Page 49 of The Golden Boy’s Guide to Bipolar
“You’re not! How do you not get that I need you too? I need you just as bad, okay? Please, don’t leave....”
I blink away the tears welling up in my eyes. This whole time, she needed me too, and I abandoned her, just like I was so
mad at my mom for doing to me. “I’ll try not to,” I manage to calm myself enough to get out.
“Cesar, I need you to really hear me right now, okay?” she looks at me almost as intensely as Jamal usually does. “You deserve
to be loved.”
“Bullshit,” I say, feeling my lips shrug like I’m gonna cry again. “You should hate me. You should fucking yell at me or something.
Hit me or throw something! Get yourself kicked out, that’s what I deserve!”
She just shakes her head. “I couldn’t possibly punish you any worse than you’re punishing yourself—and why would I want to?
I love you. If you don’t believe me, I’ll tell you again.”
“I believe you,” I say with a hand up so she doesn’t keep saying it and make me cry again. “But I want to fix it, Yami. Just
tell me what to do to make it up to you and I’ll do it.”
“If staying alive is all you can do, it’s enough. It’s like I said before, I need you too. You make my life better when you’re in it.” She smiles and nudges the bag of Takis toward me. “I just want you to be okay.”
“I can’t promise you that,” I say. After everything, I don’t want to put a Band-Aid over it by making a promise I can’t be
100 percent sure I’ll keep.
“Then I want you to tell someone when you need support. If it’s not me, that’s fine, just tell someone. I want you to stop
shutting everyone out. I want you to stop trying to brave all of this alone.”
“Okay.” I swallow the lump in my throat. That, I can at least try. “I promise.”
Day Two: Visiting Hours
Since they actually check to make sure you take your meds here, I don’t really have the option to fake it like I’ve been doing.
I don’t really know what that means for me. I mean, I’m at least at a place now where I can admit I was a mess without the
meds, but was I any better with them? I’m not so sure. Besides, Moni’s anecdote about her dad paying off doctors gets to me.
What if I just go right back to being brainwashed?
Luckily, I don’t have to wait long to ask her about it, since the next person to visit is Moni.
She starts talking before she’s done pulling out her chair. “Abuela wanted to get you some snacks, so she’s at the vending
machine.”
I’m actually kind of relieved to have a minute with just Moni so I can ask what I want.
We probably don’t have a ton of time, so I start talking before she has a chance to ask her own questions.
I’d rather steer the conversation my own way than have to answer any “How are you feeling?” types of questions.
“How’s your dispensary fundraising going?” I ask, trying to find a segue to talking about the meds.
Moni shrugs, looking confused about the question. I guess I can’t blame her, considering where we are. Luckily, she humors
me. “My Tampots are selling faster than I can make them, so that’s a good sign! I’ve been thinking of hiring some help so
I don’t have to be as selective about who to sell to, but expanding a business like mine comes with risks, you know?”
She goes on to tell me all the details of said risks and I’m already regretting my choice of segue. Abuela’s quickly making
her way toward me, so my window is basically over. I clear my throat to try and signal to Moni that she should stop talking
about anything that could get her in trouble before Abuela reaches us, but she doesn’t seem to get the hint.
“Moni—” I try to interrupt, but she doesn’t even seem to hear me. By the time she realizes I’m trying to help her, Abuela’s
already sitting in the chair next to her with a bag of chips in her hand.
“Surprise! Abuela brought snacks!” Moni grabs the chips and sets them in front of me as if Abuela didn’t hear a thing.
“I would be thanking the Lord we’re in this hospital right now if I were you,” Abuela says firmly.
“What do you expect me to do?” Moni tilts her head innocently. “How else am I supposed to raise the funds to open my own dispensary? To even go to college?” I know Moni has no shame about what she does, but she apparently has the same amount of self-preservation instincts.
Abuela pinches the bridge of her nose. “If you get caught, there’s no way you would be allowed to open a dispensary. You know
that, right?”
“Then I won’t get caught.” She shrugs, and a little laugh escapes from me.
“You already got caught, though,” I jump in. I might be a little cynical, but it’s not like it’s outside the realm of possibilities.
She said so herself, he’s desperate. “If your dad really wants you to stop, what makes you think he won’t report you himself?”
Moni opens her mouth to answer, but all that comes out is a little croak.
“We’ll talk about this later, Monica,” Abuela says, then turns to me, and I just know she’s about to ask how I’m feeling or
something, so I go first.
“Anyways.” I decide to just ask outright since the segue was a bust and I got Moni in trouble for nothing. “Are the doctors
at places like this fair game for your dad too?”
“Huh?” Moni asks, and Abuela raises an eyebrow.
“You said your dad pays doctors off to brainwash their patients. Is that a thing here too?”
Her eyes widen a bit. “Shit, did you go off your meds because of me?”
“I was already off them,” I admit, making a point not to look at Abuela’s probably disappointed face. “But why would I go
back on them if they’re brainwashing me?”
“I never said they were for brainwashing!” Moni sounds a little frantic. Not really used to her like that. “It’s true that some drug companies pay some doctors to prescribe their preferred medication, but I wasn’t trying to imply your doctor was being paid off or anything.”
“Well, how can I trust any doctor if that’s a thing? Don’t act like I’m being paranoid if that’s something that actually happens!” I ball my fists to
stop my hands from shaking in anger. This isn’t me being crazy. She told me that happens!
Abuela nods, and I almost think she’s about to agree with me, until she doesn’t. “Mijo, there’s nothing wrong with having
these kinds of worries, but it’s good to voice them out loud instead of holding them in. That way you can take a step toward
finding the truth instead of just being afraid.”
Moni nods quickly. “We can find out right now actually! It’s publicly accessible information which doctors are taking money
from drug companies.” She pulls out her phone and starts typing. “What’s your therapist’s name again?”
“Uh, Dr. Lee... I think her first name’s Jen.”
She types for a second before showing me her screen with Dr. Lee’s name and the office address. “Is this the right place?”
I nod, scanning the page. There are different types of payments listed, like research payments and investment interest. I
don’t know what any of them mean, but I can relax knowing there’s a big N/A next to each and every type.
Somehow, I’m both relieved and incredibly embarrassed. “I guess I really am crazy, huh?”
Abuela frowns. “Mijo, there’s nothing crazy about asking questions.
It’s almost impossible to find the truth without speaking your fears out loud.
Sometimes being perceived as ‘crazy’ is the scariest thing, so saying what you’re afraid of feels harder than giving in to the paranoia. But I promise it’s worth it.”
“And tell me next time I say something that freaks you out like that, okay? I can’t help you logic out of it unless I know
what you’re thinking,” Moni says. “Sometimes I forget people can’t see everything in my brain, so I don’t always explain myself
like I should.”
“Okay,” I say tentatively. I guess I can try saying things out loud. Maybe not to everyone, but at least I know Abuela will
understand. I don’t know if every fear I have can just be logic-ed away, but at least this one could. Maybe that’s a start.
Day Three: Activity Time
Instead of getting to go outside with the other patients, I’m escorted to an activity room during free time. When the door
opens, I’m met with my usual group therapy crowd, including Dr. Lee and even Nia.
“What are you guys doing here?” I ask.
“Avery told us you were in here, so we asked Dr. Lee if we could get special permission to have group here instead of at the
office today,” Zo says with a smile.
“Oh...” I don’t know what else to say. If this had happened a week ago, I would have turned around and run away. I would
have been pissed at Avery for telling anyone about where I am. Today is different, though. Today, I walk over to the empty
seat in the circle and sit down. Maybe I am making progress.
I can’t help but notice everyone’s staring at me when I sit down, though. I wish I could hide the fact that I’m struggling so hard, but the bruises are literally all over my face, not to mention where we are.
“You guys were on the news,” Nia says bluntly, looking back and forth from me to Avery, who is also sporting a pretty gnarly
black eye. “Apparently those guys are waiting for their hearing in juvie, so you should be safe from them now.”
“And if they try to fuck with you again, we’ll handle ’em,” Aaron adds, puffing out his chin like he’s trying to look tough.
“You okay, though?” Zo asks, and I bite my lip, resisting the urge to brush it off and say I’m fine. How hard could it be
to admit I’m not okay? When I’m here, of all places? “It’s okay to ask for help,” they say, like they’re reading my mind.
“We’re here for you, bro,” Avery adds with a reassuring nod.
But when I try to speak, I get all choked up. They know I’m not okay. I just need to admit it out loud. That’s the first step,
right? I lean forward and cover my face with my hands again. Maybe if I can’t see them staring at me it’ll be easier?
“I need help!” I whimper through my hands.
“Asking for help is an important first step,” Dr. Lee confirms. “I’m proud of you.”
Zo starts rubbing my back from their seat next to me. “How can we help you?” they ask.
“I think... ,” I start, mulling it over. “I think I need to switch medication. I’ve been back on my meds since I got in
here, but I don’t feel like it’s doing anything.” After I say it, I feel a huge weight off my chest. “But I’m afraid to switch
and have bad side effects or go on meds that make me like a zombie.” I figure now is as good a time as any to implement the
say-your-fears-out-loud advice.
“It’s a process,” Nia says. “Sometimes it takes a while for them to really kick in, and sometimes you have to try a few to find the right ones, but once you do, it’s like magic.”
“Mine took a couple weeks before I started noticing a change,” Avery adds. “Like, I know I’m still mentally ill, but I can
deal a lot better now.”
“It’s all about communication,” Dr. Lee adds. “As long as you let me know when you have any side effects or if a few weeks
pass and you still feel like your meds aren’t working, we can go from there.”
“Okay,” I say.
Maybe Dr. Lee isn’t as bad as I thought. I don’t know if I fully trust her yet, but at least I know she doesn’t have any ulterior
motives about my medication.
Could medication actually make me feel better? I don’t know. But for the first time in a long time, I let myself feel a tiny
bit hopeful.
Day Four: Phone Call
Jamal has managed to call me every night since I’ve been in the hospital, but I’ve always been in group or the line has been
busy, so aside from the first night, we’ve missed each other until now. When the staff tells me the phone’s for me, I recognize
his number immediately.
“Hey, you,” I find myself saying.
“Hey, you,” he says back.
And even though we can’t talk long, even though it’s just a “hey, you,” I still feel like it’s a sign that things might just be salvageable between us. Maybe Abuela was right. Maybe it’s possible to fix things. Maybe I even want to.
Day Five: Visiting Hours
When I get called to the visiting room the next day, I’m surprised when it’s not my mom or Yami, but Dona Violeta who wants
to talk to me. We both sit at the table staring at each other for a bit before either of us says anything.
It’s weird seeing her without her music blasting on her porch. She’s usually so enveloped in the melody that she sways as
she speaks and talks rhythmically with the beat, but today she seems to be choosing her words more carefully.
At first I want to stay mad at her. She did lie to me about that doctor’s appointment before dropping me off at Abuela’s.
Then again, I know it was my mom who put her up to it. I know everyone was just scrambling trying to figure out what to do
with me. It sucks, and it still stings to think about, but if Yami and Jamal can forgive me after everything I’ve done, maybe
there’s a little extra grace to go around.
“Do you want to play a song on your phone or something?” I ask after we’re both just quiet for a while, but Dona just shakes
her head.
“You are my music today, mijo.” She smiles sweetly, rocking back and forth in her chair as if there was a melody playing.
She still doesn’t say much, and I can’t bear to just stare at each other like this.
“How did you get better?” I blurt out. Dona Violeta was practically inconsolable for over a year after her husband died. She didn’t take care of herself, barely ate, and spent all her time crying on her porch.
“That’s a good question.” She smiles again. “I guess I let the people around me help me. I allowed myself to lean on my loved
ones. On you, and your mami, and Yamilet. And when you went to the hospital last year, I realized I needed to take care of
you back. Loving you was loving myself.”
I think back to the poem on my bathroom mirror.
Si te amo y respeto, me amo y respeto yo.
If I love and respect you, I love and respect myself.
And I do love, hard. I love Dona Violeta. I love my abuela. I love Moni. I love my mom. I love Yami. I love Jamal.
I’m in love with Jamal. Still.
And I’ve treated everyone like absolute shit. Hurting them to hurt myself. And it worked, for a while. But I don’t want to
hurt them anymore. Maybe I don’t want to hurt myself either. I don’t feel like the solution is to push everyone away anymore.
I want to fix my relationships. I want to deserve their love. I know it’ll take work, and time, and a lot of healing, but
I want to do it.
It’s like Jamal said. They’re all an integral part of my universe, and I can’t even begin to unravel who I am without the
community standing beside me, the community whose roots I’m growing and blooming from. And maybe spring isn’t as far off as
I thought.