Page 22 of Stay With Me

“Yeah. Sure. And you have nothing to be sorry about. I deserve all of that.”

Teddy clears his throat and puts his fist over his mouth, closes his eyes for a second, then opens them again and peers right at me. When he lowers his fist from his face, he clutches his coffee mug, as if it can give him strength.

“There is no excuse for what I did. None. And I will regret it until the day I die. But I want to tell you some things I’ve learned recently. After… after you broke up with me, I got really low, lower than I’ve ever been?—”

“That’s not my fault, Teddy.”

He puts up his hand, palm facing toward me, to stop me. “I know, Em. I promise, I know.” He runs a tremulous hand through his hair. “When it happened, I missed a few days of work, but Jack was checking on me. He said you had messaged him about what happened so, thank you for that. You didn’t owe me that much, for sure. Anyway, he took me to the ER, worried about my state of mind. They did a bunch of blood work and tests to make sure nothing was physically wrong with me. And they discharged me with a follow-up appointment that I had to promise to keep. With a psychiatrist.”

Teddy pauses, taking a sip of his coffee, so I take one of my latte, feeling my anger dissipate slightly and wanting to look at something other than him for a second.

“So, I had an appointment scheduled but some things happened, and I missed it. But eventually I got seen by the doctor. Long story short, I received a diagnosis in October that was really hard to hear, but explained a lot about me and why… why I am the way I am.”

I look up at him, but he’s staring at his hands. Shit, I may be furious at him, but I don’t want him to be sick.

“What kind of diagnosis?”

When Teddy looks back up at me, his eyes are misty, his features turned downward.

“I have bipolar disorder. Type One.” He hesitates, scrubbing his hands down his face. “H-have you heard of it?”

“I’ve heard of it, but I don’t know much about it except it’s depression. Is that right?”

“Sort of, yes. But think of it like extremes. Mine causes periods of mania, which seem to make me euphoric and impulsive and prone to making poor decisions, followed by severe depressive episodes.”

A server stops at our table to top off Teddy’s coffee, and he gives her a small smile and thanks her. I wait until she leaves to speak.

“Wow. I’m really sorry to hear that, Teddy.” I hesitate, not sure if I should say what I’m thinking next, but I decide to be honest. “It does kind of make sense, though, thinking back through the years, doesn’t it?”

He frowns and nods his head. “Yeah, unfortunately. I was in denial when I first got the diagnosis, convinced it must be wrong. But it’s not.” He takes another sip of his coffee, then clears his throat. “When I finally accepted it, with a lot of support from Jack, I started on meds and counseling and I’m doing a lot better. I have a long way to go in counseling, but the meds are helping a lot to regulate my moods.” He pauses and looks down at his hands, which are shaking a little.

I sit quietly, sensing he needs a moment.

Eventually, he takes a deep breath and then looks up at me again. “So, I’m not telling you all of this to get you to forgive me, but it was important to me you know because…”

I wait, giving him a chance to finish. When it appears he isn’t going to, or can’t, I ask him, “Why, Teddy?”

“Because I need you to know that nothing that was ever wrong in our relationship was about you. Ever. It’s all on me. All of it. And you need to know that because, though you tell yourself differently, I know deep down you feel you’re not worthy of love because your parents withheld it. And I loved you. Fuck, I still love you and I think I always will. But, even knowing the pain your parents caused you, I still didn’t manage to love you like you deserve. And that’s not ayouissue. It’s anusissue—me and your parents. Trina and Shayna are the only ones who love you like you should be loved. And I’m so damn sorry that I failed at that, shitty diagnosis or not.”

I can’t speak. Only able to stare down into my drink, as I sniffle and wipe furiously at the hot tears streaming down my face. We sit in silence for several minutes.

Teddy doesn’t comfort me, and I’m grateful for it. He’s lost that privilege.

After what seems like ages, but is really only likely a few minutes, I stop crying and just want to go home, crawl into bed, and read a sad book so I can cry at something other than my pain.

“Thank you for coming here today and sharing this. I know it wasn’t easy. And I’m really sorry about your diagnosis, but I’m glad you’re getting help.”

He doesn’t respond, but nods at me.

I reach for my bag and stand.

“Bye, Em. Thanks for hearing me out.” His eyes are downcast, and he wears a hint of a frown.

“Goodbye, Teddy.”

I turn and walk toward the door, but I only make it about six feet when I stop. I stand with my back to him for several seconds, my eyes closed, before turning back around to face him. When I do, his eyes are wide, hopeful almost. I feel a twinge of sadness for him, because I will not say what I think he wants. No. He and I are still over.

“Teddy, we have a lot of the same friends. And we both need our friends right now. So, don’t feel you have to stay away from things we’d both normally go to for my sake. We may not be together anymore, and I can’t promise we can be friends again, but we don’t have to be enemies. Okay?”

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