Dani's Way Home

Trigger warning: mental health, substance abuse

Despite her instinct to cry for help, she ignored it. That piece of paper weighed her down like a backpack full of rocks. “EVICTION NOTICE.” As her boyfriend cursed out management, her heart sank. With shaking knees, she fell to the floor. She had nowhere else to go and no money to her name. Just then, she heard her phone ring, muffled by her purse. She scattered and searched until she found it. But once she saw me calling, she froze. While trying to figure out when she last saw me, she let it ring.

“For God’s sake! Answer it or hang the hell up!” Her boyfriend yelled, pacing along the patio. “Yo, dude,” he greeted his friend, smiling through the phone. In hindsight, she should’ve noticed how quickly he shifted, how he never thought about his effect on her, how he didn’t care. But all she thought about was her phone call interrupting his, so she hung up.

If she wasn’t so tired or hungry, she would’ve cried. She would’ve gotten up and tried. Instead, she just wanted someone or something to fix her and her mind. Even as a kid, she was never good at taking bad news. After hearing the family dog died, she never helped pick up its things or spread its ashes.

“Babe, I gotta go,” he said. While he explained that he was leaving to stay at a friend’s place, she thought a bomb had exploded. As he said that there was no room for her, her ears rang. She couldn’t bear to hear more lies, but she knew she’d forgive him. He drove off with their car and left her to slump over and die.

***

She hadn’t taken her medication for two years. Instead, she chose the feel-good drugs. When she wasn’t bouncing from shelter to shelter, she tagged along with dealers. With them, she could melt and forget the hurt. She could breathe again and let go of the delusions of us trying to lock her up.

Last time she answered one of my calls, I told her that her brother got the same diagnosis she did. Plagued by a life of ups and downs. Two worlds, both turbulent. She doesn’t believe us. She doesn’t believe doctors. She hasn’t seen one since she started dating her ex again. Before, he was no good. Somehow, he got worse. He doesn’t believe in jobs, the government, or rules. He introduced her to hard-core drugs, the stuff that derailed her life. We’re not sure what twisted up her mind the worst: the disorder, the drugs, or him.

She hasn’t seen or heard from him for three weeks. All she had was four grocery bags of stuff and her purse. She couldn’t get a job or reach out to family because she’d get “brainwashed.” So she lived on street corners and got into trouble so she could afford her episodes of bliss, chasing that moment in time when she had no problems.

Pedestrians looked at her like she wasn’t human, like she wasn't a daughter or sister. Some even crossed the street to avoid passing her. By causing a ruckus and making friends with the others who were ignored, she got a reputation in this neighborhood.

Within twenty seconds of berating a businessman and his briefcase, a dealer swept in to ask if she wanted to feel good, with a small bag peeking out of his pocket. Since she had no money, she had to make him feel good first. This was her routine now. Others brushed their teeth twice a day, while she had to work for her next high.

Twenty minutes later, they completed the transaction, and she was set for the night. Her rewired brain leaped for joy, but her heart and soul limped. Dragging herself to the camp under the bridge, she tried to ignore her dark mind forcing the sun to set early. As she walked, she pinched her leg and bit the inside of her cheek like she had since she was a girl. Tonight, she wanted to forget everything. Her emptiness, her deserter boyfriend, me. With the help of a friend, she shot up and blacked out.

***

She sensed light beyond her eyelids, but she didn’t have the strength to open her eyes and face the world. Her pounding head amplified the beeping machines. She didn’t have the strength to turn off the lights or to turn down the volume.

“Dani,” I said, seeing her cringe at the fluorescent flooding, so I got up and flipped the switch. She sighed. “Dani, it’s me.” She made some noises like she always did when she woke up, stretched, or yawned. With a bit of a push, she opened her eyes and blinked a few times.

“Where am I?” She croaked.

“In the hospital,” I replied, while pouring her a glass of water. It wasn’t until I tried handing her the cup that she realized who I was. As if I were the ghost of an axe murderer, she screamed and slapped the cup out of my hand.

“Dani, it’s alright,” I said with my hands up. “I won’t hurt you.”

Soon enough, the nurses ran in. While the two of them focused on soothing her, one turned to me. “Ma’am, please wait outside.” I nodded, grabbed my purse, and turned my back on my daughter. It was hard enough trying to fill an empty nest after her and her brothers moved out, but I couldn’t survive her screaming at me like that again. Once I found an empty seat in the hallway, I sank down and cried.

I was driving home from the grocery store, when I saw a woman lying on the sidewalk. So I pulled over and found my Dani. I like to think she was trying to find her way home. Luckily enough, the closest hospital also had a rehab center. As I sobbed, I prayed my daughter would go and try to help herself. Despite how much she has changed, she’s still my Dani, my only daughter. I believe she’ll come back home.