The Cure

chapter one.

"That was the last time you'll ever need one of those," My father beamed as we walked out of the hospital. I just finished my MRI of my brain. This was my fourth one in the past four years. My surgery was four whole years ago, but the damn doctors still think I am going to drop dead any second from my brain exploding or something. It's ironic to me that while my brain is technically fine now, in medical terms anyway, I still struggle with my mental. Bipolar disorder runs in my family, and I swore I would never succumb to the therapy filled life that my mother has, but I can always count on my good genes to make sure I get everything I could possibly get to make me ill in some sort of way. I attend therapy 5 days a week, yet nothing seems to get my mind off of... 

"Julia!" my dad snaps me out of it. "What?" I ask, annoyed that he broke my train of thought. "I said that was the last time you'll ever need one of those. Aren't you excited?" he asks again. I roll my eyes, but do breathe a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness," I agree. It has been a long road for me. Ever since I was five years old, I have been in and out of hospitals. From appendicitis to brain surgery, almost every part of me has been poked and prodded by a doctor. I had to admit, I was pretty glad my doctors allowed me to stop wasting an hour out of my precious Sunday to get my brain checked. I also was pretty glad to be alive, and not on the cold stretcher my body has become to accustomed to. I've been admitted to the hospital 21 times, and had surgery about 12 times. Hackensack Hospital basically runs off of my medical bills, my family always jokes.  

I've lived in New Jersey my entire life, and only left the tri-state area once to go to Florida when the Make-A-Wish foundation deemed one of my conditions life-threatening and I went to Disney World. Real original of me, I know, but the foundation really gave my family a royal treatment and it was one I'll never forget. My therapist swears I ought to travel more, but I'm certain the second I leave my small town of Lyndhurst, New Jersey that I will either burst into flames, become gravely ill, or a little bit of both. 

"Come on, Julia, I asked you where you want to eat," My dad says, obviously annoyed by my absentmindedness now. "I don't care," I say quickly. "But if you really wanted iHOP, I wouldn't object." I added with a small smile.

We take the quick drive to iHOP, because everything in New Jersey is basically within a 5 mile radius, and we sit down. Immediately, I notice swarms of loud, crying children and obnoxious teens who think they run the place. "Dad, let's just cook tonight, I have class at 7am tomorrow anyway" I suggest, and we laugh as we run out of the restaurant. 

I don't know why I ever agreed to sign up for a class at 7am, but "Planet Earth Science" didn't sound too difficult. I was dead wrong. Not only is it absolute hell waking up at 6:30, but the busses at Rutgers University are dreadful. I go home every single weekend, because quite honestly I despise most aspects of college and it is only a 45 minute drive to campus. I also am quite attached to my best friend Emma who seems to be liking community college just fine. I think a lot about transferring.

I get home and check my phone that I left plugged into the wall for way too long. Two texts from Ryan. "Hey," the first one reads. "You in town?" the second one asks. I drop my phone and groan. "Not again," I think to myself. My heart swells with excitement at the fact that Ryan is actually giving me the time of day to ask if I'm around. My brain smacks my heart and scolds it for ever assuming Ryan just wants to hangout.

I dated Ryan Marcus for 2 and a half years before I caught him cheating on me. My heart was absolutely broken, and it sent me spiraling. I thought he was the only person who understood me and my bipolar disorder, as he was bipolar himself. I should have known not to mix fire with fire, but he seemed like the only person who really got me. We were the best of friends, and one of those inseparable couples that make out in the hallway and held hands at track practice. Looking back, we were a bit cringe, but I was never happier in my whole entire life. The amount of times Ryan stood beside my hospital bed astounds me, and he always was the first person to comfort me whenever I was nervous about a surgery, or sad about my mother. 

I guess that's why when he asked to get back together a few months after we broke up, I obliged. There was secretly nothing more that I wanted. Still, as it happened, we broke up yet again because of his cheating. It sent me back to daily therapy, and back into a depression I still haven't found the light to climb myself out of.

Whenever I come home, Ryan spends the night with me. He parks his car two blocks over, and in the shadows of the night walks to my house and climbs through my bedroom window. My bedroom is in my basement, so my parents virtually never have any idea when he is there. They would certainly kick me out of the house if they ever found us.

Ryan doesn't love me. He loves to fuck me, of course, and I constantly confuse that with love. I never learn my lesson.

"Yes," I text back.

My phone immediately buzzes, signaling a response. 

"LMK when to come over," he replies.