Chronicles Of The Battles Of My Mind—I Hear You

For C.

The office space is small. The four corners that geometrically enclose her universe are daunting. The temperature drops to uncomfortable lows, and as her pink jacket embraces the desire for warmth, the small area heater by her feet declares truce in the middle of existing and forthcoming battles. Her smile is genuine; her inquisitive look is domineering. She sits in her chair embracing the tempestuous winds coming from the foreign conflicts of my mind, oblivious to what she is doing.

She governs the moment as her professional demeanor and productive intellect provide a safe-cushioned-landing pad to the inevitable impact of my reality. Tears betray me in her presence, and the memories of all the what-could-have-been publicly declare the skipping beats from a man’s suffering heart. She holds tight to her understanding as I deliver the storm of my rationale, and suddenly the desk between us becomes the fortress that shields her from me.

Her perceptive look is restorative. I am abruptly given the luxury of being freed in that moment. Without asking, words become the safe vessel that navigates the menacing tides of uncertainty, and the gale that it all encompasses. I am thrown into a controlled cyclone of acceptance, when she successfully nudges the root of all my contentions. I am sick, but when I talk to her, I do not feel it. I feel normal. I am free!

I am not sure if that is her goal. I am not convinced if this is her target, but something is secured, I am able to face my demons in a way that I have never done before. I see them all smiling and mocking  me behind her. They try to move swiftly across that office space as if trying to threaten me. Sometimes they triumphantly do just that. But in her company however, things developed differently. They all suddenly sit quietly; listening to everything they have done to me, and everything they continue to do.

Some warriors have achieved victory with the help of the sharp edges of their sword. Some warriors have just walked in mile-long marches to state a rightful point of view. There are other fighters notwithstanding, which brilliantly face the remnants of other people’s bloodshed with the simple art of listening. They make eye contact, and in a very subtle fashion communicate their helpful case, “I hear you.”

As I get up, I am smacked with the chilly and gusty wind of an office opened door. She stands like a giant, even though she is perhaps, a foot shorter than I am. It becomes onerous to stare at her. I am conflicted with the bleeding open scars of my past and the healing attributes of her company. I walk out slowly, stop for moment, and then turn around quickly to say the only thing I am able to produce, “thank you!”

After the day is over, I sit in the car thoughtfully. The engines turns after ignition and then I drive my truck back home to reality, to the past, and to my future one where she is now--unavoidably-- a part of. And so now, upon release from her care, I unmercifully think, remember, react, and continue to fight my inner fiends… because of yesterday, for today…and for a hopeful tomorrow!

 Let the battle continue.

God bless you!


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