Would it get worse? Would I have to quit nursing, a job that I loved? Would I eventually lose my independence? Would I age prematurely?
I was a nurse—I knew RA could lead to heart, lung, even eye problems.
My future was full of scary unknowns.
It was enough to send even the strongest mind into a spiral.
And once the spiral started, even more negative thoughts filtered in.
I barely talked to my mom.
I didn’t talk to my dad at all.
The world around me felt dark, and unhappy. Shootings on the news, crime rate statistics, foreign nations at war.
And now I’d lost Cade. Again.
Cut him out of my life for fear he’d once again disappear on me. I didn’t think my heart could recover from that hopelessly bereft feeling a second time.
My only source of comfort was Maple. She sensed my pain, and she stayed faithfully curled up by my side or at my feet. She’d fetch me a box of tissues, a plastic bottle of water, or my medicine. I lost count of the hours I spent crying into her soft coppery fur, mumbling to her about my confusion and heartache. She was the lighthouse in my storm of emotions.
I tried for days to sort through my feelings. I’d felt electricity with Cade, but wasn’t that scary in its own way? And hadn’t he taken off on me once already?
Brock was steady. Safe. He was a doctor—if anyone could take care of me, surely it was him?
But would I ever let him?
Did I even trust him to take care of me?
I anxiously twirled my too-big ring around my finger. I still needed to get it resized. Just another thing on my never-ending to-do list.
After a week of my moping,Whit stopped me in the hall.
“Enough. Talk to me.” Her tone was firm, but not harsh.
She stared into my eyes, which I knew from my quick glances in the bathroom mirror had purple bags beneath them from lack of sleep. I had no idea when I’d last brushed my hair. I had a blanket cape wrapped around my arms, creating a cocoon of protection. I don’t know when I’d last eaten a proper meal, subsiding instead on spoons of peanut butter, carrot sticks, and crackers with cheese. My nightstand was littered with plastic water bottles.
I sighed, forcing myself to talk. “I don’t know what’s going on. I’m just... I’m tired of faking it, Whit. Putting on this façade of being this put-together, happy person.” I met her eyes again, and I saw her silent encouragement to go on. “I go to work, and I’m cheerful nurse Brooke. I go out with Brock, and I’m dutiful girlfriend Brooke. Everywhere I go, I’m happy. Except I’m just... not.”
She stared at me a moment. “Do you want to talk to someone? Get some perspective?”
I looked up at my friend in surprise. She was the ultimate introvert, and independent almost to a fault. So Whit suggesting talking it out—with a professional? I must look worse than I thought.
“A therapist?” I asked, my hesitation bleeding through. “Do I really seem that messed up?”
“A licensed counselor, at least. Look... I’m here for you, babe. Always. I’ve got your back. You need to fuck someone up? We ride at dawn. You need a body buried? I’ll grab a shovel. But I don’t think this is my level. And it isn’t about being ‘messed up.’”
I gave her a disbelieving look.
“Think about it this way,” she continued. “You get a paper cut, I’ll grab you a Band-aid. But if you break your arm? I’m taking you to the hospital. To the professionals. The same applies here. I think you need—and deserve—more here. More than I can give you. You haven’t really been yourself for months, and now you’ve practically been a hermit since you got back from Vermont. I think going back really dredged up some shit for you. The Cade stuff, sure, but it seems like more than that, too. Maybe unresolved childhood issues. And I think you need to talk to somebody who can really help. There’s no shame in that.”
I embraced her in a firm hug. I was damn lucky to have a friend like Whit, someone to cut through the bullshit and find a way to get me what I needed.
“Do you have someone in mind?” I asked her.
She met my eyes, hers shining with fierce determination. “I’ll find someone for you. I’ll get on it right away. I love you, Brooke.”
“Love you too, Whit.”
