I wistfully walked down my dirty city block, head hanging low, watching my feet drag. The tie around my neck hung like a noose, my legs begging to drop out and let me hang. It was just past eleven o’clock, and the sun had abandoned the sky hours ago. By the looks I’d received on my boundless walk, I know I must look like a mess of a man.
This was my worst episode in a while…
I’ve been wandering the streets of Boston since 5 o’clock this evening, and I’ve finally decided to turn down my street and go home. I needed time to think, but to be honest I didn’t really think about anything as I wandered aimlessly down alleys and up avenues. There's too many things going on in my head at once to put any real thought into anything. I haven’t slept in 26 hours, yet there is still so much being sorted in my head. If my brain has a filing system for all this information, it might as well be in binary code. All this processing with no clear result! I feel myself getting bad again... The aftermath of my manic period always left me with some type of destruction to tediously mend. With the lack of sleep and answers catching up with me, I seriously doubt anything productive can come from me today. I know all too well what comes after the manic period, and I know the indecisiveness that comes with the depressive stage will hinder my ability to fix my new self-made disaster. I could feel my hazy brain begin to slip into the depressive stage, which in turn made me quicken my pace. I needed my Zyprexa pills right now. I had missed my dose three weeks ago due to the damn Septa train always finding a way to be late, and thus spiraled into a manic state. With my physical and mental energy bouncing off the walls, my meds didn’t even cross my mind. But now, as my mind begins to contradict itself, firing me into the opposite direction of thought, I know now is my opportunity to get It under control.
I quickly ran up the stairs of my building and pushed passed the ever smiling doorman. My eyes searched the doors for the number 665 cast in a shiny bronze. Climbing to the fourth floor, I wasted no time shoving my hand in my bag to pull out… nothing. My breath hitched and my heart plummeted. Where the hell are my keys? I ripped open the other compartments, dug through my pockets, rummaged through my mind. I walked down almost every street in Boston today, there is no way to find them if I dropped them! I have no way into my house, no way to get to my pills. I slump over onto my wall, sliding down until I’m nothing but a heap of failure on the floor. I feel the depression smother my thoughts as I fall into myself…
“Rough day?” an even rougher voice questions.
My eyes dart up to view the masterpiece that is the man in front of me. Even with the depressed haze clouding my mind I could see his beast like stature and his razor sharp jaw line. He had to be 6’5 at least and his chest was probably wider than my wing span. A smirk pulled at his lips and it wasn’t defeat that made my legs weak this time. His eyes had this glow to them…
He cleared his throat, awaiting an answer as I ogled him from my position on the floor.
“Huh? Oh, yea.. you could say that.” My voice sounded nervous. How could it not when I was talking to perfection personified?
“Hmmm. Well what happened?” He sauntered over and slid down the wall next to me. Our extended legs almost touching. His eyes looked for an answer, but his smile said he already knew what it was. Like he knew everything. It was unsettling.
“Uh, well it’s.. it’s uh... it's complicated.” Dear god. Could I sound any more idiotic?
“Don't worry, I think I can keep up.” He said with a deep chuckle. His voice was a deep baritone that made me shutter. His smirk only grew. Why does he care?
“Well, I mean, it's a long story, but, I was.. fired, today. From the job I worked my entire life to get.” I looked at our legs as the hall fell silent. He sighed.
“S***.” He huffed in sympathy, “You know why?” His knowing eyes were trained on the side of my head, waiting.
I let out my own sigh. I always hated the explaining part. And for whatever reason, I actually cared what he thought of me. If he thought I was some mental freak.
“I went into a manic period a few weeks ago… was totally off my meds. I had so much energy, but I just could not bring myself to focus. Then my work started to pile up and I was missing deadlines… people started to notice. My boss figured out I was basically getting paid for nothing. And he definitely let me know how he felt about that in his office today.”
I finally took a breath and put my head in my hands, letting the full weight of the situation settle in. How was I gonna pay rent? Phone bills? Water bills? Cable bills? Food? I'm completely screwed. My breath began to quicken.
“You’re bipolar.” he stated, not asked.
Between quick breaths I found time to reply “Yea, you know basics then?” He must know at least a little about the condition if he could guess based on my symptoms.
“Hmm. You could say that.” he looked as if I had said something funny. My brows furrowed and my breathing kept a steady ragged pace. He glaced at me again.
“There’s no need for that. Working yourself up definitely won't help,” he stated calmly and sat up on the balls of his feet, pulling me up with him. He walked confidently towards my door, and I stumbled behind him. He stood and waited for me to open the door, seeming impatient. I looked up at him with an embarrassing blush.
“I, uh, don't have my keys.” I glanced at his perfect face with his perfectly raised eyebrow. “I lost them at some point today… there’s definitely no hope in finding them.” I said solemnly.
“Tsk tsk. Well then,” he took the two step journey over to what I assumed was his apartment door, then stood out front and looked at me expectantly. “welcome to my humble abode.”
I took a hesitant step forward, then another and another until I was crossing the threshold of his apartment. Apartment number 666.
To Be Continued…