Praise

A Story by Danielle Browne

On a typical crisp evening as everything winds down, I knew by the humming car motor and the crying dogs that she was home. Although, where we live doesn't feel like home to me, although it feels like a temporary place to call home, wherever she is feels warm and safe, like a home. There is a certain comfort and love about her that minimizes my anxiety and spiraling thoughts. Her compassion and selflessness knows no bounds. But for her, trust is just an overused word that has broken meaning. To everyone, she is an open, tattered book that didn't mind having it's pages recklessly flicked through. She is a stepped on doormat never acknowledged. She never used to see it but I always did. When I think about, a deep sadness overwhelms me knowing that her efforts and unnoticed sacrifices go without praise.
She only wants to help.
But she is so special.
She will forever hold a warm heart and a beautiful brain but I know that her self love and awareness is slowly disintegrating. Her mind is an asylum of self hatred and fear and it is something those lollies won't fix. They are a daily ritual that she has become reliant on. The complex and taunting prison that is her mind is like a sacred garden with broken fences and thorns. She is broken, but only her brain was cracked.
Sometimes the sadness is crippling. She swallows those lollies everyday with the hopes that her misery will progressively fade but from an outsider's perspective of the cracked fine china that she is, I know they'll only make her sad.
"Have you ever considered medication?" My counselor once said to me. "No," I began confidently. "I think natural is the way to go. I don't want medication to mess with my head." I thought of her. I thought of her gracious but in-genuine smile and her dirty meadow eyes and the familiar song that was her laugh. But through all the pain and grief, I smiled in gratitude because I am so proud of her. She is the oil that keeps our cogs turning. She will always be the pink, stunning sunset that I wait with anticipation for everyday. One day she will shut her tired eyes that hold all of her secrets and inhale freedom with the realization that she has broken free from the mind maze. I know one day she will break free from her chains of hopelessness and realize that she is so special.
Perhaps she still isn't ready to be a mother. In her times of isolation, I have learned to care for myself. In the evenings, the routine follows through with no words necessary. I go to my hideaway and she goes to her's. We part ways after the dogs stop crying and we engage in some kind of brief, insubstantial interaction. When I enter those four walls and I'm finally alone, I feel peace of mind. It's a sort of dark and isolating type of happiness but I feel no need to converse with anyone in there. But I think about her and wonder what she does. I wish she was okay. Those lollies will never make her okay.