Ellie was beyond hurt. I know I had hurt her before, like last year at the wedding gig. I hurt her when I didn't choose her, and I knew she had liked me and everything. But this time, I didn't know. I'd really gone too far, kissing her back stage just so she wouldn't call Joey about the coke. Telling her I loved her. I mean, I loved her as a friend. That wasn't, that wasn't how I made it seem.
She was backing up away from me, trying not to cry but she was crying anyway. So I let her go. The airport seemed to expand around me, and I felt that feeling, that yearning for a line. And I felt my thoughts start to race, start to become a little more fantastic than I knew was good for me. I hadn't taken my meds in a while. Kind of off and on, and they didn't work so great that way. But I'd been getting sick of being a slave to that medication, that constant reminder that I was sick.
Simpson was hovering over me, and I knew Joey sent him to make sure I got on the plane. Maybe I wouldn't have if no one was here to make sure. I felt that familiar frustration with Joey, like when he didn't want me to go to England to see Ash. He treated me like I couldn't exactly take care of myself and that pissed me off. But he was sort of right, and that pissed me off even more. All my stupid life I'd just wanted to be normal, to be fine. That's kind of how I always thought of it. I'm fine, despite my mother leaving, my mother dying, my father beating me. I'm fine, I'm fine. Staying up for days, writing so many songs, thinking I could marry Ashley in grade 11. No big deal. Everything was fine. Fiending lines of coke and bleeding onstage, nothing was wrong. What makes you think that?
Simpson, though. He had this almost comic look of disapproval, like I'd personally let him down. His arms were folded and he was kind of glaring at me. I closed my eyes, and my thoughts were going so fast. Ellie. God, I'd hurt her so much and I didn't mean to. That was stupid, what I did. It was heartless. She'd never forgive me. I didn't see how she possibly could. And Manny. Manny had never, I mean, she whirled around and she glared down at me too and she's like, "I'm dumping your ass, Craig," She'd never been that cold, except for maybe when I told her I broke up with Ashley and I really didn't back in grade 10. These same people that go back through the years. But I was burning my bridges with all of them.
I boarded the plane and Simpson said a curt goodbye, his arms still folded. Whatever. I slumped in the airplane seat. I hated planes. They were too closed in, there was no air in them. I closed my eyes but I was too wide awake to sleep. This was the bipolar, I could feel it. I could feel the energy in my nerve cells, tingling, waking up my thoughts, shooting them like pool balls into these pockets of thought, each idea more intricate than the last. Screaming to touch the sky, that's some line from some poem someone showed me in group once, or maybe it was when I was in the hospital. I didn't know. These things tended to run together.
The plane landed in Calgary and I stumbled off , my desire for coke almost hurting me now. I wanted it. I kept thinking of all these things, too, like in the background of the craving. Music ideas. Seeing Ellie's tear stained face and feeling her shove me, "you bastard," she'd said, "how could you play with me like that?"
"Craig," It was Joey, standing with his arms folded like Simpson, but he had a sadder look, filled with love and sorrow. I sucked in my breath. I caused that look, I caused those lines on his face. How much had I hurt him? I didn't even want to think about it sometimes.
"Uh, hey. Hi, Joey," I felt like such a loser. I was going to go and have this great music career and now here I was, strung out, manic, and back in his care. It was just like that night in the cemetery. I was always broken and he always had to put the pieces back together. Sometimes I just hated myself for that.
Joey was being quiet. He must be pissed. We got my bags and stuff and went to his car. I sat in the front seat, my legs bouncing up and down, and I rubbed my nose. Shit, I wanted some fucking coke. Would one line be all that bad? How bad could that be? Just one little bump. Jesus, this sucked.
I wanted to ask where Angela was but I didn't. I felt like I wanted to say all this stuff but I forced myself not to. Talking. All the talking. Joey knew it was this manic shit, and I didn't want him to suspect that I was off my meds as well as a drug addict.
We drove along for awhile and then Joey spoke up, his tone so serious.
"Listen, Craig, I discussed it with a psychiatrist out here and she said it might be better if you went to a psych unit first-"
"No," I shook my head. Psych unit. MHU. The hospital. No, no, no. I hated the hospital, he knew that. Rehab I thought I could maybe deal with, and I knew they let you leave. Not like locked psych wards. I didn't want to go back to one of those.
"No, Joey, it was supposed to be rehab-"
"Yeah, but I doubt you're taking your meds and I can tell just by looking at you that you're manic and you need to go to the hospital-"
"Please, Joey, no. Okay? Don't, don't make me go to one of those, don't make me go to the hospital. Please?" I watched him drive, watched his expression. Maybe he wouldn't make me go. I didn't think I could handle it, feeling the way I did.
He drove to the hospital, and it looked like most hospitals. Square brick building, special parking for doctors. I didn't get out of the car. He put it in park and turned to me.
"Craig, it isn't punishment. You have a disease, a mental illness. People with diseases, even mental ones, sometimes need to go to the hospital. You need to get stabilized on your meds before you can deal with rehab. This rehab isn't equipped for acute psych-"
"I'm not acute! I'm not manic! Jesus, Joey, I don't need to go here! Okay! Get it! I'm fine! I'm completely fine,"
He stared at me, the look of sadness deeper now. He shook his head.