"Mom? Are you okay? What are you talking about?" I called. I ran to the bottom of the stairs, but they were already gone.
I could hear her crying and my father pleading with her. He kept telling her over and over again that we were not talking about her. I knew when my mother's downswings hit, one of the worst signs was paranoia. Still, something about her reaction made me wonder. We had been talking about Sienna cheating on Owen. Why would my mother think we were talking about her? Had she cheated on my father?
I knew my father wanted privacy. He wanted to fix what was wrong with my mother and pretend like nothing had happened. Instead, I went upstairs and found him pounding on the hallway bathroom door. My mother was locked inside and sobbing.
"Quinn, go downstairs. I can handle this," my father said. He rattled the door handle hard and threw his shoulder against the wood. "Barbara, just open the door, darling."
"She's not making sense," I said. "You have to know this is a really bad sign. We have to get her to come out."
"Everything's fine, Quinn. Just go downstairs," he said.
"Mom? Tell me what's going on. Are you okay?" I called through the door.
"No, no, no, I don't want you to know. My baby, my baby, no one is ever going to look at me the same again. It’s too much. Too much," she said.
"Barbara, stop! Just stop. I'm coming in. You're fine," my father said.
There were sounds of drawers opening and slamming closed. My mother was searching for something while she muttered, "Too much, too much."
My father stopped, frozen against the solid wood of the door. "My shaving kit is in there," he said.
"Take the hinges off," I said. My father started pulling on them as I ran for the pliers I knew were in the hall closet. We pulled the hinges loose and took the door completely off the frame.
Inside, my mother was standing over the sink. She had tried to cut one wrist and blood had sprinkled all over the white porcelain sink. She had then tried to wipe up the mess with her uninjured hand and stood holding a bloody tissue.
"Barbara, no. Why?" my father asked. He sank to his knees in the hallway.
I stepped around him and took hold of my mother's injured arm. "It’s not deep. She went across, not down. Here, Mom, let me stop the bleeding. Don't worry, I'll clean up too," I said.
"I'm worthless, don't bother. Just leave me alone. I deserve it," she sobbed.
"That's not you talking, it’s your sickness, Mom. Here, sit down on the edge of the bath tub. Let me clean you up," I said. I took the first aid kit from under the sink and tore open a package of gauze. The bleeding slowed as I dabbed it away to reveal a small cut. She had not really tried to kill herself, the horizontal cut meant she was just crying out for help.
"Sick?" she asked in a small voice.
"Yes. Mom, I think you have a type of bi-polar disorder. It explains the big mood swings, the times you feel jumpy and unsettled, the talking too fast, and any inappropriate behavior that seems way outside the ordinary for you. This isn't you, it’s the sickness," I said.
"Quinn, baby, you shouldn't know. It’s too much. My baby, my baby doesn't need to know. I love you and I don't want you to look at me different," she said.
I hugged her tight. "I love you and I will always love you."
"Does she need stitches?" my father asked. He pulled himself to his feet.
"No, but she should go to the hospital," I said.
"We have something to calm her, she just needs to rest," he said. "Darling? Quinn is going to fix up your little cut and then we'll get you settled in bed. Alright?"
My mother nodded meekly. I stood up and pushed my father into the hallway. "She needs to be observed all night. This was not okay. Please tell me you know this is not okay."
"Quinn, please, I've been dealing with this a lot longer than you," my father said. "She has sleeping pills that will help calm her down and I am here. This isn't for you to worry about."
"So you won't take her to the hospital?"
"No, everything's fine. Why don't you go downstairs and get your mother some water? I'll help get her comfortable," he said.
My legs felt like jelly all the way down to the kitchen and back upstairs. I spilled part of the water when I saw the unhinged door leaning against the hallway wall. The whole incident was terrifying and it took all my concentration not to drop the water glass completely. I took deep breaths all the way down the hall to my mother's bedroom.
She was tucked into bed, sitting up wrapped in a tight hug from my father. He sat next to her and smoothed her hair as he held her. When they heard me come in the room, he stood up and took the water from me. I watched my mother take a sleeping pill, her eyes still darting back and forth wildly.