Page 122 of Let’s Be Real

“Sounds like it’ll be intense,” he added.

“Yeah.” I couldn’t stop myself from grimacing. “I’m…I think I’m scared.”

“I’ve done a lot of reading—something I should have done back then—and I’ve found CBT does a world of good for a lot of people with severe depression.”

I chuffed. “I just have to change my entire way of thinking.”

“If anyone can, it’s you. I’m sorry I didn’t push you into therapy a long time ago.” He rocked back on his heels, looking as unsure as I’d ever seen him. “I thought the medication would do enough. I’d hoped it would.”

“It does a lot.”

My team of doctors had started me on a new prescription, and it was beginning to really kick in. I wasn’t quite at the point where I believed it would last, but I could get out of bed and finish a full meal without having to talk myself into it.

“It doesn’t fix everything.” Roman rubbed the top of my head like he had when we were kids then dropped his hand to my shoulder again. “How’s Samantha doing?”

“I could ask you the same. I only see her for an hour a day. She’s careful with me.”

“It’s going to take some time for everyone to know what they should say. It’s only been ten days.” He looked at me for a long beat. “She and Ade spent Sunday at the house. Ben came over with Mazzy and Katty, and we grilled. It was nice, but we were all acutely aware something important was missing.”

“I’m going to be there again.”

“I know you will.”

He sounded certain enough for us both.

Chapter Forty-two

Samantha

The breaking point didn’t come all at once.

It had crept in a little at a time.

The first few times I’d visited Nate, all I’d cared about was getting through another day. If he woke up the next morning, it had been a good day.

That was enough.

Then life kept happening around his recovery.

On day three, Adrian had found a therapist who could see me right away. After our first appointment, we’d decided I’d come twice a week to start. Each time I walked out of her office, the wounds I’d feigned as pinpricks most of my life were raw and gaping. I’d climb into my car wrung out, cry halfway home, wash my face in a gas station bathroom, then drive to see Nate with my game face on.

Some days, we sat in silence. Others, I talked and he listened. He shared a little about group therapy and how his new prescription made him feel. But mostly, we sat together in the sun and held on tight.

What I didn’t do was tell him about my therapy. I didn’t share my last conversation with Kelly, or my decision to walk away from my family for good. As much as I longed to hear his thoughts, I couldn’t pull his focus away from his recovery, and the last thing he needed was to worry about me.

Leaving me carrying everything alone.

Therapy cracked me open, and visiting Nate meant stitching myself back together long enough to smile at him and be his cornerstone. By the time I crawled into his bed every night, I was barely holding my own pieces together.

My therapist told me confronting deep-seated issues often left people feeling worse before things got better. It was to be expected. She was right on that front. I felt like dog water most of the time.

And the truth was, if Adrian hadn’t been shoving me out the door to my appointments, I would have given up after the second one. I didn’t want to confront hard truths about myself—not when the man I loved was fighting for his life.

Adrian slapped sense into me. “I don’t like seeing my best friend break her back for people who wouldn’t piss on her if she was on fire. You don’t need their validation anymore. They are never going to love you enough. Not ever. And none of them deserve your kind of love. You need to find a way to stop giving it to them so you can give some to yourself, and the rest to my brother. He deserves it a hell of a lot more than they do.”

I’d wanted to argue with him, but the truth was undeniable.

So I kept going. And in between appointments, I wrote in my journal. My therapist had told me to write down any time my thoughts drifted to my family. So I wrote a lot.