This isn’t something we’ve ever talked about as a family. Sure, Dad sent us all for counseling, but not together. When we were kids and Mom had passed away, Dad blamed himself. Saying he shouldn’t have let her take the risk. And instead of letting us all know the truth, that she had been the one who wanted the surgery, he allowed us to believe it was him because he didn’t want to tarnish her memory. And in his mind, he’d failed our mother and deserved to shoulder the blame.
And as he breaks down, as we all do, I feel like we’re finally on the road to healing.
As we talk and share stories, I tell them that they aren’t to blame for me ending up here. “You’ve both always been so supportive of me, and sometimes what I was told wasn’t always what I heard. A lot of the pressures I felt were of my own making.”
“I should have seen that you were taking on too much,” Van argues.
“Now that I’m no longer in it, I can see what it was doing to me. All of those jobs were a distraction from the real issues. It started as me trying to figure out what I liked and quickly spiraled into me trying to take on the world and not wanting to disappoint anyone. They made me feel important, essential. At least on the surface.”
“No one would have faulted you if you wanted to quit a few of those jobs,” Van says softly.
“I know, but they were a diversion from the real work that needed to be done. And that work needed to be done on me.” I squeeze his arm. “Sometimes we need to dig out all the bullshit so we can get to the heart of the matter. Which is what I’m doing now.”
“Will you come back to Pearl Lake when the program is over?” Van asks.
“You know you’re always welcome back at home, if you think Chicago would be better,” Dad offers. “I know I haven’t been the best dad, or the most present, but you always have a place with me.”
This is one of the things I’ve talked through with my therapist over the past couple of weeks. Where I plan to go when the program is over. I’ve done a lot of reading while I’ve been in treatment and listened to all the stories of the other people who are here too. They all say the same thing, that I need time to recover, to stand on my own. And I’m not sure Pearl Lake is the right place to do that. At least not yet. Eventually, yes, I want to make it my home. But for now living with my dad is probably the better, smarter plan if I truly want to recover and heal.
“I want to come back to Pearl Lake eventually, but I think I might need a few months to work on me before I can do that.”
“You can stay with me for as long as you want,” Dad says.
“And you can visit me and Dillion whenever you feel like it. The apartment above the garage is yours.” Van hugs me for what has to be the tenth time.
I feel like I’m taking steps in the right direction.
But the next one is going to be a lot harder than this.
CHAPTER 29
WAIT FOR ME
Teagan
After thirty days my therapist and my doctor believe I’m ready to start my new life. I’ve been weaned off the Adderall completely. I have a new prescription for the anxiety that is much better for me, and I’ve kicked my energy drink and caffeine pill habit.
I feel like a very different version of myself, but I’m aware that inside the protective walls of a treatment center I’m insulated and secure, outside them not so much. So I decide that I’m going to move back to Chicago for a few months, at the very least.
I’ll still consult on designs for the Stitches and go to Pearl Lake once a week, but I’ll be working remotely otherwise. And I’m still managing the fall farmers’ market, but I have lots of help this time.
There’s one other thing I need to manage, though, and it’s going to be hard.
I know Aaron and I are on a “pause,” but I shouldn’t be in a relationship. Not for the foreseeable future.
While this isn’t a typical “addiction,” what I’m going through still fits under that umbrella. And my therapist suggests I spend the next six months focused on myself. Or maybe even longer, depending on how things go outside the walls of the treatment center.
So when I tell Aaron that I’m going to stay in Chicago for a few months, he asks if he can pick me up and drive me home. Of course I say yes.
This isn’t a conversation I want to have over the phone. He’s far too important to me, and he deserves better.
I haven’t seen him since he dropped me off and I tried to make him give me an ultimatum. Which was so unfair of me. I see that now, but I couldn’t see it then. I was scared of the path I was going down. And scared to lose him. I’m still scared. Because my therapist isn’t wrong. I need to be a better me before we can be an us again. And I don’t know how long that’s going to take.
I don’t have any makeup with me, not even mascara, so all I can do is shower and smell good. They confiscate most personal effects, apart from our own clothes. We’re not even allowed to use our own shampoo, because sometimes people will try to smuggle in pills in Ziploc baggies. I only found that out when I saw it happen the second week I was here.
Aaron and I have talked as much as they’ll allow while I’ve been here, but seeing him is different from a phone call. I don’t know if things are going to be the same or different.
Well, I know they’ll be different, but I don’t know to what extent. Aaron has seen me at rock bottom. He knows what it looks like when I’m falling apart, and part of me understands that with everything he’s already been through, I might be too much for him. That a pause with no real definitive end date might not be something he can manage.
I have to come to terms with the possibility that moving forward, there might not be an us.
It makes sense that I had trouble with breakfast this morning. Normally when I’m this stressed out, I’ll avoid food altogether and go for coffee. I might spend hours on a Pinterest board to escape my own brain.
But this morning I drank a fruit shake and spent two hours on meditative yoga. Caffeine has been limited to one coffee a day. I typically drink it with breakfast but skipped it this morning because I was already jittery enough. I don’t run from my fears today. Instead, I face them down and accept that whatever is going to happen is out of my control, but I decide how I’ll deal with whatever is coming.
I pack my things and thank the staff and my team, and then I wait for him to arrive. I’ll miss the serenity here, but I’m ready to get back to my life and the people I love, no matter what that looks like.
When he pulls up in his truck, my heart skips a few beats. And when he steps out, his smile wide and warm, it kicks into a full gallop.
This is going to be hard. Harder than I thought.
He jogs up the front steps and folds me into his embrace. He buries his face in my hair, and I feel his lips on my neck.
“I missed you so fucking much, babe,” he murmurs against my skin.
I return the embrace, breathing in the scent of his cologne and absorbing the feel of his arms wrapped around me, blanketing me in his strength. “I missed you, too, so much.”
We stand there for a long time, just holding on to each other. Long enough that my nerves take over and I feel a few chips in my resolve. But I remind myself that we can’t go back to how things were. That I need to be able to stand on my own before I can stand beside him.