Anyone who knew me then would say
I loved you far too much.
Like a wildfire or the sharp edge of a knife.
Anyone would have told you I stopped being the person I was
The second you walked into my life.
They would have said
Love wasn't supposed to drive you crazy,
Make you want to scratch at your skin.
And they were right.
Because there was love and then there was you.
- Lang Leav
The first thing I hear is the beeping. It's incessant, constant, operating on the periphery of my senses. Then I feel my heart beat and my chest rise as I breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Everything else is a hazy, gray blur, but I listen to the beeping and it calms me.
Where am I? I search the recesses of my mind, and fragmented memories return. The Post. Mr. Fitzpatrick. Halle. Chloe. Driving through Columbus. Josh. At his name, a wave of panic rushes through me. Josh. Something's wrong with Josh. I can feel it like an irregular heartbeat, a chip in my soul, a disconnected neuron in my brain. Something's wrong.
I fight to wake up, to open my eyes, to find him. He has to be here. He has to. My eyelids are heavy and I force them to open then shut them again when harsh light shatters my vision. I try one more time, squinting and looking around me. The beeping comes from a hospital monitor to my right and I see a pale blue gown on my body and an IV in my arm.
I'm in the hospital.
"Rach? Rach, you're awake! Someone call a nurse!"
I try to sit up, but a pounding in my head makes it impossible. What's wrong with me? My head aches like someone beat my skull in with a baseball bat and I'm limp, lethargic. The only signs of life are the thoughts racing through my head and the pounding of my heart in my chest.
"Rach?"
I know that voice.
I force my dry lips to separate and whisper, "Josh? You're...here?"
A hand reaches for mine and I recognize his touch instantly. Calloused, kind, urgent. I lift my gaze and find him hovering over the bed, his eyes bloodshot and concerned. He reaches for me and cradles my face with his large, rough hand, a relieved smile on his face.
"Holy crap, you're awake."
"Wh-what's going on?"
Josh brushes his fingers along my hairline, tucking an errant curl behind my ear. "Rach, I...I'm so sorry. We were at the camp and arguing and you...you passed out."
My eyes widen as the memories become clear in my mind. I told Josh I was leaving. He was hurt, confused, angry. His words right before I passed out return to me: "Rach, you and I--are we not enough?"
I want to tell him that we'll always be enough, that I want him and I always will, but I can't. I'm caught in his sparkling blue gaze, in the touch of his rough palm on my cheek, in this moment of quiet that I know will soon shatter. I try to sit up, to reach for Josh, to kiss him so he knows how I feel, but I can't force my body to cooperate. A wave of panic washes over me.
"Am I okay?"
My voice quivers as I speak, and I regret all of the times that I ignored Josh and Chloe trying to convince me to go to the doctor. I've known for months that something wasn't right, but I decided I was strong enough, that I could just push through. I wasn't strong enough. I shattered under the pressure.
"Josh, what's wrong with me?" A tear escapes my eye and trails down my cheek.
"I...I don't know yet, Rach." He uses the pad of his thumb to wipe the tear away. "They haven't told me anything yet. They're running blood tests, but that's it. That's all I know."
"How long have I been here?"
"Just an hour."
"I'm tired," I murmur, lifting my eyes to his.
"Rest, Rach. It's okay. I'll be here when you wake up."
I wish I could climb out of this hospital gurney and into Josh's arms, away from the pounding ache all through my body and the IV in my arm and the incessant beeping of the monitor. My eyelids flutter and I feel exhaustion tugging me away from Josh.
"Josh..." I whisper, wishing I could stave off sleep and stay with him a little longer.
"What, Rach?" he asks, bending over me so I can feel the heat of his breath on my skin.
I struggle to force my lips to obey me as I whisper, "I still want you."
Before I hear his response, I lose consciousness again.
~~~~~
I awake to the beeping again, but this time my cognizance returns more quickly. I passed out. I'm in the hospital. Josh is here. I force the grogginess out of my mind--I need to wake up and figure out what's going on, and I can't do that when I feel like I was run over by a bus.
How did I get here? I know Josh must have called an ambulance and had me brought here. Did my heart give out? Am I sick? Will I make it? My heart pounds in my chest, faster and faster, as I realize how little I know. Why did I ignore all the signs, the faintness and the headaches and the dizziness? Why did I think I was stronger than I am?
In addition to the beating of my heart, I hear soft voices whispering around me. Josh is still here. He promised he wouldn't leave, and I know the value of his promises. I feel his hand holding mine. But there are other voices in the background, conversing in hushed, worried whispers.
I force my eyes to open and they flutter against the light. I look for Josh first, and I find him. He leans forward in a metal folding chair, elbows on his knees and his hand holding mine. I can see the exhaustion in his face and tired eyes. How long have we been in the hospital?
"Hey, Rach," he murmurs, touching my face again and bringing a smile to my face.
We'll be alright, won't we? I know the answer. We have to be. For both our sakes.
"She's awake!"
Someone screeches and flies toward me from the other side, and I know the voice before I see her face. Mom.
She leans over me and brushes my hair out of my eyes. Her mascara is smeared across her cheeks and her gaze is frantic.
"Rachel, honey, you're awake! What happened to you? Why on earth didn't you tell us you weren't feeling well?"
"Mom?" I try to figure out how and why she's here, in Columbus. "You're here?"
Dad appears on her other side, his forehead drawn in wrinkles. "Chloe called us and we came as soon as we could. How do you feel, sweet pea?"
My heart swells with Dad's words and his honey-brown eyes. "I...I don't know."
I realize I can't feel much beyond exhaustion and a foggy ache through my whole body. I know I passed out, but why? What happened?
I try to sit up, using the arm without the IV in it to push against the thin mattress of the hospital bed. "What's going on? What's wrong with me?"
Josh reaches for my shoulder and back and helps me sit up and I pull the soft blanket on the bed around my legs to keep the thin hospital shift modest. I feel a sudden desire to escape this sterile, empty place--I don't want to be here. I want to know what's going on, what's wrong with me, but no one will say anything. Mom and Dad trade concerned gazes, but I know them. They'll try to protect me.
"Josh? What's happening?" I plead with him with my eyes, grasping his arm that supports me. "Please tell me."
I see the conflict on his face as he wavers but finally shakes his head. "I...I can't tell you. The doctor's going to talk to you."
"Where's the doctor, then? I want to know what's going on." I look wildly through the small hospital room, but no one says anything.
Mom stands up. "I'll go find him."
Dad follows her and Josh and I are left alone with the beeping of the monitor and the quiver going through my body. As soon as my parents are out of the room, Josh folds me into his arms and I collapse against his chest.
"I'm so sorry, Rach. I'm sorry. This was all my fault. I...I got angry, but I should have stayed calm. I'm so sorry."
Tears sting my eyes and roll down my face to dampen Josh's flannel shirt. "It's not your fault. I...I hurt you. I didn't want to."
Josh wipes the tears from under my eyes and then pulls me against him again, his hand cradling my head through my tangled curls. "Rach, stop. It doesn't matter. We'll talk about it and we'll figure it out."
I desperately want to believe him, to believe that Josh and I are meant to last beyond today. "Promise?"
"Promise."
What does he promise? That we'll stay together forever, choose each other every day, never give up? Or is he just promising that we'll talk? Is there hope? Do we have a future? There's so much he doesn't know, so much I haven't told him. He still doesn't know that I love him. Now I'm in the hospital and I could have lost my chance to tell him forever. I can't stay quiet any longer.
"Josh, I--"
But I'm cut off by the arrival of the doctor. She's an Indian woman with a pair of glasses on the bridge of her nose and a clipboard in her hand. A stethoscope rests around her neck and her inky black hair is swept up in a bun. Behind her is a nurse pushing a cart with a laptop on it.
"Rachel Evans?" she asks as she enters, pulling a wheeled stool next to my bed and sitting on it.
"Yes, ma'am," I whisper.
"I'm Dr. Dutta and you're currently at Riverside Methodist Hospital in the emergency room. I'd like to talk with you a little bit. Is it alright if I ask your family and friends to wait in the hallway while we chat?"
I look to Josh and resist the urge to beg him to stay. Mom tenses her hands into fists from the doorway. Finally I nod. I'll tell them once I understand what's going on myself. Mom, Dad, and Josh trickle out of the emergency room and I hold onto Josh's final concerned smile.
"What's wrong with me, doctor?" I ask, feeling a tremble go through my whole body.
The doctor sighs and says, "Rachel, what you experienced earlier today was stress-induced situational syncope. I'm guessing you experienced symptoms of this before you passed out--nausea, headaches, dizziness?"
I nod and swallow a wave of fear. "Yeah. I have."
"Well, from everything we've seen on your blood work, you don't show any signs of any complications involved with syncope related issues with blood pressure or your heart."
"That's good news, right? I'm not dying or anything?"
She nods. "Yes, that's great news. As far as we can tell, this was induced by stress and exhaustion, not by any pre-existing medical condition."
"So it was a one time thing? I'm alright?"
I picture myself walking out of the hospital in fifteen minutes with only a bandaid from the IV to show that I was here. Maybe I'm alright. Maybe I can regain control.
"Rachel, I spoke with the young man who was in the room with you, Josh?" I nod. "He told me that this isn't an isolated incident. I understand you've had a few other cases where you almost passed out?"
"I've never passed out before."
"But you've felt the dizziness, nausea, headaches and such before?"
"Yeah."
"Rachel, this isn't my area of expertise, but I believe that the recurrence of these symptoms does indicate a larger problem here."
All of the hope that was growing suddenly crashes. "What are you talking about?"
"I believe you may have GAD, General Anxiety Disorder. We would have to have you see a clinical psychologist and go through a questionnaire, but--"
"Anxiety? I have a mental illness?"'
I can hear my heart pounding on my chest. I thought I was strong enough to avoid a complete breakdown, but now--anxiety? It makes sense, I realize. My heart races uncontrollably. I get dizzy and lightheaded at times. I've grown more tired and moody over the past few months.
"I'm not qualified to diagnose you officially, but that's what I strongly suspect."
I struggle to find words. "Wh-what do I do? Is there medicine that I take?"
"Typically, I recommend that you see a clinical psychologist so they can further discuss your symptoms with you and figure out a treatment plan. There are some drugs that may work on a short-term basis, but we suggest going through cognitive-behavioral therapy to identify your stressors and teach you to calm your anxious thoughts when you feel a panic attack coming."
Therapy. I don't know why the word terrifies me so much. I thought I could do this on my own, that I was stronger than my body and my mind, but I'm wrong. And as much as I hate to admit it, I need help. I hate the constant headaches and dizziness and the feeling that I could collapse at any time. I hate feeling trapped and out of control and lost. Can I be free of those feelings?
"Will...will it all go away?" She smiles at me for the first time and touches my clammy hand. "I can't make any promises, Rachel. But if you're open to it, getting help can change your life."
~~~~~
We might have seen this diagnosis coming, but Rachel sure didn't! Please know that if you're struggling with mental illness, you are NOT weak--you are incredibly strong. Please get the help that you need. It gets better.