A week at home with a prescription and a diagnosis that says “We couldn’t figure it out either”.
A week of newspapers telling me the man I loved went insane after we were separated at the hospital.
I ponder how he can just turn around and be someone else in a matter of seconds. How he can attack the frail and accuse satan of sending his minions? The doctors all ponder “What are the odds of simultaneous neurological events?”
A phone call.
“Hello?”
“It’s me. I’m okay.”
“Define okay.”
“I’m alive. In the state hospital. In my right mind.”
“For how long?”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“I want you to know that”
“I do”
“How are you? Are you okay?”
“Define okay”
“Please, don’t”
“I’m home. No diagnosis. The seizures stopped.”
“Good”
“but my boyfriend had a mental breakdown, was shot and is in a state mental hospital. I have no idea what happened.”
“I love you so much”
“Sounds like you have no idea either”
My hand goes to my forehead, rubbing at the constant headache behind my eyes.
“I love you. I miss you.”