Hurt 2
Ben’s POV
Drop the ball, watch it fall far below. Suck you in, hold your breath the undertow creeps in slow.
It had been two long weeks since I had found Riley bleeding on his bathroom floor. Two weeks that I’ve known that our lives were far from perfect. Two weeks that Riley has been in therapy, and two weeks that I have tried to be at his side.
I knew that getting Riley back to normal was going to be a difficult task, but I never thought it would be this hard on all of us. He keeps pushing all of us away, never lets anyeone in. Abigail has been worried sick, trying hard not to act too much like a mother hen. Even dad has been here to help, but Riley will not speak to any of us. We’ve tried, but the conversations never make it past a few awkward sentences.
Everyone owns a gun deep inside; it’s just a matter of how much you let it slide.
It’s so hard to see him like this, sitting in his room shaking, clutching at his sleeve. I’ve walked in on him several times cutting, sometimes its Abigail who finds him. I know it kills Abby when she finds him, when it first happened she screamed. Now she’s silent, but you can see the pain etched on her face, on several occasions I’ve seen her run off to cry.
Every time I see Abigail cry, or dad’s face full of sorrow I want to blame Riley. I want to yell and scream at him for doing this to all of his, for doing this to himself, but I know it’s not his fault. I can tell he hates himself for what he does, and when we’re in the same room he refuses to look at any of us. I catch myself mentally blaming him all the time, and whenever I find fresh scabs on his arm, I have to stop myself from being angry. I’d rather face the barrel of Ian’s gun again than see Riley quickly pull the sleeve of his jacket down.
Help me help you they won’t be there. Help me help you they won’t see.
Riley’s therapist has told Abigail and I what we had to do to help. Everyday we have to check his arms and legs for new scars. We’ve had to go through the whole house and throw out all the razors, lock up the silver wear, and hide the scissors and anything else he could use to harm himself. Abigail mentioned that it was like trying to baby proof the house in a way, I wonder if taking care of Riley is harder than taking care of children and I have to shack my head to rid it of the thought. How bad have things gotten that I’m comparing Riley to a child?
His doctor also told us to try to get Riley to talk, but not push him. I could never be a shrink if it meant that I had to deal with people with these problems every day for the rest of my professional life. When ever we happen to be in the same room I try to speak to him, but it’s near impossible to get him to look at you or say more than two word answers. Abigail looks on in such pain, desperately trying to get him to talk to her, she even tries to start arguments with him just to hear his voice. I never would have thought that I would miss the bickering between Abby and Riley. It used to drive me crazy, but it showed how much the two really cared about each other even though they couldn’t go more than ten minutes without fighting.
I would give anything to just go back to normal, to go back to when we were all running around trying to find a treasure that most people thought didn’t exist. As the days go by I’m beginning to realize that things will never be like they used to, now we will always have to closely watch Riley, to make sure that things will never get this bad again.
And it hurts when you need me, and I can’t break your fall. It hurts when you can’t see and it hurts.
I so desperately want to help him. They all say I’m doing as much as I can right now, but it’s just not enough. I wish I could just shake some sense into his head, to show him that he does not need to hurt himself in order to be happy. When I first found Riley bleeding on his floor, he had apologized and said that he needed help. And I believed him, I still do, or at least I want to. Deep inside I know he wants to stop, to get better, but he has shown no signs of stopping. Every other day there are more cuts, none of us can figure out where he’s getting the tools he needs to do this to himself.
Seeing him like this is more than I can bear, I don’t know how much longer I can go through this. I don’t know how much longer any of us can go through his.
Drop the switch, scratch the itch, watch it grow. Inch by inch, the cutting board, watch it swing to and fro.
Three weeks. Another week has passed, and it looks like Riley is deteriorating right in front of my eyes. I see him in the hall, or in the kitchen and he looks sicker, paler, and thinner. His clothes hangs more loosely on his body; there are dark rings around his eyes. His therapist says this is normal, that things will get worse before it gets better, but I don’t know how much worse the kid can get.
He’s still cutting. I find him on his computer at late hours of the night so I know he’s not sleeping. Abigail says she hasn’t seen him eat in days; the only thing left of the past Riley is his love for his computer.
Everyone carries one deep inside; it’s just a matter of how much you let it slide.
Abigail is setting out dinner, and I go to Riley’s room to force him to eat with us. When I reach his bedroom door, I find that it is locked. I first knock on the door, but there is no reply. I knock harder, knowing that he is in there.
A soft, hurried “hang on” comes from inside. I know exactly what he’s doing in there. As he opens the door I see him self-consciously pull at his sleeve. This is the last straw I can’t take any more. Ben Gates has a very long fuse, but once he blows all hell breaks loose. I push him back into his room and he stumbles onto the bed. He looks at me confused, as I determinedly search his room. I finally find the cold piece of metal I knew was there. I roll up my sleeve and press the blade of the scissors to my arm. I look over at Riley who has a horrified look on his face, I add more pressure and slide the sharp edge across my arm as Riley shouts.
He runs over to me, taking the scissors out of my hand and throwing them across the room. He punches me as he yells at me.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Tears are welling up in his eyes, threatening to fall.
This is the first time in a while that he is looking at me, and I hold eye contact as I growl back, “Every time you hurt yourself, this is what you’re doing to me. Doing to Abigail. When you think about doing this to yourself again, picture yourself doing it to us, because it’s exactly how it feels.”
He hugs me and I can tell he’s hiding the tears and silent sobs in my shoulder. Abigail walks in first seeing Riley clinging to me then the blood slowly dripping down my arm and gasps. As I see the hurt in her eyes, I regret letting my anger get the best of me.
Wash it off, take the loss, let it go. Take it in, drink it up, we can just take it slow.
Abigail leads Riley down to the kitchen as I go to the bathroom to clean myself up. I turn around and jump, seeing Abigail looking angrily at me from the doorway.
“What the hell did you think you were doing? Things are bad enough, Riley can barely stand he’s so upset. You better explain everything to me right now!” She snarls out the last sentence.
I regret blowing up at Riley even more. Taking a deep breath I try to explain. As I go on with my story, tears of anger begin to fall down her face. I don’t think I have ever hated myself more than I do at the moment. When I’m done talking Abigail gives me a hug and I can feel her trembling.
“If you ever try anything like that again Ben Gates, I’ll kill you. I’m just as upset and frustrated as you are, but we’ll get through this. Riley needs us to be his friends right now, and we can’t get angry at him.” She says this all in a horse voice, still holding onto me.
Everyone carries one deep inside; it’s just a matter of how much you let it slide.
When Riley goes to his next appointment with his therapist, I’m asked to join the session. I look hesitantly over at Riley, and enter the small room. Sitting down awkwardly next to Riley, I glance over to the doctor who is quietly closing the door. He sits down and introduces himself, but I already know who he is.
“Hello Mr. Gates, I’m Dr. Morris,” Dr. Morris is an older man, probably in his late fifties, and the hair that remains on his head is turning gray. His light green eyes hold no emotion they seem lifeless. “I know we have spoken on several occasions, but I thought today that we would try something new and have you join us. I had asked Riley the last time he was here if he was alright with you coming here, and he was fine with the arrangement.”
He looks over at me, and I feel as though he has entered my head and is nosing around. Is this how Riley feels every time he is here? It has only been five minutes, and I already feel uncomfortable, I don’t think I could do this every day.
“Well,” Dr. Morris continues, “In our past discussions, Riley has told me that he looks up to you very much. He has told me that you are the one who found out he was harming himself, and were the one to get him help.”
Dr. Morris goes on for a while, informing me of what has gone on in the past, and how much Riley cares about Abigail and I. He asks questions, and I don’t feel like I can look him in the eye even though I’m telling the truth. The entire time Riley looks down at the ground, every now and then shooting a glance my way. Morris does not go too deep into what has gone on in Riley’s sessions, but I get the gist. He examines our friendship, and my well-being. He asks how I’ve felt these past weeks, and I don’t think I could ever come into another session with a shrink.
Help me help you they won’t be there. Help me help you they won’t see.
A week has passed since I attended the meeting between Riley and Dr. Morris, and things seem to be getting a bit better. Dad helped me remove the lock on Riley’s door after I was scolded for not removing it previously. Riley watches as we get rid of the lock, looking ashamed. When we finish, dad gives Riley a soft smile and pat on the back as he moves to go down stairs.
“Thanks.” I’m startled by Riley’s voice; it had been a while since he started a conversation.
“What for?” I ask, honestly not knowing why.
“For everything. For putting up with me this long, I know that I have been a pain in the ass the whole time I’ve been here and that I’ve only been a burden to you and Abs.” He breaks eye contact, glancing at the floor, but once again meets me eye. “When you came in last week to my meeting with Morris, I realized that you really do care about me. I know that it was uncomfortable for you, but I really appreciate you being there.”
I give him a warm, genuine smile as I go to hug him. “We’re always here for you kid, and you’re not a burden. I won’t lie, you are a handful, but not a pain in the ass.” He gives a short laugh as he hugs be back.
It hurts when you need me and I can’t break your fall. It hurts when you can’t see and it hurts.
Riley has been eating, which all of us are relieved to find out. Abigail laughed for the first time in a while when Riley came in and started to nag at her, saying she never made anything good for dinner. The old Riley is very slowly coming back, but he is coming back. The dark rings around his eyes have lessened, and the latest I see him awake is around 1 in the morning, which is not that unusual for Riley.
We still find fresh cuts on him when we do our daily check, but they don’t seem to be as deep or as often as they used to be. It really hurts to see that Riley is still in pain, but it feels better knowing that things are getting somewhat better for him, for everyone.
And it hurts when you’re lonely and I’m standing right beside you there. And it hurts when you told me that you told me that you tried this on your own.
Another week had passed, and we thought things were going to be all right. Riley had started to talk to us more, said that he had not cut in a while. We were glad to see that he was happier, to hear his voice and see him smile.
He started to believe him when he told us that he hadn’t cut recently, and he was true to his word. When we were doing out check the one night, we found no new cuts. What we did find was more than we were ready for. On Riley’s stomach were burn marks from clothing irons and a car cigarette lighter. Right then Abigail collapsed onto a chair and I just stood there, eyes glued to the burns.
How could this have happened? This was not supposed to happen, things were starting to get better. I started to shake; whether it was out of anger or shock I couldn’t tell. Riley began to sob and apologize, and honestly I don’t think I could have accepted any of his apologies. When Abby or I discovered new marks, Riley was always quick to say he was sorry, that it would not happen again. Every time we nodded and believed him, hoping that he was telling the truth. The cutting had been horrible enough, but to see that he found a new method to bring harm upon himself was too much to bear; quickly I left the room.
Hope you never hurt, hope you never cry, hope you never lose you way tonight. Hope you never crumble, hope you never fall, hope you never throw away the
It was soon after that that Riley made the decision to admit himself into the hospital; we all knew he needed more help than what we could offer. As Riley told us about his decision, I could not help but feel as though I had failed. I was not strong enough to keep him from mutilating himself, to be a good enough friend to get him through all the pain in his life. Knowing that he had started to harm himself in the first place because I was not a good enough friend made me feel terrible, but knowing that I could no longer offer enough help made me sick.
I drove him to the hospital and helped him check into the special clinic they had. Abigail, dad and I all hugged him and wished him luck. As he walked down the hall away from us with the nurse I felt almost abandoned; I should be the one helping him, he shouldn’t need anyone else. Riley should have been admitted in the first place, but I had thought that my friendship alone would be enough to help him; right there I realized that my selfishness could have cost my best friend his life.
Drop the ball, watch it fall far below. Suck you, in hold your breath, watch it swing.
Two months, it had been two months since Riley admitted himself into the hospital. Two long months without Riley in the house, and the house had never felt to empty. Abigail and I made sure to visit him at least once a week, and every time we saw him he seemed to be better, happier. When we saw him he would never shut up, he’d go on and on about the different people here and how it’s just not the same without Abby and I there. We tell him how much we miss him and hope that he gets better soon so he can come home.
Riley smiles when we mention home, he knows that we don’t mean home to his apartment, but home with us. When we bought the house, Abigail made it a point to say that Riley would not live with us, now she had completely changed her mind.
Seeing how much better Riley was doing now that he was in a place that could really help him made me regret not having him admitted sooner. He went through so much more pain than he had to, he could have been helped sooner, but I was too thick headed to see I was not helping. Riley needed his friends, but he also needed help and friends could only help so much.
It hurts when you need me, and I can’t break your fall. It hurts when you can’t see and it hurts.
The nurses and doctors said that Riley was greatly improving, that he was taking part in group therapy and advancing in the program faster than some patients who have been there for almost a year. Abigail asks when Riley can leave, but the doctors still do not have a definite answer. They say that if Riley continues to progress at the pace he is now, he may be able to go home in a month or two, but under careful watch.
Riley is anxious to go home, he talks about how obnoxious some people are in the clinic and I wonder how bad they are if Riley is the one complaining about obnoxious people. The nurses don’t seem to mind him, they say that he can be a handful but he is actually one of the favorite patients there. I smile, knowing that Riley is not yet ready to come home, but he will be as soon as the nursing staff starts to complain about how whiny he is.
And it hurts, and it hurts, and it hurts, and it hurts, and it hurts, and it hurts.
True to my word, the nurses started to complain about Riley just when the head doctor informed Abigail and I that Riley could be discharged in a week. We were told that they wished to observe Riley this last week before they released him and that when he was to be released we would have to carefully watch him. Riley would have to continue to see his former therapist, Dr. Morris, at least once a week, but he would no longer have to stay in the clinic.
In preparation for Riley’s return, Abigail and I completely “baby- proofed” the house. Abigail made sure to bake him a cake and I picked up Chinese food before I picked him up and had him discharged. The nurses were not too sad to see him go, and most patients didn’t seem to be too upset either. Riley and I drove back home, and he was shocked to find Abigail actually baked him a cake.
“This is totally like in Super Mario where Mario helps free Princess Peach from Bowser and in thanks she bakes him a cake. After all that hard work, all those close calls with death, all he gets is a cake!” Abby and I laugh; glad that Riley was home. Things would never be back to normal, but things were much better than how they started. We head into the kitchen and Abigail and Riley begin to argue. Yep, things were definitely starting to go back to normal.
Drop the ball, watch it fall far below. Suck you in, hold your breath the undertow creeps in slow.
It had been two long weeks since I had found Riley bleeding on his bathroom floor. Two weeks that I’ve known that our lives were far from perfect. Two weeks that Riley has been in therapy, and two weeks that I have tried to be at his side.
I knew that getting Riley back to normal was going to be a difficult task, but I never thought it would be this hard on all of us. He keeps pushing all of us away, never lets anyeone in. Abigail has been worried sick, trying hard not to act too much like a mother hen. Even dad has been here to help, but Riley will not speak to any of us. We’ve tried, but the conversations never make it past a few awkward sentences.
Everyone owns a gun deep inside; it’s just a matter of how much you let it slide.
It’s so hard to see him like this, sitting in his room shaking, clutching at his sleeve. I’ve walked in on him several times cutting, sometimes its Abigail who finds him. I know it kills Abby when she finds him, when it first happened she screamed. Now she’s silent, but you can see the pain etched on her face, on several occasions I’ve seen her run off to cry.
Every time I see Abigail cry, or dad’s face full of sorrow I want to blame Riley. I want to yell and scream at him for doing this to all of his, for doing this to himself, but I know it’s not his fault. I can tell he hates himself for what he does, and when we’re in the same room he refuses to look at any of us. I catch myself mentally blaming him all the time, and whenever I find fresh scabs on his arm, I have to stop myself from being angry. I’d rather face the barrel of Ian’s gun again than see Riley quickly pull the sleeve of his jacket down.
Help me help you they won’t be there. Help me help you they won’t see.
Riley’s therapist has told Abigail and I what we had to do to help. Everyday we have to check his arms and legs for new scars. We’ve had to go through the whole house and throw out all the razors, lock up the silver wear, and hide the scissors and anything else he could use to harm himself. Abigail mentioned that it was like trying to baby proof the house in a way, I wonder if taking care of Riley is harder than taking care of children and I have to shack my head to rid it of the thought. How bad have things gotten that I’m comparing Riley to a child?
His doctor also told us to try to get Riley to talk, but not push him. I could never be a shrink if it meant that I had to deal with people with these problems every day for the rest of my professional life. When ever we happen to be in the same room I try to speak to him, but it’s near impossible to get him to look at you or say more than two word answers. Abigail looks on in such pain, desperately trying to get him to talk to her, she even tries to start arguments with him just to hear his voice. I never would have thought that I would miss the bickering between Abby and Riley. It used to drive me crazy, but it showed how much the two really cared about each other even though they couldn’t go more than ten minutes without fighting.
I would give anything to just go back to normal, to go back to when we were all running around trying to find a treasure that most people thought didn’t exist. As the days go by I’m beginning to realize that things will never be like they used to, now we will always have to closely watch Riley, to make sure that things will never get this bad again.
And it hurts when you need me, and I can’t break your fall. It hurts when you can’t see and it hurts.
I so desperately want to help him. They all say I’m doing as much as I can right now, but it’s just not enough. I wish I could just shake some sense into his head, to show him that he does not need to hurt himself in order to be happy. When I first found Riley bleeding on his floor, he had apologized and said that he needed help. And I believed him, I still do, or at least I want to. Deep inside I know he wants to stop, to get better, but he has shown no signs of stopping. Every other day there are more cuts, none of us can figure out where he’s getting the tools he needs to do this to himself.
Seeing him like this is more than I can bear, I don’t know how much longer I can go through this. I don’t know how much longer any of us can go through his.
Drop the switch, scratch the itch, watch it grow. Inch by inch, the cutting board, watch it swing to and fro.
Three weeks. Another week has passed, and it looks like Riley is deteriorating right in front of my eyes. I see him in the hall, or in the kitchen and he looks sicker, paler, and thinner. His clothes hangs more loosely on his body; there are dark rings around his eyes. His therapist says this is normal, that things will get worse before it gets better, but I don’t know how much worse the kid can get.
He’s still cutting. I find him on his computer at late hours of the night so I know he’s not sleeping. Abigail says she hasn’t seen him eat in days; the only thing left of the past Riley is his love for his computer.
Everyone carries one deep inside; it’s just a matter of how much you let it slide.
Abigail is setting out dinner, and I go to Riley’s room to force him to eat with us. When I reach his bedroom door, I find that it is locked. I first knock on the door, but there is no reply. I knock harder, knowing that he is in there.
A soft, hurried “hang on” comes from inside. I know exactly what he’s doing in there. As he opens the door I see him self-consciously pull at his sleeve. This is the last straw I can’t take any more. Ben Gates has a very long fuse, but once he blows all hell breaks loose. I push him back into his room and he stumbles onto the bed. He looks at me confused, as I determinedly search his room. I finally find the cold piece of metal I knew was there. I roll up my sleeve and press the blade of the scissors to my arm. I look over at Riley who has a horrified look on his face, I add more pressure and slide the sharp edge across my arm as Riley shouts.
He runs over to me, taking the scissors out of my hand and throwing them across the room. He punches me as he yells at me.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Tears are welling up in his eyes, threatening to fall.
This is the first time in a while that he is looking at me, and I hold eye contact as I growl back, “Every time you hurt yourself, this is what you’re doing to me. Doing to Abigail. When you think about doing this to yourself again, picture yourself doing it to us, because it’s exactly how it feels.”
He hugs me and I can tell he’s hiding the tears and silent sobs in my shoulder. Abigail walks in first seeing Riley clinging to me then the blood slowly dripping down my arm and gasps. As I see the hurt in her eyes, I regret letting my anger get the best of me.
Wash it off, take the loss, let it go. Take it in, drink it up, we can just take it slow.
Abigail leads Riley down to the kitchen as I go to the bathroom to clean myself up. I turn around and jump, seeing Abigail looking angrily at me from the doorway.
“What the hell did you think you were doing? Things are bad enough, Riley can barely stand he’s so upset. You better explain everything to me right now!” She snarls out the last sentence.
I regret blowing up at Riley even more. Taking a deep breath I try to explain. As I go on with my story, tears of anger begin to fall down her face. I don’t think I have ever hated myself more than I do at the moment. When I’m done talking Abigail gives me a hug and I can feel her trembling.
“If you ever try anything like that again Ben Gates, I’ll kill you. I’m just as upset and frustrated as you are, but we’ll get through this. Riley needs us to be his friends right now, and we can’t get angry at him.” She says this all in a horse voice, still holding onto me.
Everyone carries one deep inside; it’s just a matter of how much you let it slide.
When Riley goes to his next appointment with his therapist, I’m asked to join the session. I look hesitantly over at Riley, and enter the small room. Sitting down awkwardly next to Riley, I glance over to the doctor who is quietly closing the door. He sits down and introduces himself, but I already know who he is.
“Hello Mr. Gates, I’m Dr. Morris,” Dr. Morris is an older man, probably in his late fifties, and the hair that remains on his head is turning gray. His light green eyes hold no emotion they seem lifeless. “I know we have spoken on several occasions, but I thought today that we would try something new and have you join us. I had asked Riley the last time he was here if he was alright with you coming here, and he was fine with the arrangement.”
He looks over at me, and I feel as though he has entered my head and is nosing around. Is this how Riley feels every time he is here? It has only been five minutes, and I already feel uncomfortable, I don’t think I could do this every day.
“Well,” Dr. Morris continues, “In our past discussions, Riley has told me that he looks up to you very much. He has told me that you are the one who found out he was harming himself, and were the one to get him help.”
Dr. Morris goes on for a while, informing me of what has gone on in the past, and how much Riley cares about Abigail and I. He asks questions, and I don’t feel like I can look him in the eye even though I’m telling the truth. The entire time Riley looks down at the ground, every now and then shooting a glance my way. Morris does not go too deep into what has gone on in Riley’s sessions, but I get the gist. He examines our friendship, and my well-being. He asks how I’ve felt these past weeks, and I don’t think I could ever come into another session with a shrink.
Help me help you they won’t be there. Help me help you they won’t see.
A week has passed since I attended the meeting between Riley and Dr. Morris, and things seem to be getting a bit better. Dad helped me remove the lock on Riley’s door after I was scolded for not removing it previously. Riley watches as we get rid of the lock, looking ashamed. When we finish, dad gives Riley a soft smile and pat on the back as he moves to go down stairs.
“Thanks.” I’m startled by Riley’s voice; it had been a while since he started a conversation.
“What for?” I ask, honestly not knowing why.
“For everything. For putting up with me this long, I know that I have been a pain in the ass the whole time I’ve been here and that I’ve only been a burden to you and Abs.” He breaks eye contact, glancing at the floor, but once again meets me eye. “When you came in last week to my meeting with Morris, I realized that you really do care about me. I know that it was uncomfortable for you, but I really appreciate you being there.”
I give him a warm, genuine smile as I go to hug him. “We’re always here for you kid, and you’re not a burden. I won’t lie, you are a handful, but not a pain in the ass.” He gives a short laugh as he hugs be back.
It hurts when you need me and I can’t break your fall. It hurts when you can’t see and it hurts.
Riley has been eating, which all of us are relieved to find out. Abigail laughed for the first time in a while when Riley came in and started to nag at her, saying she never made anything good for dinner. The old Riley is very slowly coming back, but he is coming back. The dark rings around his eyes have lessened, and the latest I see him awake is around 1 in the morning, which is not that unusual for Riley.
We still find fresh cuts on him when we do our daily check, but they don’t seem to be as deep or as often as they used to be. It really hurts to see that Riley is still in pain, but it feels better knowing that things are getting somewhat better for him, for everyone.
And it hurts when you’re lonely and I’m standing right beside you there. And it hurts when you told me that you told me that you tried this on your own.
Another week had passed, and we thought things were going to be all right. Riley had started to talk to us more, said that he had not cut in a while. We were glad to see that he was happier, to hear his voice and see him smile.
He started to believe him when he told us that he hadn’t cut recently, and he was true to his word. When we were doing out check the one night, we found no new cuts. What we did find was more than we were ready for. On Riley’s stomach were burn marks from clothing irons and a car cigarette lighter. Right then Abigail collapsed onto a chair and I just stood there, eyes glued to the burns.
How could this have happened? This was not supposed to happen, things were starting to get better. I started to shake; whether it was out of anger or shock I couldn’t tell. Riley began to sob and apologize, and honestly I don’t think I could have accepted any of his apologies. When Abby or I discovered new marks, Riley was always quick to say he was sorry, that it would not happen again. Every time we nodded and believed him, hoping that he was telling the truth. The cutting had been horrible enough, but to see that he found a new method to bring harm upon himself was too much to bear; quickly I left the room.
Hope you never hurt, hope you never cry, hope you never lose you way tonight. Hope you never crumble, hope you never fall, hope you never throw away the
It was soon after that that Riley made the decision to admit himself into the hospital; we all knew he needed more help than what we could offer. As Riley told us about his decision, I could not help but feel as though I had failed. I was not strong enough to keep him from mutilating himself, to be a good enough friend to get him through all the pain in his life. Knowing that he had started to harm himself in the first place because I was not a good enough friend made me feel terrible, but knowing that I could no longer offer enough help made me sick.
I drove him to the hospital and helped him check into the special clinic they had. Abigail, dad and I all hugged him and wished him luck. As he walked down the hall away from us with the nurse I felt almost abandoned; I should be the one helping him, he shouldn’t need anyone else. Riley should have been admitted in the first place, but I had thought that my friendship alone would be enough to help him; right there I realized that my selfishness could have cost my best friend his life.
Drop the ball, watch it fall far below. Suck you, in hold your breath, watch it swing.
Two months, it had been two months since Riley admitted himself into the hospital. Two long months without Riley in the house, and the house had never felt to empty. Abigail and I made sure to visit him at least once a week, and every time we saw him he seemed to be better, happier. When we saw him he would never shut up, he’d go on and on about the different people here and how it’s just not the same without Abby and I there. We tell him how much we miss him and hope that he gets better soon so he can come home.
Riley smiles when we mention home, he knows that we don’t mean home to his apartment, but home with us. When we bought the house, Abigail made it a point to say that Riley would not live with us, now she had completely changed her mind.
Seeing how much better Riley was doing now that he was in a place that could really help him made me regret not having him admitted sooner. He went through so much more pain than he had to, he could have been helped sooner, but I was too thick headed to see I was not helping. Riley needed his friends, but he also needed help and friends could only help so much.
It hurts when you need me, and I can’t break your fall. It hurts when you can’t see and it hurts.
The nurses and doctors said that Riley was greatly improving, that he was taking part in group therapy and advancing in the program faster than some patients who have been there for almost a year. Abigail asks when Riley can leave, but the doctors still do not have a definite answer. They say that if Riley continues to progress at the pace he is now, he may be able to go home in a month or two, but under careful watch.
Riley is anxious to go home, he talks about how obnoxious some people are in the clinic and I wonder how bad they are if Riley is the one complaining about obnoxious people. The nurses don’t seem to mind him, they say that he can be a handful but he is actually one of the favorite patients there. I smile, knowing that Riley is not yet ready to come home, but he will be as soon as the nursing staff starts to complain about how whiny he is.
And it hurts, and it hurts, and it hurts, and it hurts, and it hurts, and it hurts.
True to my word, the nurses started to complain about Riley just when the head doctor informed Abigail and I that Riley could be discharged in a week. We were told that they wished to observe Riley this last week before they released him and that when he was to be released we would have to carefully watch him. Riley would have to continue to see his former therapist, Dr. Morris, at least once a week, but he would no longer have to stay in the clinic.
In preparation for Riley’s return, Abigail and I completely “baby- proofed” the house. Abigail made sure to bake him a cake and I picked up Chinese food before I picked him up and had him discharged. The nurses were not too sad to see him go, and most patients didn’t seem to be too upset either. Riley and I drove back home, and he was shocked to find Abigail actually baked him a cake.
“This is totally like in Super Mario where Mario helps free Princess Peach from Bowser and in thanks she bakes him a cake. After all that hard work, all those close calls with death, all he gets is a cake!” Abby and I laugh; glad that Riley was home. Things would never be back to normal, but things were much better than how they started. We head into the kitchen and Abigail and Riley begin to argue. Yep, things were definitely starting to go back to normal.