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After some time passed, Brandt asked if Grady could come in. I listened to them whisper in the hallway as I stared expressionlessly out my hospital window.
"She needs help," Brandt urged.
"Maybe I can try?" Grady asked.
"We've lost her, Grady. She was on the verge when her family died, and I think the only thing that brought her back was this baby. I don't know if we are going to be able to help her on our own."
"I'm not saying she shouldn't get professional help, but I'm not giving up on her," Grady said, determined.
"What are you saying? That I'm giving up? That woman in there is the only thing keeping me together. Getting her help is my way of not giving up on her."
"Dude, I'm sorry. I just…I'm sorry."
I tuned out the rest of their conversation, letting my tears soak the pillow, as I got lost in the rainy skies. The sky had opened and was flooding the world with the tears of a million losses. One more added today.
Grady sneaked around and sat in the chair, blocking my view of the outside. "Hey."
I stared past him, still picturing the beauty of the cloudy day. He shifted in the seat, leaning over and resting his arms on his knees, his long hair falling in his eyes.
"We can do this, Bay. We can get through this…together. All three of us. We've done it before, so I know we can do it again."
I felt sorry for him. He was trying hard to bring me back, but he wasn't talking to Baylor anymore. He was talking to an empty shell. It didn't matter what anyone said or did; I couldn't come back this time.
He moved his chair right in front of me, took my hand, and rested his head on the bed.
"You don't have to say anything. Never talk again, if that's what you need. But you have to come back, if not for anything but Brandt and me. We need you, Bay."
I finally looked down at his head buried by my side. I should have reached out and petted his head to comfort him. To give him reassurance I would be okay one day, but I didn't, because I couldn't give him that. I was too far gone now. I was sucked into the dark world of the hopeless. I had died inside, and it was only a matter of time before my body caught up.
Grady and Brandt took turns sitting in my room during my stay. The psychiatrist had visited me, too. She talked, but I didn't hear anything she said. I just wanted everyone to leave me alone. When I wasn't sleeping, I was crying, and when I wasn't crying, I was a prisoner in dark thoughts of death. The train wreck replayed countless times in my head and I couldn't find my way out.
Days had passed, and after they made me walk around and prove my body was functioning properly, I was released. They conducted a small assessment of my mental stability before releasing me and somehow still discharged me.
A mistake on everyone's part.
They wheeled me to the sidewalk as Brandt went to get the car. A scene of déjà vu, only this time we were at a hospital in San Diego. Staring at my hands had become my stability and I had chewed the nails down to nubs, a habit that replaced the carefree twirl of my hair. Grady waited with a nurse and me, but no one spoke. In fact, people stopped talking around me after a few days of my silence.
The psychiatrist came to my room every day. She was the only one who talked to me. She prescribed a list of medications when I was discharged, including daily visits with her. I was on the daily visit schedule, which only proved further how far I had drifted.
My thoughts became jumbled at times. The memory of the crash blurred with the death of my baby, and sometimes I couldn't distinguish them as two different events. I imagined I had a little girl named Tessa, and she was healthy and happy. When reality would return, I realized she was just a figment of a hope I once had.
The drive home was quiet as the boys watched me carefully. They barely existed to me anymore. I did what they said, surviving on autopilot now. When we got home, Brandt helped me into bed, and I went to sleep. I thought as I drifted off maybe this would be it. Maybe this time I wouldn't wake up in this nightmare. Maybe I would wake up in a dream where everyone was still alive and little Tessa doted on her grandparents. Maybe this whole time I was living in the wrong reality, and I would wake up and finally find my way back. Maybe meant hope, and hope didn't exist anymore.
I FUMBLED WITHmy fingers on my lap. I was sitting on a leather couch in Dr. Paige Caldwell's office. I had seen a lot of her over the weeks, and I really liked her. She didn't act like she was better than me, and she certainly didn't look like a psychiatrist. She told me at some point she was twenty-eight, which seemed young for her credentials. She had long black hair that fell over her shoulder as she jotted down some notes, sitting across from me. She was patient with me. We made very little progress in our sessions, although I was talking now. I guess that was progress.
"Baylor, we need to find something that makes you feel like you have a purpose. Can I be frank?"
"Yeah."
"I'm worried about you. I'm sure you've heard that multiple times as of late, but from a medical standpoint, I am legitimately afraid for you. Are you taking the anti-depressants I prescribed?" she asked. I shook my head shamefully. "Look, there's only so much I can do. Those drugs are meant to work with me, like a team. You need to start taking them."
"Okay." I gnawed on my fingers. I had successfully mangled my fingertips for life.
I was seeing her on a regular basis, but I rarely spoke. It was as if my mind had forgotten how to work. Nothing sounded or looked right. My thoughts were confused and I felt disoriented. And I slept most of the time. I wasn’t getting any better and, while the drugs might have helped, I didn’t care. I was numb and I was done trying.
