Lunatic’s Mate

1. Occupational Therapy

For three years, I’ve tried to improve my mental health. The beatings, rapes, lies, neglect, and emotional abuse my ex-husband subjected me to for five years were enough to drive anyone insane. Frank’s games shattered me.

I didn’t expect to start dating again, especially not someone I met through a f*******: dating app. But being with this nurse made me feel a little less crazy… until today. I missed my exit on the way to our date and, instead, drove straight home.

When I parked, I immediately forgot that Lucky had Occupational Therapy today. It slipped my mind completely. What’s wrong with me? Why am I forgetting things I’m supposed to be doing?

I checked my phone and saw that the therapist had texted me first. Shame washed over me. She had been waiting. I couldn’t tell her the truth—that I’d missed the exit because my mind was in pieces.

During the custody battle, no one listened to me. No one seemed to care that I wanted my son to succeed, to become a better person despite life’s obstacles. No, they were all trying to take him away from me, terrified that I’d turn into the same monster my ex-husband was.

Reading the therapist’s message, I rushed to start the car and salvage the situation.

Ingeborg: You should have been here by now. Is Lucky coming in for his therapy session? Would you like to start your session? You have a referral, and we have a lot of your information.

Her suggestion caught me off guard. I knew I could use some help. Ingeborg had always done such an incredible job with Lucky, making us feel safe during transitions. What could go wrong?

It took me half an hour to get there. Once we arrived, I signed us in and filled out the paperwork quickly. Lucky went off for his session with Lorena, another therapist who adores working with him.

Before I could enter my own session, my phone rang—it was Silas, my roommate.

Silas: Look, I get that it’s a struggle, but I told your mom I’m moving out. I can’t handle this anymore. I’m single, and I don’t need to be babysitting your kid while you figure out what the hell you’re feeling. I’ll leave the key in the mailbox. Good luck.

Her words shattered me. Now I really was alone—all because of what I’m going through. The weight of exposing my ex-husband and his new wife for the damage they’ve done is destroying me, and it’s spilling over into the lives of those around me.

Me: Okay. God bless. I hope things go well for you.

Silas had been my friend, or at least I thought she was, since twelfth grade and throughout college. But I guess she wasn’t really a friend. Maybe I deserved to be abandoned. I always seem to bring trouble with me, dragging people down with my mess—just like I did with Silas.

“Come in, Meggy, and close the door behind you.”

Ingeborg’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I quickly texted my mom, knowing she lived an hour away but hoping she could help.

Me: Mom, Silas left. The key is in the mailbox.

I turned off my phone. Dex hadn’t texted me either. I was probably hoping for too much—hoping someone would save me from this miserable situation, from this delusional world I was living in. Like a princess in a tower, waiting for her prince to rescue her and take her to a better life.

Ingeborg sat in the dimly lit room. There were two boards on the walls and a table at the far end, near a black-tinted window. Behind that window was another room, where therapists observed children’s behavior with or without their parents.

I sat down as she began scribbling numbers on a piece of paper. My mind flashed back to when she asked me to find the number two.

I was suddenly back in my dad’s house, sitting at the crystal table in the mountain house we rented. It was right after my mom filed for divorce. I stared at the multiplication homework, and I could hear my dad’s voice.

“Solve the problem, Meggy. Don’t tell me you’re stupid because I don’t have stupid kids.”

I searched frantically for the answer. Where was the number two?

“For f**k’s sake, Meggy, it’s right there! Are you blind?”

I couldn’t find it. “Where is it? I know I saw it.”

“There! It’s right there, Meggy!”

Ingeborg’s hand rested on mine, bringing me back to the present, but the memory of my dad slamming a hardcover book onto my hand flashed through my mind. The sound of my finger bones popping, the pain… I screamed in panic, clutching my head.

I remembered the shock of him resetting my broken finger and the hours of sleep that followed, filled with the overwhelming disappointment in myself. I could never get anything right. Why was I never enough?

“Meggy, I need to ask you some questions, and I need you to breathe while you answer, okay?”

She was asking to help me, wasn’t she? Maybe she could help me. Maybe she could keep my son with me. Maybe she could make things better.

“Yes, please. Help me. I want to get better. I want to fix myself so I can take care of what’s left of my family.”

Frank had remarried, and his new wife had just given birth to their son. Lucky was a big brother now. Meanwhile, I was all alone—my roommate had left, my mom was far away, my sister was even farther, and everyone else had their own families. And here I was, having a breakdown.

“Do you want to hurt yourself right now?”

Did I? No. I just wanted to sleep—a long nap, like the one last night when it snowed. It felt so good to rest outside in the cold.

“No, I’m just tired.” I took the tissues she offered and wiped my eyes and nose.

“Do you want to hurt anyone? You’re on 200mg of lamotrigine, and last week your psychiatrist diagnosed you with bipolar disorder. Do you feel angry?”

Angry? Yes. I was furious that my life had unraveled, furious that my ex was free to do whatever he wanted, to move on with a woman six years younger than me, while I was left picking up the pieces.

“Yes, if I could kill my ex-husband, I would. But that’s just because of the hell he’s putting me through. Not that I would—I’m not cut out for prison.”

Ingeborg didn’t laugh like she usually did. That worried me.

“You know I’m kidding, right?” I asked, trying to ease the tension.

Her expression didn’t change. She was concerned. “Do you feel like all you want to do is sleep? You’re wearing fewer layers today, which is unusual. Do you feel like harming yourself?”

Self-harm? No. I was on my period, my ex’s new baby had just been born, I lost six pounds, haven’t been able to eat for days now, my hair is burned from painting it silver. It’s winter and there is no sun in sight, Lucky is not adjusting to the in person visitations. I had a new diagnosis, and my life was in complete chaos. I was overwhelmed, yes, but not suicidal.

“No. I just slept outside because it was too hot inside. And, well, I’m on my ‘bloody monthly subscription.’”

I tried to lighten the mood again, but Ingeborg didn’t laugh. She finished her notes, stood up, and told me something I didn’t expect.

“Okay, Meggy. Your questionnaire results are concerning. I don’t think you should go home today. Can you find someone to pick up Lucky?”

Her request took me by surprise. What was she planning? Taking my cellphone I contemplated.