx xxx xxxxxxx xx xxx xxx xx xxxxxx, xxx xxxx xxx love , x h xxx xxxxxx xxxxx i xx xxxxx xx x xxxxxxxx xx m xxx.

xxx xxxxxx I xxxx xxx xxxx xx xxxxxxxx, and understand xxx xxxxxxxxx xxx xxx xxxxxxxxx, xxx xxxxxx x xxxx xxx xxxxx, xx xxxx x xxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxxxxx, xxx xxxx xxx xxxx, I am not xxxx.

xxxx xxxxxx x xxxxxx xxx xx good x xx xxxx xxx xxxx , and xxxxxx I xxxx xx xxxx xx xx burn xx, xxx xxxx xxx xxxx, xx xxxxxxx xx xxxxxxx.

Love xxxxxxx xxxx xxx xx xxxx; xxxx does not xxxx; xxxx xxxx xxx xxxxxx xxxxxx, xx xxx xxxxxx xx; xxxx xxx behave xxxxxx , does not xxxx xxx xxx, xx xxx xxxxxxx, xxxxx xx xxxx; xxxx xxx rejoice in xxxxxxxx, xxx xxxxxxxx xx the truth ; xxxxx xxx xxxxx, xxxxxxxx xxx xxxxx, xxxxx xxx xxxxx, xxxxxxx xxx xxxxx.

Love xxxxx fails . xxx xxxxxxx xxxxx xxx xxxxxxxxxx, xxxx xxxx xxxx; xxxxxxx xxxxx xxx xxxxxxx, xxxx xxxx xxxxx; xxxxxxx xxxxx xx xxxxxxxxx,

xx xxxx xxxxxx xxxx. For we know xx xxxx xxx we xxxxxxxx xx xxxx. xxx xxxx xxxx xxxxx xx xxxxxxx xxx xxxx, xxxx xxxx xxxxx xx xx xxxx will be done away.

xxxx x xxx x xxxxx, x xxxxx xx x xxxxx, x xxxxxxxxxx xx x xxxxx, I thought xx x xxxxx; xxx xxxx I xxxxxx x m xx, x xxx xxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxx.

xxx xxx xx xxx xx a mirror, xxxxx, xxx xxxx face to face. Now I know xx xxxx, xxx xxxx x xxxxx xxxx just as I xxxx am known. xxx xxx xxxxx xxxxx, xxxx, xxxx, xxxxx xxxxx; xxx xxx xxxxxxxx xx xxxxx xx xxxx.

After we drop Moni off at school, Abuela and I spend the rest of the day cleaning the house and doing odd jobs, like taking

down the Christmas lights, which have been up for way too long since it’s almost February.

Still, I’d rather clean than go to therapy, and with this all being so new, I get to skip therapy exactly one time. Unfortunately,

the week somehow goes both excruciatingly slowly and too fast to process a thing. All that exists is cleaning and being kept

awake at night by Moni talking about literally anything. I guess I wouldn’t be sleeping much, anyway. Before I know it, I

have to go to therapy again, and I’m more than exhausted. I can’t believe I even still have to go to therapy after everythig

I’ve done. If my mom is really disowning me, why would she still make me go? Just to be cruel? I wanted her to stop caring

and forget I existed, not keep tabs on my suffering.

In the beginning of today’s session, therapy is mostly small talk. I’m not usually bursting to talk or anything, but I guess

there’s usually something to say. Eventually, Dr. Lee asks a more specific question than her usual open-ended “How was your week?”-type bullshit.

“Can you tell me a little bit about why you’re staying with your grandmother now?” I guess either my mom or grandma must have

filled her in, at least partially, for her to know that.

“I got expelled” is all I say at first, but she just keeps looking at me like there’s more to it.

And yeah, there is, but that doesn’t mean I have to tell her.

Still, her hot stare feels like it’s trying to sweat the answers out of me, and it’s succeeding.

“There was a picture online of me drinking at a party, okay?”

“And that’s why you got expelled?” she asks.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” I shoot back.

She writes something down. “Your mom mentioned a new conflict between you and your sister. Do you want to talk about that?”

“No,” I say automatically, but I have a feeling she won’t drop the subject, so I deflect. “I stayed up all night a while ago

and cleaned the whole house and made breakfast and caught up on all my homework and all that.” I almost mention that I even

showered, but the shame in admitting I don’t do that as regularly as I should eats at me and keeps my mouth shut about that

part. “And I rearranged Yami and my mom’s jewelry stuff by color, which I guess was a bad idea, because it means they wouldn’t

know whose order is whose....” I trail off, hoping this explanation is enough.

She writes something down in her notepad as she speaks. “Do you find you have those bursts of energy often?”

I shrug. “Recently, I guess, yeah. But it doesn’t happen all that much usually.”

“I see.” She writes something else down. “And this caused a big enough rift in your relationship with your sister for your

mom to bring it up?”

My instinct is to deflect again, but now I’m having second thoughts. It’s not like I have anything left to lose, right? I

guess the only reason I usually don’t like telling Dr. Lee all my business is because I thought she’d go blabbing to my mom.

But now that my mom doesn’t give a shit about me, I can say whatever I want. “Anything I tell you is confidential, right?”

I ask, just to be sure.

She looks up from her notepad with a micro-pleased expression.

“As long as you don’t express any instance of hurting yourself or others, or any plan to.

That kind of thing I would have to report.

Your guardian will know about your medications and diagnosis, but everything personal you tell me is confidential. ”

“I hooked up with the girl who outed my sister. Jamal and Yami both know about it, so they want nothing to do with me anymore,

and my mom hates me now because I got expelled.”

She’s quiet for a while as she writes something else down.

“What are you always writing about me?” I snap. The writing didn’t bother me at first, but now I can’t help but imagine she’s

documenting all her judgy thoughts so she can make fun of me to her therapist friends, I don’t know.

“It’s just a memory aid, so I can refer back to it later if I need to identify any recurring patterns. Which brings me to

my current theory...” She flips through her notebook at that, like she’s double-checking something before saying it out

loud. “I think you might be experiencing a manic episode.”

“The hell does that mean?” I shift uncomfortably on the couch.

“It means you’re experiencing a period with a high intensity of emotions and energy.”

“Are you saying I’m crazy or something?” I ask, gripping tightly to the arm of the couch.

“?‘Crazy’ isn’t the word I’d use for it,” she says. “But based on your previous records, and what I’ve learned from our sessions,

I’m diagnosing you with bipolar disorder. Bipolar can cause these types of long shifts in mood and energy, which we categorize

as mania and depre—”

“I know what bipolar is,” I interrupt, rolling my eyes. I’m definitely not that.

“Okay, that’s good. You’re already ahead of the curve then. You should also know there’s a support group for teens with serious

mental illness that meets here every week after your session. I recommend you check it out.”

Serious mental illness. Bipolar. The words feel foreign, like they can’t possibly be used to describe me . I’m supposed to be that happy-go-lucky guy with straight As who falls asleep in class sometimes. I’m supposed to be good

at everything I try. I’m supposed to be the golden boy. Not the fuckup. Not the problem child. Definitely not this .

“I’m not fucking crazy,” I say.

“Again, that’s a loaded word. I wouldn’t call anyone crazy who didn’t self-identify that way.” God, she’s so condescending

it makes me sick. “I’m here to answer any questions you might have. How much do you know about bipolar disorder?”

“I know enough,” I say. Enough to know I definitely don’t have it.

“Well, I think this diagnosis could actually open a lot of doors for you and answer a lot of questions. Now we know where