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Karina watches me like a hawk while I pack my bags, emptying out my closet and bathroom, fitting as much as possible into my suitcase and duffle bags. I can come back for the rest another day, but I need to go right now.
She doesn’t say anything else as she follows me out to my car, watching me while I load my bags into the trunk and backseat.
“I’m not going to make this easy for you. You can’t throw me away. I won’t allow it,” she says from where she stands in the driveway as I’m closing the trunk.
“Try to get some sleep, Karina. We’ll talk later.” I look into her blue eyes with a frown, looking between her face and her small baby bump.
Without another word, I climb behind the driver’s seat and leave just like she wants me to.
I drive away with a broken heart, a massive headache, and a feeling in the pit of my stomach telling me something isn’t right.
FORTY-ONE
NOW
Camille
Five months ago, Declan showed up in my room in the middle of the night. He had a late flight and never told me he was coming. I was sleeping and nearly had a heart attack when he slid in bed behind me and wrapped his arms around me. I screamed in fear; the fucker laughed at me. When I asked him what he was doing here, he told me that Spencer called him because she worried about me, and he was too after my drunken messages. I tried telling him I was fine and didn’t need anyone, but he knew me too well and knew I was lying.
I wasn’t fine, and I did need someone.
After confessing to myself and my family that my mental health wasn’t good and hadn’t been for a while, I allowed them to help me. My mom called Dr. Reynolds immediately and got me an emergency appointment for the next day.
Everyone cried when I opened myself up, became vulnerable, and told them how dark my mind could get. I told them I had been doing okay by taking medication, that it made me numb and made my days bearable, but I hated feeling like a robot and having to rely on it, so I’d stopped taking it. They were surprised. Mom knew after Luca’s death, I had taken medication but had no idea I was still taking it nearly a year and a half later.
When I was too ashamed to face Dr. Reynolds again, Declan surprised me by taking my hand and going to my session with me. He sat on the couch beside me, rubbed my back, and urged me to talk about everything that I’d been holding in.
I couldn’t explain why my mind sometimes went to dark places, but I did my best to tell her everything I felt, and this time, I was honest. A few things were hard for Declan to hear, but he never left my side.
Foolishly I’d thought my depressive episodes were because of Dean, but after talking with Dr. Reynolds, I realized it had nothing to do with him. I’m not depressed because of him. I am the way I am because of my brain chemicals and the fact that I’ve been keeping so much to myself.
For years I’ve held in my emotions, never telling a single soul how I truly felt. Not since my abortion years ago. That was the first heartbreak I kept to myself; since then, I’ve been piling on. Then when Luca died, I gave up trying to make myself feel better. I didn’t want to feel at all.
I’m so thankful for the help of my family. With how dark my mind has been, I wonder how much longer I’d still be breathing without their support.
I’m incredibly thankful for Declan. He took me out every single day. He helped me get out of bed, helped me brush my teeth and hair, and would take me out of the apartment to get fresh air. Walking to the coffee shop on the corner felt like the biggest chore, but I did it because I owed it to myself to fight my depression.
Without fail, every day that we returned from our walk, there would be a dozen roses waiting for me at the door, all from Dean.
I ignored them, not ready to speak to him. He wasn’t my priority; my mental health was.
Declan stayed with me for two months straight, escorting me to therapy three times a week, taking me to refill my new prescriptions, and making sure I was well taken care of. We still planned on getting divorced, but it was put on pause until I was doing better. We’d discussed it, agreeing to make it as quick and easy as possible.
Three weeks later, we discovered an upcoming opening at an inpatient mental health facility in California that Dr. Reynolds had told my parents and me about. I’d been on the waiting list for a month when we got the call. It was bougie and expensive as fuck, but my parents wrote the check before I could even protest.
Everyone wanted me to go and get the professional help I deserved.
Iwanted to go and get the help I desperately needed.
Before I left, I wanted to see Dean. Without question, Declan drove me to him.
We said goodbye once and for all, then the very next day, Declan and my family flew with me to California to check me into Ridge Creek Behavioral Health Facility, where I was treated for three months.
It took many sessions, lots of talking, and tears to work through everything I’d been holding in for years.
My depression started nearly eleven years ago when I made a life-changing decision at only fifteen. Since then, it’s slowly been getting worse to the point where I could no longer pull myself out of my dark moods.
Declan had wanted to go to California and stay while I completed inpatient treatment, but I wouldn’t let him. Instead, he returned to New York, and we FaceTimed every night, sometimes twice a day. Whenever I called, he always answered, no matter the time.
