For a second time my parents took me earlier than advised. Outpatient recovery wasn’t sure if I was ready, suggesting I stay another month. Although necessary, I hated my time there. I wanted to live again. I insisted on returning to my old life.
My stubbornness is a force to be reckoned with. Mom told me later that she knew I would change my mind, but I had to just figure it out for myself. She came to San Francisco to help me get adjusted.
First I had to find a psychiatrist. With aspirations of a Lithium free life someday, I committed to a year of pharmaceuticals for my family. I remember this process being so hard. I hated the recommended guy and moving about the city was so DIFFICULT. Annoyed with the failure of my first attempt I went out to a lunch with friends… focusing was impossible….
Maybe life is harder than I thought. Maybe they’re right. I went to a few workout sessions and my body moved clumsily. I gained pounds by the day. My handwriting was on par with a grade schoolers. How am I going to work? I was fired, who wants to hire a fired person?! Oh my God, this apartment. I CAN’T BE HERE.
Very quickly I surrendered .
Relieved, my mom sprung into action and just like that we were packing to move. Broke the lease early, made arrangements with my roommate. In a matter of days a U-Haul was packed.
As my mom drove me over the Golden Gate Bridge for the last time I looked back on the city I loved so much. The cityscape twinkled in the sunlight. My mind traced over the happy memories I made there, experiences and people that were imprinted in my mind before the awful things. So much had happened there. The dreams of glory I held close to my heart a year before shattered into a million little pieces. I shattered with them… safely into my childhood bedroom in my parent’s basement in Bellevue, Washington.