Page 29 of The Golden Boy’s Guide to Bipolar

It’s a good thing it’s Friday, because when my head finally meets the pillow for the night, I actually fall asleep for once.

And I mean sleep . The next time I open my eyes, I’m not sure if it’s sunrise or sunset or even how many days have passed.

I wake up to Abuela nudging my shoulder. I groan and stretch out. The rising—or setting?—sun makes the room way too bright

even through the small slits between the blinds. She’s carrying a tray of empanadas.

“That crash is never fun, is it?” she asks.

“What?” I ask groggily. Way too early—or late?—for thinking.

Instead of answering, she pulls the blanket from over me, which makes me squirm like a worm on hot cement.

“Abuela, whyyy?” I whine.

“Because you haven’t eaten since yesterday,” she says matter-of-factly.

“What time is it?” I croak.

“Las siete.”

“In the morning?” Why the hell would she be waking me up 7:00 a.m. on a Saturday?

“In the evening.”

“Oh... ,” I mumble, forcing myself to sit up.

“Ten, mijo,” she says, handing me the tray with three empanadas, rice, and beans on it.

“You’re letting me eat in bed?” I ask.

“You need to rest,” she says. “Your body and mind have been working on overdrive.”

“Can’t argue with that,” I say, putting the tray on my lap and biting into an empanada.

She sits down on a chair that I’m just now realizing she must have pulled in from the kitchen. “Actually, I’ve been in the

very same situation as you.”

“What do you mean?” I say through a mouthful of beans.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Abuela scolds, but her eyes aren’t as firm as her voice. “During one of my worst episodes,

I blew through every penny I’d saved for your mami’s college tuition. When I finally crashed, I slept for days .”

I bet that’s why my mom doesn’t trust her. Why would Abuela want me to know this? Doesn’t she want to keep the worst mistakes

to herself? “Why are you telling me this?” I finally ask.

“Because I went most of my life thinking I was alone. If I knew what I was going through was a treatable illness, it might

have saved myself and the people around me a lot of grief. I’m telling you because I know what this is like. The crash after

the high. It’s never fun. But you get used to it eventually.”

“I’m fine.” I know I caused basically all the problems everyone around me has ever had. That’s the whole reason I want to leave . If I go, I can stop causing problems for everyone. That’s how I can save us all the grief.

She nods. “So, do you still stand by what you said last night?”

It takes awhile for my brain fog to clear up enough to realize what she must be talking about. I told her I talked to God

last night. That God helped me win Scrabble. And because of what? Because of a sleep-deprived dream I had on the bathroom

floor? Yesterday, and so much of the last couple of weeks, feels like one long fever dream where logic had no meaning. Suddenly,

logic is back.

A flood of embarrassment rushes through me, and I sink back against the wall.

“Okay, I get it, you win. I’m crazy. Are you happy?” I say dejectedly.

She frowns. “No one here is crazy, okay? Our brains are just wired a little differently.”

I feel my throat tighten. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

She reaches forward and squeezes my knee. “When and if you’re ready to tell people, that’s when they’ll find out. Dr. Lee,

your mami, and I are the only ones who know.”

I let out a sigh of relief before a familiar bubble of anger forms. My mom doesn’t trust Abuela at all . Yet this is where she wants me, and she couldn’t even drop me off herself.

“Why’d my mom even send me here if she doesn’t trust you?” I ask.

She pauses for a few seconds. “You won’t hear either me or your mami deny I’ve made more mistakes than I can count.

.. but I think she also knows I can help you.

She may not be ready to forgive me herself, but she can still see that I’m different now than I was then.

She’s seen me lose everything and piece my life back together from rock bottom.

I pushed away everyone I cared about, and I lost most of them.

Sometimes there’s no turning back from a soured relationship, but sometimes people will surprise you if you try to make amends. ”

I squint at her, not sure I buy it. “You’re telling me you’ve tried to fix every single relationship you messed up?”

“Of course not.” At first she looks confident, but after a moment, her expression drops into something a little sad. “It’s

not always so simple....”

“That’s what I thought. Most people are better off without me trying to shove my way back in their lives.”

“I thought the same thing about myself once.” She frowns harder. “But I was wrong. It’s true that not everyone has or will

forgive me, but I finally have a good relationship with Paco again, and your mami trusts me at least enough to let me care

for you. We still have a long way to go, but admitting where I went wrong and apologizing was the first step.”

“But you just said yourself you haven’t tried to fix things with everyone . So obviously we both know when a relationship is too far gone, and I’m telling you now that’s where I’m at.”

She nods solemnly. “You know what, maybe I was wrong. You never know until you try, right? I’m going to make some calls tonight.

It’s going to be okay, you’ll see.”

Then she claps her hands together and walks out, pulling her phone from her pocket before she even reaches the door.

School on Monday goes by in a blur since I sleep in every class and even in the cafeteria for lunch. With my head down on a table, no one ever bothers me here. No one cares.

Moni’s still not back on Tuesday, which makes me wonder if maybe she and her dad made up, and I’ll be stuck at Abuela’s by

myself for the foreseeable future. Having privacy again is kind of nice, but I also forgot how loud The Thoughts are when

Moni isn’t talking my ear off in the middle of the night. Now all I can hear is my own brain, so sleeping at night is back

off the table.

If only I could catch up on sleep in therapy. But no, Dr. Snitch is expecting answers, as always. She’s not getting shit from

me, though. Not today. Probably not ever again. My mom can force me to see her until I shrivel up and die, but she can’t force

me to tell her shit. The only reason I probably listened to her before was the medication. But I’m not so easy to mind control

anymore.

“I can’t help but notice your energy levels are way down from last week,” Dr. Lee says, and I roll my eyes.

“Maybe I’m just tired of everyone talking shit about me behind my back,” I shoot back.

“You’re a minor, Cesar. Your mother needs to know your diagnosis. We went over this during our first session.”

I don’t believe her for one second. I would have remembered if she’d mentioned that everything I tell her is fair game for

my mom’s ears.

She keeps asking me questions, and I keep deflecting them for most of the session.

How are your energy levels? How much sleep have you been getting? How are your eating habits?

I tell her everything is normal, and she sighs, writing something down in her notepad.

“Have you heard of rapid cycling, Cesar?”

“No,” I answer shortly.

“It’s when you cycle between manic and depressive episodes more quickly than usual. I think that’s what you’re going through

currently.”

Before she finishes her sentence, the second hand on the clock ticks to the fifty-minute mark, and I stand up without responding.

And yes, I’ve been watching the clock the whole session so I don’t have to go a second over. I throw my backpack over my shoulder

and turn to the door.

“You’re welcome to stay for group,” she offers.

“I’m good.”

“Before you leave, have you filled your new prescription yet? I want to make sure we monitor your reaction carefully so we

can make sure to get you on the right path as soon as possible,” she says, but I’m already walking out.

“Yeah, we filled it,” I say as I leave. We picked up the new meds the day after she prescribed them, but I haven’t taken anything.

My meds weren’t helping me before, and they’re not going to help me now.

After I finish my homework and chores for the night, I’m about to go to bed when the doorbell rings.

“I’ll get it,” I say as I walk over to open it.

“I’m back!” Moni sings, bowing as soon as the door opens. And she sounds... happy about it?

“I thought you moved back to LA or something,” I say, since she was only supposed to be gone for the weekend.

“I almost did, but then my dad figured out what a Tampot is.” She shrugs like it’s no big deal. Then she offers me a quick

high five before rushing toward Abuela. She pulls a tub of brownies out of her bag and hands them over. “For you, Abue. Unfortunately,

they don’t have my special ingredient. You can blame my dad for that.”

“Mija, you’re going to give your father a heart attack. It’s time to get your act together,” Abuela scolds, but she looks

like she’s trying to hold back a smile.

Moni seems fully aware of Abuela’s lack of anger, too. She doesn’t bother hiding her own smile, and she’s practically bouncing

on the balls of her feet.

“You’re lucky Cesar already finished all the chores for today. Tomorrow, we’ll put you back to work,” Abuela says sternly,

and Moni gives her a military salute.

The bell rings again, and Abuela looks at both of us suspiciously. “You know you have to ask before inviting anyone over,

right?”

“Wasn’t me,” I say, and Moni shrugs innocently.

Since I’m still right by the door, I go ahead and open it.

“It’s good to see you, mijo,” Dona Violeta says.

I’m about to shut the door in her face when Abuela meets me there. She just stares at Dona Violeta without saying anything.

“I got your voicemail....” Dona Violeta is the first to talk.

“You invited her?” My head snaps in my grandma’s direction. I won’t lie, I’m a little offended. Dona Violeta tricked me into getting in her car before dumping me off here, at a house I’d never been before with a grandma I hardly knew. And now Abuela’s just inviting her back like it’s fine?

“I... didn’t think you would come... ,” Abuela finally says.

“Well, here I am.” Dona Violeta shifts her weight like she’s not sure if she’ll be let inside. “And I think you’re right,

Chela. We should talk.”

I almost gag at the nickname she gives my grandma. I figured they knew each other from before, but for how long? Is Dona Violeta

one of the people Abuela said she’d try to make amends with? Whatever. It’s none of my business, and even if it was, I wouldn’t

care.

“Talk as much as you want, but I’m going to bed,” I say as I turn around and go straight to the room, where Moni’s already

lying belly down on the bottom bunk.

“Who was that lady?” she asks, propping herself up by her elbows.

“Basically, my mom’s replacement for Abuela. She practically raised me and Yami.”

I try not to sound bitter as I say it. Moni might not get why I’m mad, and I don’t want to have to explain it, only to be

told I’m overreacting.

“Huh. Seems like she and Abuela have some kind of old beef. Maybe Abuela’s jealous of her relationship with your family?”

“Maybe, I don’t know.” I climb up to the top bunk. “Anyways, did you get caught on purpose?” I ask, desperate for a subject

change.

“I didn’t know if you were still here or not,” Moni says as if that answers my question. “Abuela gets lonely, and it’s not like she’s looking for a boyfriend to keep her company. Besides, I like it here.”

“Suit yourself,” I say as I roll over and try to fall asleep. But Abuela and Dona Violeta aren’t exactly talking quietly.

About an hour passes, and there’s no sign of them shutting up. In fact, they’ve gone from just talking to having laughing

fits every couple of minutes. I think it might be the first time I’ve even heard Abuela laugh. Louder than them, though, is

Moni tossing and turning every time their conversation seeps through the walls.

She finally lets out an annoyed groan. “Is that lady ever gonna leave? How are we supposed to sleep in these conditions!”

“I guess they missed each other,” I mumble. While I want to be mad that Dona Violeta’s even here, I can’t stop thinking about

how much of a victory it is for Abuela.

If Dona Violeta is one of the relationships she lost forever ago, and she’s able to fix it all these years later, I’m happy

for her. I still don’t think I want that for myself, but at least one of us can have a happy ending.

I close my eyes, and the last thing I hear before I fall asleep is my grandma’s laughter.