I’m stuck like this for life?” A lump constricts my airway. I try to think about the strategies I’ve learned these past few weeks. Deep breathing. Taking stock of the good things in my life. Layla. Soccer. Finally knowing the truth.
“Tell me what happens, Landen. When you first feel yourself getting angry. What happens?” The doctor sits right across from me but her voice is far away.
You are worthless.
“I hear him. My—The Colonel. Telling me I’m worthless. Pathetic. That I ruin everything.” My voice sounds strange in my own ears.
“Breathe, Landen. Take a few deep breaths.”
I do as she says.
“Focus. Stay with me, okay? There’s more, Landen. Remember, I have good news too, okay?”
I open my eyes. I don’t even remember closing them. “Right. Okay.”
“Listen, lots of people go through things and come out better for it. I just watched you tamp down your anger all on your own. So that tells me you have been paying attention these past few weeks.”
I nod, realizing she’s right.
“Here,” she says, handing me two squares of paper. “One of these is for your blood pressure. As expected, yours is pretty high.”
“And the other?” I ask, glancing down at the unrecognizable scrawl on the pages.
She gives me a tense smile. “It’s an antipsychotic.”
“Holy shit. You think I’m psychotic?” Well this just went from bad to worse.
“Relax. No. You’re far from it. But it also functions as a mood-stabilizer. At first it will make you sleepy. But once your body adjusts to it, which usually takes about two weeks, it will keep your physiological responses from sky-rocketing when you get upset.”
“Do you think it will work? Keep me from having rages when I get angry?”
“That would be the hope. But if it doesn’t, we can try Clonazepam, also known as Klonopin. It’s been used from everything from seizures to anxiety.”
“I’m actually familiar with that one. My girlfriend took it for a while. She has seizures. Or she used to have them. New medication seems to be working extremely well.” Thank God. Another thing to be thankful for. My mouth goes dry at the thought of anything happening to my girl. Or the baby she’s carrying.
“Ah. Well, here’s the thing. And as a doctor, it might sound strange coming from me.”
That gets my attention. “I’m listening.”
“Ultimately, I don’t want you to be on medication. I want you to be in therapy on a regular basis. I want you to use what you’ve learned here to keep yourself in check when things get out of control. So if it’s up to me, meaning if I’m the doctor who oversees your care, we’ll start with the heavy hitter, the antipsychotic, then we’ll wean you down to a mild anti-depressant, and then hopefully, one day, we’ll stop the meds altogether.”
“When I’m cured.”
“Um, no.” She pins me with another sympathetic head tilt. They must teach it in med school. “The thing is, the truth is, there’s no cure for IED. It’s not something that goes away, Landen. It’s something you learn to live with. To deal with in more appropriate ways than flying into a rage and breaking every stick of furniture you own every time you get upset.”
She says something else. Actually, she rambles on for what seems like forever. But I don’t hear her. All I hear are the words that ruin my life, shattering the picture of my family I have in my head. The one where Layla and I raise our kid in a safe, happy home like she wants.
I have IED. And there’s no cure for it.
That past five and a half weeks have been a complete waste.
“H e’s here,” Corin says. “Skylar just pulled up.”
I barely refrain from squealing. I haven’t seen Landen in six long weeks. I pull the striped shirt I’m wearing over the bulge protruding from my midsection, noticing how prominent it is for the first time. Suddenly I’m self-conscious about it.
“Keep your clothes on, Georgia. No doing it until after dinner at
“Tell me what happens, Landen. When you first feel yourself getting angry. What happens?” The doctor sits right across from me but her voice is far away.
You are worthless.
“I hear him. My—The Colonel. Telling me I’m worthless. Pathetic. That I ruin everything.” My voice sounds strange in my own ears.
“Breathe, Landen. Take a few deep breaths.”
I do as she says.
“Focus. Stay with me, okay? There’s more, Landen. Remember, I have good news too, okay?”
I open my eyes. I don’t even remember closing them. “Right. Okay.”
“Listen, lots of people go through things and come out better for it. I just watched you tamp down your anger all on your own. So that tells me you have been paying attention these past few weeks.”
I nod, realizing she’s right.
“Here,” she says, handing me two squares of paper. “One of these is for your blood pressure. As expected, yours is pretty high.”
“And the other?” I ask, glancing down at the unrecognizable scrawl on the pages.
She gives me a tense smile. “It’s an antipsychotic.”
“Holy shit. You think I’m psychotic?” Well this just went from bad to worse.
“Relax. No. You’re far from it. But it also functions as a mood-stabilizer. At first it will make you sleepy. But once your body adjusts to it, which usually takes about two weeks, it will keep your physiological responses from sky-rocketing when you get upset.”
“Do you think it will work? Keep me from having rages when I get angry?”
“That would be the hope. But if it doesn’t, we can try Clonazepam, also known as Klonopin. It’s been used from everything from seizures to anxiety.”
“I’m actually familiar with that one. My girlfriend took it for a while. She has seizures. Or she used to have them. New medication seems to be working extremely well.” Thank God. Another thing to be thankful for. My mouth goes dry at the thought of anything happening to my girl. Or the baby she’s carrying.
“Ah. Well, here’s the thing. And as a doctor, it might sound strange coming from me.”
That gets my attention. “I’m listening.”
“Ultimately, I don’t want you to be on medication. I want you to be in therapy on a regular basis. I want you to use what you’ve learned here to keep yourself in check when things get out of control. So if it’s up to me, meaning if I’m the doctor who oversees your care, we’ll start with the heavy hitter, the antipsychotic, then we’ll wean you down to a mild anti-depressant, and then hopefully, one day, we’ll stop the meds altogether.”
“When I’m cured.”
“Um, no.” She pins me with another sympathetic head tilt. They must teach it in med school. “The thing is, the truth is, there’s no cure for IED. It’s not something that goes away, Landen. It’s something you learn to live with. To deal with in more appropriate ways than flying into a rage and breaking every stick of furniture you own every time you get upset.”
She says something else. Actually, she rambles on for what seems like forever. But I don’t hear her. All I hear are the words that ruin my life, shattering the picture of my family I have in my head. The one where Layla and I raise our kid in a safe, happy home like she wants.
I have IED. And there’s no cure for it.
That past five and a half weeks have been a complete waste.
“H e’s here,” Corin says. “Skylar just pulled up.”
I barely refrain from squealing. I haven’t seen Landen in six long weeks. I pull the striped shirt I’m wearing over the bulge protruding from my midsection, noticing how prominent it is for the first time. Suddenly I’m self-conscious about it.
“Keep your clothes on, Georgia. No doing it until after dinner at
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