“I don’t deserve—” she begins, and I place a gentle hand on her back.
“You deserve help,” I tell her. “You deserve rest. You deserve people who will sit with you on this ugly couch and allow you to have a restart without having to earn it.”
She shakes in my arms in waves, the kind of crying you don’t choose, the kind that wrings you out from the inside, from within your bones, and feels soul-deep. I keep my hand on her back, thumb tracing circles that I hope silently tell her I’m here and I care and I’m not going anywhere…that I don’t want to go anywhere.
I want to tell her that I love her, that I think I’min lovewith her. That she is the most beautiful to me when she lets all her walls down. I want to whisper it into her hair and tell her things are gonna be okay…I can’t promise that, though, and right now would probably be the worst timing to confess something I think I’ve already known for months, so I tuck it away for another day, another conversation.
I lose time, lying there with her. We somehow move fully onto the couch, side by side. She places my arm around her like it’ll protect her. And it will; I’ll make sure it always will. She fits perfectly under my arms, and in my heart, and I want to take every terrible thing that has ever been thrown at her and burn it to the ground so she knows none of it can ever touch her or hurt her again.
I used to be scared of this exact feeling, of caring this much about someone else. But she makes me happy to do it, happy to hand her any weapon to hurt me with, because I know deep down, she would never use it purposely. She makes it worth the risk regardless.
At some point, Lani and Simone arrive. Lani kneels in front of us, eyes glossy but trying to keepher emotions back so she can comfort her friend.
“What can we get you?” she asks Lydia, voice low. “Water? Coffee? Crackers? A trash can? A blanket? My left kidney?”
“Gatorade would be a solid choice,” Simone whispers, already holding up a bottle. She touches Lydia’s leg and leaves her hand there, comforting her without any words. “We’re right here,” she says. “No lectures. Promise.”
“Hey,” I whisper to them, not moving more than I have to because Lydia is heaviest when she finally lets someone else carry the weight with her. “Thank you.”
They nod like,of course, like how else would this go, like the three of us will be the safety net today, and that’s that. Lani disappears and comes back with a small mountain of bland carbs. Simone shoves a tissue into my free hand for whenever Lydia might need it.
“I’m not good,” Lydia says, clutching to my arm, voice a little hoarse from being so quiet and crying a lot. “I’m trying to be, but…I’m not.”
“You’re here,” Simone says. “That’s good enough.”
“You told us,” Lani says, softer than I’ve ever heard her. “That’s the important part.”
“You asked for what you needed,” I say. “That’s major progress.”
She shakes her head like she can’t accept any of the encouragement. I don’t make her. I just keep breathing slow and steady against the top of her head and let my sleeve take the brunt of her tears.
At some point, she stops shaking. Her body loses the constant flinch. The weight of her gets heavier in the good way—sleep heavy, not hopeless heavy. She mumbles something I can’t catch, and then sighs like she’s finally giving in to the exhaustion.
“You good to stay with her?” Simone asks under her breath. “You need a break or anything?”
“I’m good as long as she needs me here,” I whisper back. My arm is already numb, but I don’t care. If staying still is what help looks like today, then I can do that.
Lani drapes a blanket over Lydia’s legs. Simone tucks a strand of hair behind Lydia’s ear like she’s done it a thousand times. I meet their eyes over the top of her head, and we make an unspoken pact that we will keep her safe, we will be boring, we will feed her, we will stay with her, and when she wakes back up, we will plan whatever the next steps are together. We won’t let her do this alone and afraid.
Lydia settles, breathing evening out against my chest. She falls asleep like that—pressed into me, finally quiet and at peace.
75
Lydia
I’ve talked to everyone. I’ve talked to Bash, I’ve talked to Simone, I’ve talked to Lani, I’ve talked to Dr. Nora. I’ve literally talked to everyone and anyone who can walk me through the anxiety and the pain and the guilt I’m dealing with. Yet nothing has helped. I feel stuck back at square one.
I feel so stupid and like a total failure.
With the help of my therapist, friends, and family, I’ve got a plan set to avoid another relapse right now. But if it wasn’t there…there’s a huge chance that I would be high right now in this very moment. I’m not, but Iwantto be.
I guess thenotpart counts for something, though, right? It doesn’t fix my brain…but it doesn’t hurt my body or the people I love, at least.
That’s the thing about having people around who care when you relapse, people you trust to tell. That’s the difference between a secret relapse that gets dragged out vs a relapse that lasts one night—even when your mind and body are begging for longer.
My brain hurts. I feel like it’s failing me. Like it always failed me. Like I’m failing everyone around me.
The relapse has triggeredme to be back in a state of constant anxiety, and I hate it. I know it’s just my brain still trying to get rid of the lasting adrenaline, and come out of the fight or flight mode I put it in, but it’s been almost two whole weeks, and it feels like it’s never going to go away. I hate myself for messing up like this. I was doing good; I was getting happy; I wasn’t spiraling; I had my cravings under control; I had a good support system, a plan, and I had…Bash. Yet the first major trigger, and I’m back with a bottle in my hand and taking whatever is in front of me. I’m so stupid to think it would solve anything. That it could be a temporary fix to get me out of my head in the moment, and then I could just go back to normal, like it never even happened.
