Page 67 of Perfect Chemistry

“Do you remember the steps?” Kara asked.

“I do, Doctor G,” I said smiling.

She moved over to me and pulled me into a tight hug. I was a little startled at first but I hugged her back.

“If you need me, you just call. If you feel like you are falling backward, use your support mechanisms. Tell me what they are,” she encouraged me as we both pulled back from our hug.

“Talk it out. If my words are jumbled, I use running or another physical exercise to exhaust my brain so I don’t spiral. No binging on cakes, chocolates, coffees or alcohol. Stay away from adrenaline-inducing sports or activities until I don’t need to follow this list of shit,” I repeated.

“And how do you know when that is?” she asked.

“When I stop repeating the fucking list every day.”

“What happens if they aren’t enough?”

“I use my support network and ask for help,” I smiled shyly at her.

“That’s right. There is no shame in asking for help. We’re…..what?” she asked.

“Human. We’re just human,” I replied.

She nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. “We’re human, Katie. We are fragile humans. It’s okay to be fragile, remember that,” she reminded me.

This had been the longest six months of my life. After having a complete dissociative breakdown in Colonel G’s office, I was admitted for inpatient psychiatric care within a newly established military treatment facility called an Intrepid Center. They specialized in treatment of post traumatic stress disorders and traumatic brain injury rehabilitation and recovery.

I was poked, prodded, scanned, assessed, and questioned for two weeks as part of their intake procedures, also called Phase I. Once Phase I was complete, I was handed over to my “team” to begin Phase II. I had an assigned physical therapist, a neurologist, an osteopath, a counselor, a psychologist, a behavioral therapy specialist, a physical trainer, and a pharmacist.

It was exhausting keeping up with everything at first. Every minute of every day was strictly controlled and regimented for the first two months. What I ate, when I took meds and what meds I took was strictly controlled. From there, I graduated to Phase III. This felt more like a series of skills workshops. I learned archery and started swimming again. I attended a couple of fishing excursions with other participants, and learned how to cope with my grief and my traumas in a healthy way.

Andie came down several times to visit me, but I had declined my parents’ requests to see me. I knew they were worried about me. I understood where they were coming from. But I didn’t forgive them for the shit that I was subjected to in my time of crisis. Did I hold them responsible for the things they could not help? No.

But I did hold them accountable for the decisions they made with regard to my care. My wishes were repeatedly overridden by them. My concerns were not given attention, and my privacy violated. I blocked them on social media so I wouldn’t see the year and a half of posts asking for prayers ’because Katie hit another rough patch.’

I would heal my relationship with them eventually, but first I needed to figure out who the hell I was again. I would be officially released from the Marine Corps in three months, but I was using all of my unused leave to move to New England to learn woodworking and carpentry. I fell in love with turning wood during one of the many different skills workshops. It took some time and research, but I eventually found three schools in the country offering comprehensive woodworking courses.

I applied to all three schools with Colonel G’s help with the application processes. She even sent a push letter to each school with pictures of my work to help me get a slot, I had been accepted into the only school on the East coast. The man who owned the school was a Master Craftsman, and had established it to keep his trade from dying out. After my acceptance, Martin, the owner, found a family for me to board with while I was attending classes.

The school was one year, and would allow me time to figure out what my next steps were. The family I would move in with seemed like a sweet older couple. Lucas and Mandy Black had a small mother-in-law suite above their garage that I would rent for the duration of my schooling. Lucas was a retired veteran, and a close friend of Martin’s. They thought I would be most comfortable with people who “got” what I had been through.

Mandy wrote me an email with pictures of the small apartment, and even sent me a map of where everything was in town. She included the locations of the local VFW and American Legion, as well as locations for all of the VA hospitals and clinics within 100 miles. The last email included a request for power of attorney that would allow them to make decisions on my behalf in the event that emergency life-saving measures became necessary. As Mandy explained, the power of attorney needed to be very specific to the point it would be voided once my next of kin arrived.

The amount of care and consideration was overwhelming, to say the least.

“Have you finished clearing?” Andie asked as she and Jonas walked up to help me with the rest of my bags.

I nodded.

My sisters and parents had packed up my entire house while I was in the hospital. My dad drove a loaded moving truck back home, where they put all of my stuff into storage until I decided where I wanted to live next. I lost my mind when I found out.

I was so angry, I threw a tantrum and tried to destroy my hospital room. It wasn’t that they had done it that bothered me. I had only been in the hospital for a month at that point, and spoken with them frequently. At no time did any of them ask what I wanted, or tell me what they were doing.

When I had finally calmed down enough to hear everything out, I revoked their visitations, and any powers of attorney they held were voided by a court order.

Andie and Jonas were the only people who cared enough to ask what my wishes were. Since I turned 18, Andie was the only person who ever really stood by me through it all without judgment. Then there was Jonas. That man was a saint the way he spoiled Andie, but a fucking demon if you messed with his family. They were perfect together.

“Babe? Did you load everything up?” Andie asked Jonas, as he closed the back of the SUV.

“No… I thought I would open and close the hatch each time for the arm workout,” he said, trying to hide his smirk.

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