Possibenley's

Mindful

*This is just a short piece about what was possibly going through Miranda's head as she was dealing with the things happening in the hospital inspired by Higher by Tems. If you haven't heard the song, definitely take a listen, I love it. Also, just a warning, it may seem a little dark, but the mind of someone who deals with mental illness isn't always beautiful; sometimes, it's a storm.*

Miranda stood there in her office stuck, trying to breathe. She had forgotten how to do the most fundamental part of life. It was all too much. Too heavy. It felt like her world was ending. The hospital was crumbling around her, and there was nothing that she could do.

Was she sweating?

Everything she'd ever dreamed of was crumbling. During her tenure as Chief, there was never an easy moment, and it seemed that she could never catch a break, but this was different. She was genuinely afraid of what would happen to her next.

Was she trembling?

When Miranda finally came back to she was hyperventilating. Trying to calm herself, she knew she needed to get out of there. Her health was more prominent than that place. She made it where she wanted to be, and now it was time to step back and let somebody else worry about it for a change.

She began to pick at her hands. Damn it.

She was doing her damnest to put the broken hospital back together, but how could she do it alone? After the effects of the pandemic, everyone was tired. But where did she fair out in all of that? Was she not allowed to be tired? Why did she have to hold it all together while everyone could take their moment?

She began to pace.

She wished that she could rewind time and prepare better for what was to come. She was the first woman chief of surgery at Grey-Sloan, let alone a black woman. There was never a time when she was able to show weakness. But who was she to blame herself for the things she could not control.

She started to rearrange her desk again.

It seemed like she didn't have much control over things for the last two years, and it was now starting to show as the hospital was slowly unraveling. There was nothing she could do about it, yet she had to take all the blame. What about all of the messy men who were in charge before her? Did anyone ever blame them for the mess they caused?

Damn it, what was that smell?

It was hopeless, and quite frankly, she was hopeless. Nobody seemed to care about the demise of Grey-Sloan, so why should she?

She ran every scenario of what she could have done differently through her head and palmed her face.

It was truly time for her to run away from the darkness, run away from the suffering that was that damn hospital. It was indeed cursed. She needed to get out of there. Maybe she should have gone to space.

She sanitized her hands for the fifth time.

She had a new little girl at home, two boys, and a husband that needed her. She needed to live for them. It was time for her to stop living for the hospital and start living for herself and her family; they needed her more.

She counted her fingers again.

Her world that she knew was coming to an end. There was only one person that could save her from the downward spiral she was in.

She grabbed her phone.

She sent a text, and he was there to save the day not before long.

Ben was always so attentive to her; he knew just what to do to help calm her down.

Ben pulled her into a bear hug to help ground her. He rubbed her head as she leaned into his chest. He was her calm, her silence—the one place where everything made sense.

She could finally breathe.

After a few minutes of standing in that position, Miranda's breathing had returned to normal, and Ben had figured this was the best time to get her home.

One step at a time.

When they got home, Ben ran her a nice hot bath for her to soak in and calm herself. He would give her all the space she needed because he knew she would tell him what happened or what triggered the night's events when she was ready. He would wait. He would always wait for her. 

He went to make her some tea for when she got out of the tub.

Miranda thought to herself while soaking in the tub. Could she wait it out? Was it even worth it? Could she keep fighting?

Deep Breath

She couldn't stay any longer; she could no longer wait.

Right?

Breathe. Remember.

Maybe she had one more straw left? Was it worth it? Would they do it for her?

Ground yourself.

If the world was ending, Would they just cry, or would they try to get her?

Miranda sunk a little deeper into her bath to soak all the stress away with another deep breath.

Breathe.