Page 51 of Notorious

“Over the past few months, have you isolated yourself?”

“Kinda. Maybe. I mean, yeah, I guess.” I tilt my head. “Is all of this depression? I thought depression was sitting in a dark room and crying. I go for runs. I … function.”

“Depression can manifest in many ways,” Christian says. “Yes, I’m inclined to think you’re experiencing a major depressive episode. Especially given your recurrent thoughts of suicide. Besides work, do you do things you enjoy?”

I laugh mirthlessly. “No. Can’t think of any. Shoot, I’m not good at this. I dunno how to talk about it.”

“You’re doing just fine. Men can be less likely to discuss their feelings and seek help, which means their issues are more likely to go undiagnosed and untreated. But you’re doing a great job right now. Keep it up.”

“So what do I do about all this? Are you gonna put me on drugs?”

“You seem fairly stable right now, and I can see your partner is supportive, but given the degree of planning you described, I think a short inpatient stay would be beneficial for you while we figure out what, if any, medication may be appropriate. What do you think about inpatient care? It would give you an opportunity to really focus on your recovery. Is that something you’re interested in?”

“No,” I say, and Kurt stiffens his back and starts to cross his arms over his chest. There’s my pushy husband. “But I’ll do it anyway.” I put my head in my hands for a moment, then look up, my eyes stinging. “I gotta be up-front with you. I’m tired enough to try anything.”

She gives me a compassionate smile. “I think you’ll be glad you did.” She turns to Kurt. “Will you be okay managing without your husband for a few days?”

We haven’t told her that we just got married or any of that, and it feels like she doesn’t need to know. For now, Kurt’s mine, and that’s all that really matters. He’s acting like a husband should, and I’m beyond grateful for that.

“I’ll miss him, but I’ll support him in anything he needs,” Kurt says. I believe him. He’s done nothing but be supportive of me since he found my pills. I wonder how different our lives would be if he hadn’t.

Would we have gotten our marriage annulled?

Would I be dead by now?

I shudder.

“What’s going on in your head?” Christian asks.

“Just thinking about my choices.”

“Everything you do is a choice,” she says. “Do you understand that?”

“I do. Just sometimes it feels like I have no choice.”

“What does having no choice feel like?”

“Hopeless.” Hot tears sting my eyes.

“Do you want to feel better?” Christian asks softly.

Do I?

I told Kurt I’d go along with this, but I’m not sure I’ve made the decision deep down. In the back of my head, I always knew I could ditch him and kill myself somehow. But … I can’t go on like this. That’s clear. And if the doctors can help, then, “Yes. I wanna feel better,” I say, and Kurt lets out a breath.

I mean it, I think, for the first time.

Fucking loser.

“I’m very glad to hear you say that,” Christian says. “The most important thing for your recovery is that you decide to get better. That’s it. I’m not saying there won’t be a lot of work ahead, but deciding is the key to everything. It comes from the Latin word decidere, which literally means to cut off. You’re cutting off all other options. There’s no going back, Johnny. Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah.” My voice is barely above a whisper.

“Good. That’s the essential first step.”

Christian tells us about a facility close by that she recommends. “You can go inpatient for a few days—they’ll decide how long based on your evaluation and how you respond once you’re there. After that, there’s a two-week daily outpatient care program where they come and get you and you attend sessions for a half day. Then we could go into a more commonplace therapy schedule, maybe once or twice a week at first. How does that plan sound?”

“It’s overwhelming,” I admit.

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