Unquiet (22 page)

“But I need to be aware of the reality too, is what you’re saying,” Loren said quietly.

“Yes.” There was a short silence, and then Dr. Babcock continued, “That’s why a bipolar significant others’ support group will be vital, Loren. I can’t stress that enough. You need to have a safe place to talk about the issues that will come up, and get advice and strategies from people who live that reality every day.”

“I’ll use every tool I can get my hands on, Doctor. I can promise you that.”

“I don’t know you well yet, Loren, but I can see how committed you are to Eliot. The best advice I can give you is to talk things out with others who are walking in your shoes when you need to, and above all, be patient with him and with yourself.”

“Thank you,” Loren said gratefully. “You’ve been so helpful already, and I appreciate you letting me talk to you.”

“Eliot has given me full written permission to discuss him with you any time, and you’re more than welcome to call me day or night.”

“Do you know why he’s having a depressive episode now?” Loren asked. “Is there a reason, or is it something that just happens?”

“Sometimes it just happens due to his brain chemistry shifting,” she replied, “but I think in this case he let himself get anxious and upset about something and it affected him. I talked to him about increasing his antianxiety and mood stabilizer meds a bit to see if that will help, but he also needs some talk therapy in order to deal with the life stressors that everyone has to deal with.”

“What was it that upset him?” Loren asked, his voice tense. “Do you know?”

“Yes,” Dr. Babcock said, “and I’m happy to discuss his treatment with you and his medications, but as far as his feelings and any private thoughts that he shares with me, I don’t feel comfortable talking about them outside his presence. I hope you understand.”

“I do,” Loren said, “and I appreciate that. I’m going to see him as soon as I get to town in the next couple of days, and I’ll talk to him. But in the meantime, will you please call me if there’s any significant change?”

“Of course I will,” she reassured him.

They talked for a few more minutes before saying good-bye, and Loren had to resist the urge to floor the gas pedal, to drive straight through to Phoenix without stopping, his worry over Eliot tempered with his happiness at being on his way at last. Not only was one dream within his grasp, but two…. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve these blessings, but he wasn’t going to question it.

Loren gripped the steering wheel and drove down the interstate toward his new life.

ELIOT SAT
slumped on the couch in the common room, looking around dully as activity swirled in the background. A few women sat around a small table, making little bracelets out of beads, every now and then cursing as the slippery little pieces of plastic defied their grip and bounced onto the floor or rolled away. Still others worked on puzzles or drew pictures. Psychiatric hospital recreation rooms oftentimes reminded Eliot of preschool.

All of a sudden the couch cushions next to him dipped as someone sat down, and Eliot turned his head and looked straight into Loren’s smiling face.

“Hey, baby. I missed you,” Loren murmured, and Eliot managed a small smile but not much else, even though this was the first time he was seeing Loren in three weeks. His body felt weighted down by a thousand pounds of lead, and every movement he made was like swimming through sand.

“Your nurse says you’ve been a little down,” Loren said, an understanding sympathy in his voice. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It sucks,” Eliot whispered. “Dr. Babcock—”

“Adjusted your meds, both the antidepressant and the mood stabilizer, I know,” Loren interrupted gently. “I talked to her on my way down to Phoenix.” Eliot rolled his head along the couch to look at him, and Loren clarified, “The reason we talked was not to ask my permission, El, just to keep me informed. She said she had discussed the med change with you first and you agreed.”

“This isn’t really even that bad,” Eliot muttered. “At least I can still move and get out of bed.”

“I brought you something.” Loren rummaged in a bag at his feet and brought out a pair of adult-size
Pokémon
sleep pants, grinning as he held them up.

“Oh my God,” Eliot breathed, and a laugh bubbled up in his throat, startling him. It sounded rusty and weak, but it was a laugh.

Loren winked at him. “I have a pair too, so think about me wearing all these little Pikachus on my butt when I’m sleeping.”

“Thank you, Loren. I missed you too,” Eliot said, and Loren draped the pants across his lap and didn’t say anything more, just sat next to Eliot and held his hand, talking about starting his new job in a week and vowing he was going to do it as an out-and-proud gay man.

“This is a new beginning for me, El, in every way.”

Before long Loren lapsed into silence, sitting next to Eliot companionably until visiting hours came to an end. “I’ll be back tomorrow night, El,” he said, leaning over and giving Eliot a soft kiss on the lips. He didn’t wince or flinch away from Eliot’s greasy hair or unwashed body, just passed his thumb over Eliot’s scruffy cheek once, and then he was gone.

Erin came and led him back to his room to get ready for bed, got him his water and meds, and then left him alone. He appreciated her, appreciated that she didn’t harp on him to take a shower or try to force him to eat, or do any of the stupid activities in the rec room. The whole staff left him alone to ride out the depression. Loren was just what he needed too, a comforting, supportive, and undemanding presence.

Eliot wanted to wear his new sleep pants, to feel close to Loren even if it was in such a silly, irreverent way. He pulled them on, tracing the shape of one of the little yellow Pikachus that danced over every inch of the fabric, remembering how much Loren had loved that stupid show as a boy, how he crowed and was so happy with each new set of trading cards. Eliot missed the sweet innocence they both had back then, the easy friendship right from the start.

He lay down on his bed, hopelessness coursing through him. How long would Loren, such a vibrant, caring, and giving man, put up with Eliot’s shit? How long until Loren got tired of him and went looking for someone who wasn’t batshit crazy? Tears slid helplessly down his cheeks.

But what if Loren died? Eliot had been sitting in the courtyard several days ago, soaking up a gorgeous Arizona winter day, when he overheard two nurses on a break discussing a shooting that happened the night before, in which a police officer was killed during a routine traffic stop. The patients weren’t allowed to read the newspapers or watch the news on TV, but Eliot learned all about the incident from the accidentally overheard conversation. The resulting fear and worry over Loren’s safety ate at him for the rest of the day and into the night, and he wasn’t able to sleep despite his nightly pill. Before long he could feel his mood take a downward turn into depression.

Like he’d told Loren, the episode wasn’t as bad as it was in the past, and so he knew his meds were providing some underpinning of support, but it was still enough to make Eliot miserable and feel like a worthless human being. How could Loren love him?

Dr. Babcock came to see him after Erin alerted her to the change in Eliot’s status, and she’d said, “This is why you need the CBT, Eliot, the cognitive behavioral therapy. You’re going to need to learn how to adjust your thinking when things worry or upset you like this, especially when you have a partner who has a stressful, sometimes dangerous job. It’s a reality of life for him, and for you, and we’ve talked before how susceptible you are to stress and anxiety, and how it can affect your moods.”

Eliot didn’t say anything and she went on, her tone gentle, “Loren is an intelligent, capable man who will do everything he can to avoid putting himself in a position where he’s going to be hurt. He doesn’t do traffic stops, for one thing. He’s not doing undercover work right now. From what he’s told me about himself, he’s trained in a deadly Israeli martial art.

“Eliot, these are the kinds of things you need to tell yourself when the worry over Loren overwhelms you. You won’t be shielded from bad news when you get back into the real world, and Loren might want to talk about his work with you. You can learn to adjust your thinking and lower your own stress level while also being a supportive partner to Loren, a life partner who is interested in what he’s doing and is proud of him.”

Eliot nodded, and still he felt like crying. He wanted to be what Loren needed, but he was weak and stupid, and he knew deep down this was the depression talking, but at that moment, he really just wanted to die.

He couldn’t even give Loren a proper welcome home, had just sat there like a lump of dirt, not able to muster the energy or even the desire to ask Loren about his trip, about his Christmas, anything at all. Loren brought him a thoughtful, irreverent gift, and Eliot didn’t even give him a hug.

But you laughed, and you thanked him
, he suddenly remembered. Loren wasn’t mad or upset with him. He stayed there through all of the visiting hours just because he wanted to, and then he kissed Eliot good-bye and said he’d be back. It didn’t matter to Loren he was depressed; he still wanted to spend time with him. That realization caused the tiniest hint of warmth to spark in Eliot’s leaden chest, the yawning, gaping hole there closing just a little as the hope resurged.

Maybe, just maybe, it was truly a new beginning.

“WANNA SEE
my pussy?”

Eliot whipped around and saw Marty, in a bright yellow dress this time, had cornered a woman over by the puzzle table. It was the woman’s second time visiting, and she was waiting for her daughter, a near-catatonic depressive, to be brought into the rec room. The girl was in her twenties and horribly disfigured about the face and neck by burns. Eliot didn’t want to ask if she’d done it to herself, but considering the level of depression he’d observed in her, he wouldn’t be at all surprised. When you wanted the sweet relief of death, even the horror of the potential blood and agony involved in getting it didn’t deter you.

Marty repeated his question with more insistence, and the woman’s eyes were wild as she looked around for help. Eliot smiled and walked over to them, taking Marty’s arm.

“Hey, man,” he said. “Someone over here might like to see it.”

Eliot led him off to the sound of the woman’s audible sigh of relief. Marty was easily distractible, and soon Eliot had him involved in a haphazard game of checkers. The other man shouted and made random gestures, sometimes throwing the checkers, but they managed to play a rough game before Marty got up and wandered off again.

“Thanks, Eliot.” Eliot looked up to see Erin standing next to him, looking a little harried.

“No worries,” he said. “I like the old coot.”

Erin smiled. “You’re so good with him. With all of them, actually. You’d make a great psych nurse.”

Both Eliot and Erin knew that would never be in the cards for him due to the nature of his illness and the medications he was taking, but he appreciated the compliment and the spirit in which it was given.

“You could always volunteer at a group home,” Erin continued, “or an adult daycare. The patients would be less severely ill in those places, and I know the staff always appreciates someone who could come in and spend time with the residents. You’re so good at organizing activities and distracting them when they need it. It’s a huge help to me and the other nurses.”

“I enjoy it,” Eliot said. “I don’t know why, but I do.”

“Because you understand them. I can care about them and sympathize with their situation, but you bring empathy to the table. They pick up on that, even if they’re not all there. I’ve never seen Marty react to anyone as calmly as he does you. I think he knows that—”

“I’m crazy too?” Eliot said, his voice wry, and Erin laughed.

“I wouldn’t have put it that way, but that’s pretty much what I mean, yes,” she teased, and Eliot winked at her. He’d forgotten how nice it was to be treated as an equal by someone, not someone to be feared or pitied or avoided, but a valuable, contributing member of society. The only other person he’d felt that with before was Loren, and as if his thoughts had conjured him up, he appeared in the doorway.

“There’s that gorgeous man of yours,” Erin breathed, and Eliot gave a playful growl.

“Hands off, woman,” he said, and Erin shoved him a little and walked off, giggling.

Eliot promptly forgot about her as his eyes met Loren’s, and then he was in front of him and Eliot was in his arms.

“Hey,” Loren whispered as Eliot clung to him, and Eliot forced himself to ease his grip and step back. “You okay?” Loren cupped Eliot’s cheek, stroking the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

“Yeah, I just missed you,” Eliot whispered. “Three days is too long to go without seeing you.” Eliot kissed Loren’s palm before turning and leading the way to his favorite chair, an overstuffed recliner set a little ways back from the main conversational grouping. Loren sat down and Eliot perched on the arm, leaning against Loren’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get here before. Work has been brutal. Did you get my messages?” Loren asked, and Eliot leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“Yes, Erin told me,” he said, his tone reassuring. “Thanks for calling and letting her know you couldn’t come. I would have—”

“I would never worry you like that, El. I’ll always call if I can’t make it.”

Eliot slid a little closer until he was almost, but not quite, sitting in Loren’s lap. Nobody even gave them a second glance, as involved as they were with their own visits and distractions, and Loren seemed more than comfortable with the PDA. Which reminded Eliot of something.

“You never did tell me how coming out to your department went,” Eliot said, remembering Loren’s vow to start his new job as an “out-and-proud gay man.” Loren seemed serious about that, so Eliot was surprised when a faint red flush suffused Loren’s cheeks.

“I—um, I actually haven’t said anything yet.”