When we got home, I immediately excused myself to go to my room to find a few solitary minutes. I needed some time to reacclimate to the environment and complete my secret mission.  My room was filled with pills and liquor bottles in secret hiding places. They had to be purged so they wouldn't trigger me again.

I went into all my secret spots that no one else knew about and started pulling out the contraband.  There were so many different spaces that I used to conceal things; I had my doubts that I would remember where they all were.  Being an addict made me resourceful and being bipolar made me forgetful.

It was a terrible mixture that wasn't helping me very much right now.

I started with the childhood stuffed animals I had in the corner of the room.  Most of them had a slit in the back that I created to stuff pill bottles in. My addiction was so bad that I chose to ruin the things that reminded me of the people who loved me the most. A tear fell from my eye when I picked up the stuffed bunny my Papa gave me for Easter right after he found out he was sick.  It was the last thing he bought me before he died. I pushed my hand into the slice I had made just above her tail to pull out a baggie of various colored pills.

I looked back down at her little pink face, ashamed.  I was a terrible person. My Papa would have been so disappointed in me. 

I combed through the room inch by inch as I tried to rid myself of every single item that reminded me of how far down I had fallen. As the rainbow assortment of pills swirled around the toilet bowl, I made a promise to myself that this was the last time I would ever do this.

I would never put my loved ones through this again. 

After I flushed the last of my shame, I went to my dresser and lined all my new medications across it.  I opened my prescription bottles and took out the little pillbox Dr. Schroeder gave me. He recommended that I kept it full with what I needed to take for the next day.  I dropped the pills in one by one, counting along as I went.  When I got to the last pill, I double-checked the compartments to make sure I had placed every pill in the right place.  Four pills in every space.  When I was satisfied with my quality check, I closed the compartments feeling relieved.

The last step to keep me accountable was to remember to actually take them. I was horrible at remembering to stay on my medication schedule, which was part of the reason I struggled so much before. I had come up with a solution to help me this time. I grabbed the brand new phone my parents bought me and programmed in alarms to remind me when it was time.  Three times a day the pillbox needed to be in my hand. No more, no less.

When I had finished getting my world straightened out, I looked over and caught a glimpse of a photo I had stuck in the corner of the mirror. My heart sank looking at it.  Without realizing it, I grabbed the photo in my hand to inspect it closer.

In the photo, I had jumped on Cam's back and was smiling as he looked back at me.  There was a peaceful glow on my face as I stared into his eyes, grinning. He was flashing me his cheesy little dimple.  In all the years this photo was hanging in my room, I never noticed the way I was looking at him.  I could see it so clearly now.

Why did it take me so long to realize what I felt for him? 

"You could call him.  Maybe let him know you are back?"  My Mom suggested standing in the doorway.

"It's too late, Mom.  I'm not even sure if he would want to talk to me and I don't know if I'm ready to talk to him either." 

I ripped the picture off the mirror frame and turned it face down. I opened the top dresser drawer and shoved it in so I didn't have to look at it anymore.

"It's never too late, Jessa.  Remember that."  She smiled and ran her hand along my back.

"Sometimes it is." I huffed.

I pulled away from her and began pacing anxiously around the room.  I had figured out ways to deal with a lot of the things that I had been through, but the Cameron subject was still as raw as ever.  Every time his name was mentioned, it felt like someone was taking a cheese grater to my skin. 

"Do you have any plans today?" Mom asked, trying to change the subject.

"Well, I was thinking about checking out a group Dr. Schroeder recommended."  I was blushing.  It was embarrassing to admit that I just got out and the first thing I wanted to do is go be with people more like me.

"That sounds like a great idea Sweet Pea.  Do you want me to take you?"  She asked, walking around straightening up my already spotless room. She was stressing again. She fluffed my pillows fourteen times in a ten-second period.

"I was thinking I could drive myself."

My Mom froze and gave me a concerned look.  She didn't think me going on my own was a good idea.  I didn't blame her for not trusting me.  I hadn't given her much of a reason to over the last seven years. She didn't know I wasn't a flight risk right now.  I was as clear as I had been for as long as I could remember.  There was no way I was going to let myself go back to the dark place if I could help it.

"Well, your car is in the driveway.  Your Dad has been making sure it still runs and has gas.  I guess it's fine if you take yourself today.  Dr. Schroeder said you are cleared to drive."  She chewed her lip nervously, looking around for something else to clean.

"Mom, I'm not leaving again. I am doing a lot better. I promise this won't be like last time."  I walked over to her and wrapped her in a hug. 

She squeezed me and cried uncontrollably into my shoulder. She was such a tiny ball of emotions.  She was so tense that her body felt like it was made of stone. I wanted to find some way to ease her worry and make her feel better.

She needed something fun to distract her. To be honest, I needed it too.

"Hey Mom, now that I'm out, I've been thinking..." I paused, trying to come up with something we could do that she might enjoy too.  "I think I want to cut my hair.  Do you want to go with me tomorrow? Girl's day?" 

She looked up at me and wiped away her tears, smiling.  "I would love that, Jessa.  Maybe I'll get my hair cut too."

She sniffled and pulled at the long braid that reached down to the middle of her back.  My mom always had beautiful hair.  I was always jealous of how bright and golden it was.  I tried to dye my hair blond by myself once during an episode.  It turned out that manic Jessa was not a cosmetologist.  My hair came out bright orange, which made me panic. I quickly pulled out the buzzers getting ready to shave it off to hide my mistake. Luckily, my Mom caught me right as I began to lift the clippers to my head. She yelled at me and told me if I did it, I would look like Mr. Clean. I cried as I looked at myself in the mirror.  I was hideous. She took my hand and grabbed her keys to drive me to a salon to have it corrected.  

She didn't even realize how good of a mom she was. I sure as hell didn't ever tell her enough.

When she left the room, I grabbed my phone and laid down on my bed.  I had a little time to kill before my group.  I played with it a little trying to get used to all the new features. I adjusted the settings and downloaded some apps I knew I would need.  I programmed my family's number in my contacts and went to program in the only other number I had memorized.

Cameron's number taunted me from the screen as I typed in the last digit.

I almost hit the call button before I chickened out. I had a lot I wanted to say to him and most of it confused me.  I couldn't even envision him answering the phone just so I could fumble through telling him why I could forgive everyone else for the role they played in my involuntary commitment when I couldn't forgive him. 

There was a reason his betrayal of my confidence hurt so much worse.  I couldn't vocalize it or even bring myself to think about it.  So I did what any person who was unable to cope did, I buried it.  I tried to bury it so deep inside that it couldn't hurt me any longer.  The problem was, the hurt was too large to hide completely.  It would float back up to the surface and I would try to cover it up again.

If I did contact him, how would he react to the things I wanted to tell him?  Would he even answer? How would I handle it if he decided he didn't want to see me again? What would I do if he actually did?

Ugh!

This was torture. I made up my mind. I wasn't going to sit back and let life pass without living it.  I was the owner of my own destiny. I was going to do what any self-respecting, strong woman would do in my situation. 

I hit the little blue and white app on my phone and logged in.

I started stalking his ass on Facebook.