Sorry it's been so long since I've updated....  Either I'll get this story finished soon, or I'll be out of school and able to update it more regularly than I have been, but until then, enjoy this chapter.

~~*~~

I was so happy to see Meg.  But seeing her again made me worried that she would be disappointed in me.  The Fear of Failure strikes again.

I was wrong.  She understood, and then she said I needed to get it out of me.  I know that.  I've known it all along, but it's so hard to change almost 30 years of habit.  It's so hard to let go of this terrible burden.  It keeps me safe from everyone. 

It's also killing me.  Inside, at least.  And it could manifest on the body, and do harm.

I just don't know what to do.  Or, I do.  I just don't want to do it.  I don't want to go back to Dr. May.  He's too pompous, and I don't do well with that.  But I know how hard it took to get me in with him, so I'll just stick with him.

Besides, Meg made me feel a bit better.  I don't have to go.

But I do.

I'm so tempted to just lay down in quit, but I have only done that one time.  It's usually not my style.

It's just so easy to do that.  I won't, or I'm telling myself now I won't.

~~*~~

Meg is looking much better.  A lot of the color has returned to her face, and she's just looking so much healthier.

I was sitting on the lounge chair trying to not nod off, and I look up, and there she is.  Vibrant and so full of life.  I bolt up from the lounger and almost crush her with a hug.

"Meg! I'm so happy to see you!" I said as she was coughing.

"Jess... can't... breath..." she choked out, with a slight laugh.  I release the hold on her.  "It's great to see you, too."

"You look great.  Not as sick," I commented.

"Well, you look terrible!  What's wrong?" Meg said, seeing right through me.

I was taken aback by her directness, but I wasn't really surprised.  That's how she is.  "I'll, um, uh, will tell you, um, later," I said as I wrung my hands together.

"Ok, later, but you better tell me," she said, as she gave me another hug.  "So, did Steve cook?" she asked as a smile played on her lips.

"It's BBQ Bob's food," I said.

"Ok, so it's edible," she said.

"Yes, it is," I said.

~~*~~

I watched Meg eat.  She had a small portion of cole slaw, and an even smaller portion of potato salad.  She would take a small bite, chew it for a long time, take a sip of water, and then take a small bite, etc...

But it's more than I've seen her eat in a long while.

I could feel the tears start to come.  I don't know why I started to cry, but I went out to the log that both Steve and Mark go to sit on when they think.  I cried for, oh, I don't know how long.  After I calmed down a bit, Meg came searching for me.

"What's wrong?" she asked when she found me.

"I-i don't know." I said.  I took a deep breath and went on.  "You know that I attempted suicide when I was your age. I feel like everything is coming back again.  All of the fear, the anger, th-the sadness.  All that I tried to hold in and block off is coming to the surface.  I feel like I'm losing it, and I don't know if it can be found.  I don't know what I'm losing, but I feel like whatever I'm losing it important."  I took a hitched breath, and covered my face.

She took one of my hands in hers.  "Jesse, you more than most people because you're a doctor, know that when someone gets a boil, it looks pretty inconspicuous, just a swollen bump that's warm.  But what's inside is harmful to everything else.  It has the potential to poison everything around it, or even kill the person.  The only solution?  To lance it.  It's painful, it's messy, but it's healing.  And yes, you do get scars from it, but they are good scars; reminders of what one has been through.  You've got to lance this boil in you."  As she went on with the analogy, I felt the tears start to push through.

I took another deep breath to try to dissipate another crying jag.  "Wow.  You're pretty wise for a 16 year old," I said.  My voice broke.

"It's all the therapy.  They make us robots to spout out things like this and make unsuspecting people feel better," she joked.  I smiled.  "You're safe with me.  You can cry, if you want to," she said softly.  "You can also laugh, scream, curse at the top of your... well, that might not be a good idea.  You could get arrested," she joked, reminding me about a story in a newspaper I read about a kayaker who cursed loudly at Lake Michigan and was arrested.  I laughed.  Just as soon as I laughed, I began to cry again.  I put my head on Meg's shoulder and began to sob like a baby.  I hung on to dear life to this life preserver that I was given.

~~*~~

I calmed down a bit, and I knew I had to tell her.

"Meg, I've not been eating," I confessed.

"Why not?"

"I really don't know.  I think it's because I still feel guilty for what I did when I was 16."

"You don't feel worthy enough to eat?"

"Maybe.  I've, um, also been hitting my arms.  Leaving bruises," I said, all of a sudden finding the conch shell at my feet to be immensely interesting.

"Jess, look at me," Meg commanded.  Had my eyes been straight, I would have been looking at her.  But my eyes were still focused on the shell.  "Jess, look at me," she commanded again.  I do.  I expected to see anger and disappointment in her eyes, but surprisingly, I see empathy.  "I'm not mad at you.  I think you were expecting me to go off on a rampage, weren't you?"

I was.  She's doing the same thing I did to her when she was first admitted to the hospital.  I didn't block her off by me getting angry at her, and she's not getting angry at me, so I can't just retreat into my shell.

"Actually, yes.  I thought you'd also be disappointed," I said.  I hated how much I sounded like a small child.

"Jess, I could never be disappointed in you.  You're a doctor who saves lives.  You're a caring person.  You're my friend!" she said.  I'm so glad that I was proven wrong.  She didn't hate me.  I really smiled for the first time in a long while.

~~*~~

I hate playing football against Steve.  He usually either lets me win, or he pounds me into the sand, but I felt good enough to play football against him.

Even though he is letting me win.

"Steve, I'm not a fragile flower.  I'm not going to break.  Quit treating me with kid gloves, and actually play!" I said.

"All right, little boy.  You want full strength.  You got it," he said, teasing. "24, 45, 68, Manning, 23.  HIKE!" he chanted as he threw me the football.  I caught it easily, but before I could make it to the "goalpost" I was tackled.  And tickled.  Soon, Amanda and Mark joined to help Steve.

It felt great to be happy again.

~~*~~

I learned something about Meg today that I didn't know.  Harry Chapin is her favorite performer.

We were all sitting lazily on the deck, with the radio on, on one of Steve's stations, when a vaguely familiar song came on.

Meg sat bolt upright, gasped, and exclaimed, "Harry Chapin!"

Steve was surprised she knew who he is.

"You know who Harry Chapin is?" he asked, incredulously.

"Who wouldn't?  I mean he was the greatest songwriter ever.  At least, in my, *ahem* humble opinion," she said.

"What's your favorite song?"

"Probably Pigeon Run.  It was actually in his Broadway play, What Made America Famous? so not many people even know about it.  I also like W.O.L.D and, of course 30,000 Pounds of Bananas. And Six-stringed Orchestra. "

"Not even Dad listens to Harry much.  I'm impressed."

"Thank you," she said.

They both began to sing the song as I felt drawn to the words.

So much like my father.

And me.

I'm just like him.  And as he hung up the phone, it occurred to me, my boy was just like me.

~~*~~

Meg is back at the Vista and I miss her already.  It's July 5th, and I've just got done with another Dr. May appointment.  Still more hiding, still more hating the pompous doctor, but I can sort of stand him now.

He wants to put me on anti-depressants, but I was put on those in the late 80's and the side effects were horrible.  My hands shook, I had horrible headaches, and I couldn't eat, and for me being small anyways, wasn't a good thing.  I stopped taking them after about 2 months, and pretended everything was all right, and I got to the point that I convinced myself of that.

"I don't want to take them," I argued with the great Dr. May.

"I can understand your reservations about not wanting to take them, but the side effect of the newer drugs aren't nearly as bad, and there is a much broader spectrum of options for you now."

I shook my head.  "I'm not going to take them.  I don't want to have to rely on a drug to function.  If I can't get that with psychotherapy, then I'm wasting my time," I said.

Dr. May looked at me, his lips thinned and white.  "I see our time is up.  We'll discuss this next time," he said.

That coward! 

"I'll see you next week," I said as I exited the office.

Thank goodness I was out of there.

I went to Mark's office because I said I would after my appointment.

"Hello Jess.  How'd it go?" he asked.

"Horrible.  He wants to put me on medicine.  I had enough of that when I was 16.  I can't tell you how horrible the side effects were.  Besides, I don't like the idea of having to take a medicine to function," I said.

"If you had diabetes, would you not take insulin because you didn't like the idea of taking medicine to function?" Mark asked.  Ok, he got me there.

"I would there, but this is different.  I don't want to turn into a walking drugged zombie," I said.

"There is a high chance you wouldn't," Mark said.  He sighed. "I'm not telling you that you should.  Just think about it, and talk to someone who's been on some type of anti-depressants," Mark said.

"Ok, Mark.  I'll think about it," I said.  "Thanks."

"Anytime, my friend" He smiled.  "Anytime."

~~*~~