Clay ran his hand through his hair, a total giveaway that he was nervous and unsure. “I want to answer your questions. I really do. I want to put these fears of yours to rest. But at the same time, I’m worried I’ll bring us back to that place we were before. When everything was about me and my stuff. I don’t want that for us this time. It wasn’t fair to you.”

Gripping the blanket around me, I slithered onto his lap, my legs straddling him and I put my arms around his chest. Resting my cheek over his heart I could hear how fast it was beating. Past experience told me that talking about this could bring about a potential meltdown. Clay didn’t have a history of being very receptive to discussing his mental illness. But if we were both serious about being totally open, then I couldn’t tip toe around the bigger issues.

“But, Clay, if we don’t talk about it, things won’t change. You and I spent way too much time ignoring what was going on. We can’t do that again,” I pleaded.

I felt Clay take a deep breath, my body rising and falling with his. His fingers curled into tight fists as he held me. This was an important moment. For both of us. Denial and mistrust had characterized our relationship for so long. Nothing but total honesty would be welcome from here on out.

“It’s hard. Every day, every minute, is a struggle,” he began. I sat up so that I could look at him. He stared off to the side, his jaw tense.

“When I was admitted to the Grayson Center, I was a mess. After everything that happened in North Carolina, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was so screwed up in the head that on my first night there, I tried to climb out of my window.” I wish I could have been surprised by his revelation but I wasn’t. I remembered all too well the state he was in when I had left him that hospital room in the hands of the two people who loved him the least, even when it was their job to support him.

“I was caught of course. And I spent five days on some heavy duty tranquilizers. I was kept numb and emotionless until I was able to start dealing with things. You know you’re in a bad place when drool starts to crust over on your face because it’s been there for so long,” Clay grimaced and I blanched.

“Well, that’s a really gross image,” I muttered. All I could think about was the movie Shutter Island and the electroshock therapy and patients wandering around in long white gowns.

Clay gave a humorless laugh before returning to his story. “I was poked and prodded so much that I felt like some sort of science experiment gone badly, but I just didn’t care. I was past worrying about myself. I hated my parents, I hated myself, I hated the staff, my only thought was biding my time until I could leave. And I knew once that happened, I would make sure to finish what I had started in that motel room.”

My heart was hammering in my chest. This is exactly what I was afraid of. This was everything I had feared for him when his parents took him away. To know that he had been alone and suffering was like a knife to my gut.

I discreetly brushed away the tears that had silently made their way down my cheeks, making sure that he didn’t see how much his words were hurting me. I knew that if he saw, he may shut down and not talk about it at all. And I didn’t want that, even though his story was tearing me apart.

“But at some point, it all changed. I’m not sure what did it exactly. Maybe it was the new medication. Once I was off the Lithium and started taking the Tegretol, I started to feel…well, not better exactly, but I wasn’t experiencing the out of control swings anymore. The f**ked up thing was I missed the mania. I still miss it. I liked the person I was when I was feeling that high.” He sounded almost wistful when talking about his manic swings. I didn’t understand how he could ever want to feel like that, but I didn’t say anything. The truth was I’d never understand any of this. I could only listen and support him.

“But you’re still taking your meds, right?” I had to ask. His refusal to take his medication had been our biggest problem. He needed them. He couldn’t function without them. I wasn’t sure there would ever be a day I didn’t worry whether he was taking them or not.

Clay met my eyes, they burned straight into mine. “Yes, Maggie. I haven’t missed a pill since I started the Tegretol. I swear to you, I won’t do that to myself again,” he said firmly and with total conviction. My belly uncoiled a bit.

Clay ran his hands up and down my back, as though the action comforted him. I knew this was hard for him to talk about.

“I know that stopping my medication isn’t an option. I’ll have to take them every day for the rest of my life. It’s just how it is. I think I’ve come to terms with that. Or at least, I’m trying.” The rhythmic movement of his hands continued and I tried to relax. But I was wound too tight.

“I’m glad to hear that,” I told him and he gave me a small smile but didn’t respond to my statement.

“Dr. Todd said sometimes it takes changing your medication multiple times until you find something that works with your body chemistry. I was lucky that I found what worked for me so quickly. Because the trial and error period is horrible. I saw it first hand in some of the other patients. They were miserable.”

“Dr. Todd?” I asked.

Clay nodded. “Yeah, Dr. Todd. He was my therapist at Grayson’s. He’s pretty cool. He’s the first shrink I’ve had that made me feel like I had a chance at dealing with everything. He just…got me, you know?”