Losing Leah

Looking at her now, cheerful and happy, it was hard to believe that a week ago she had tried to end her life.

“You want to go down and wait in the rec room with me?” she asked, bouncing to her feet. She was like a damn kangaroo. “That way we’ll be the first ones there when they let the visitors in.” This wasn’t Trisha’s first stay at Brookville Mental Facility or Broken-v

ille, as some of the residents liked to refer to it.

I hesitated before answering, wiping my hands that were suddenly damp on my pant legs. “I guess,” I said, climbing to my feet.

I wanted to see Jacob and Mom. I knew I was ready, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t terrified. What would they say? What would I say? I was a completely different person now. I knew I had a sickness, but I still didn’t understand the inner workings of it. Dr. Marshall claimed we might never understand it, but acceptance was the first step. Talking about my past had been the second step, and from there we have been moving forward. Would my family accept me like this? I wouldn’t know until I saw them.

“Yay, I can’t wait to see my family. Baillie said Mom baked me my favorite cookies last night. Wait until you taste them. They practically melt in your mouth.” Trisha linked her arm through mine as we left our room.

I was tempted to pull away. Everyone I thought I could trust since I had escaped Judy’s had left me. Logically, I knew Trisha was different. She wasn’t a friend my brain had conjured up. She was real, which made me want to pull away even more.

Other patients called out to Trisha as we walked down the hall together. None called out my name. Trisha had been back five days and already seemed to talk to everyone in the whole facility. I’d been here over a month and spoke only to Dr. Marshall, or on occasion in group therapy when they forced a question on me.

Trisha though never shut up. She was like Gunner and Heather rolled into a tiny magpie on crack. If she sprouted feathers, I wouldn’t have been surprised.

Trisha dragged me to one of the tables where a checkerboard sat with the pieces scattered about. I sat down, lost in my thoughts as I idly flipped one of the pieces in between my fingers. The board brought back memories that didn’t even exist. I thought Gunner taught me to play checkers, but it had been another trick from my brain. Dr. Marshall explained it as something I had most likely learned years prior. Judy punished me to repress any of my life before her involvement until eventually all my memories became buried. Gunner had a free pass on all those memories.

“Do you want to play?” Trisha asked, plopping her feet up on the empty chair beside me.

The red piece slipped from my fingers, rolling toward the edge of the table. “Not right now,” I answered, catching the piece before it could roll off.

Trisha shrugged, jumping up from the table and joining a couple of other patients who were in the middle of a card game. She interjected herself in their conversation like she’d been a part of it from the very beginning. I envied her ease, her natural personality. If not for the stark white bandages around her wrists, I would say she didn’t belong here. She wasn’t like the boy sitting in the corner yelling at a speck on the wall or the girl three rooms down from ours who screamed all night. Sadly, they both showed traits I had myself. I’d done both.

The rec room became busier as visiting hours approached. Trisha came back to my table, chatting about the gossip she had gleaned from her brief time with the other group. I listened with half an ear, keeping my eyes on the door. I couldn’t care less that one of the nurses had gotten fired for getting too friendly with one of the patients or what nurse gave out extra meds if you slipped her some extra cash.

I wiped my hands on my pants, wishing they’d stop sweating so much. I was being ridiculous. It wasn’t like Mom and Jacob were going to bite me or anything. Dr. Marshall reassured me they were dying to see me. I’d argued that they didn’t even know me, but she countered with the suggestion that this could be a new beginning for our family. As the minutes ticked by, I almost lost my nerve, thinking another time would be better.

Before I could make my move to leave they walked through the door. Mom’s arms were around me instantly. “Sweetie, I’ve been so worried. Dr. Marshall told us you were doing better, but I wouldn’t believe her until I saw you with my own eyes. She was right though. You look amazing. Healthy.” She paused in her gushing, releasing me so Jacob could give me a hug.

“Hey, sis,” he said, giving me a tentative hug like he was afraid I was going to break. “You look good.”

Their words were kind, but I knew what they were thinking. Crazy. We all knew it. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t true.

“Why don’t we go for a walk around the pond,” Mom suggested as the noise level in the room rose.

“Okay,” I agreed. I was ready to escape the crowds anyway.

The sun was shining bright as we stepped outside. Summer was just around the corner, but the humidity made it feel like it was already here. I didn’t care. I loved being outdoors, spending the majority of my time there when I wasn’t in my therapy sessions. The facility was fenced in, but well hidden behind trees and shrubbery that provided privacy from the outside world.

“How are you doing?” Mom asked, reaching for my hand.

My favorite question. I weighed my words, searching for the right answer. The question was simple, but required an answer that was heavy and cumbersome. How did I convey how I was feeling when it all felt so complex? “Better,” I finally answered. Better was a safe word. In truth, it was the most appropriate word. I did feel better. At times I was terrified at the complexities of my mind and what it was capable of. Other times I felt huge waves of relief that my mind had gotten me to where I was now. Dr. Marshall said it made me strong. It gave me the will to survive.

“I’m so glad, sweetie. Are they treating you okay?”

I nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked as we looped the pond.

They didn’t have to ask what I meant. The time to treat me like I was too fragile to handle the truth had passed.

“We should have. Dr. Marshall wanted me to admit you as soon as we realized your condition was persisting. I was the one who wanted to give you a chance to adjust at home. I hoped it would get better.”

“Persisting? Is that a nice way of saying still off her rocker? I was talking to people who weren’t even real. You guys just thought it would go away?”

My words were harsh, but Dr. Marshall had encouraged me to speak my mind. I kept my tone even so they would at least know I didn’t blame them. They were in a tough position. I realized that. All my anger had been hashed out in therapy along with my embarrassment. I did feel bad for Jacob though. He was forced to endure all the repercussions of my fallout at school. I wondered if that had something to do with his uncharacteristic silence.

“I’m sorry about the whole school thing,” I told him as we looped the pond a second time.