Unloved Ones

unloved prologue.

"I hope people are aware of the fact that people who are in a psychiatric hospital are not crazy. They have a very difficult period in their life and need time to recover so they can be themselves again," she said.

"People and aware don't belong in the same sentence, Dr. Rife." Christopher responded as he flicked his wrist back and forth, the paint gradually fading as it colored the white spaces of the canvas.

"It can be hard for people who don't live with mental illness to understand the terrifying nuances that come with the disorders." Dahlia rose from the rolling chair that slightly leaned further to the right than what was comfortable. She took steady strides towards the tattooed man and the colorful canvas, not knowing which piece of artwork to focus on.

"People can't see that you're ill, they just see a normal person that can still laugh sometimes and having a nice evening. What they don't see is the miserable hours after any social event and the breakdown I had every morning when I had to leave my bed... And that's just a small part of all the difficulties." Christopher glanced at her for a moment so quick, you wouldn't have noticed him looking at you either.

"Are you miserable here?" She stayed attentive to the painting, fascinated by the abstract.

"No. Isolation keeps me sane. I'd rather be cooped up in here than be a dog without a leash in this cruel world." He carefully dipped the brush into the once clear water, moving it in a circular motion until the paint residue floated to the top of the liquid.

His looks might scare, but his story is heart breaking. Hard working, blue collar, former husband. He sees things other people don't. Clowns and spiders haunt his waking hours and terrorize his dreams.

He leaves and comes right back. He's not better yet. He's trying, but he'll probably be on disability soon, unable to work before his 30th birthday because of the overwhelming urge to make it all end.

But still, he is kind.

Too kind.

It's heart breaking to watch him, humble and genuine, knowing what must torment his head. His gentleness brings a sort of unexpected peace to those around him. If only he could find the same peace for himself.

"You've been pretty quiet over there, what's on your mind?" Christopher spoke up to distract Dahlia from her wandering thoughts.

"This isn't about me. It's nothing." She brushed off her ideas as her eyes slowly traveled up to his focused features, whose attention wasn't directed on her. Dahlia always knew better than to get caught in a stare, and looked away in a second.

"You don't necessarily have to ask me all of the questions." He passed his tongue between his lips and pulled them into his mouth, the subtle dimples on the side of his honey freckled face making a quick appearance.

"It's my job." She corrected him.

"It's your job to care for others who don't give a damn about you?" Christopher finally took his attention away from the vibrant acrylic and turned to face her completely.

"No, it's my job to care for those who think nobody gives a damn about them." Dahlia kept her eyes low and glued to the ground.

"Do you even give a damn? Or is it the paycheck?" He questioned in a much more serious tone. Without warning, her eyes shot up to meet his onyx set, which showed nothing but static.

"You're reflecting the questions onto me, trying to get a response out of me, just so you won't be under fire. Unlike some, I refuse to do something that doesn't make me happy for a couple of dollars. Once again, this is your session, can we make it about you please?"

"One last question, what do you think about me?" His eyes looked hopeful, as if he were looking to hear something other than "a lost cause".

"Gentle soul, kind as kind can be. You're just a sweet person who wants to do right. Yet, you're hurting the most." Her glasses hung low on her wide nose as she looked at him from above the rim.

"You couldn't possibly know that. I haven't told you anything. I've barely opened up." He tried to find a fault in her conjecture, but Dahlia refused to accept it. What she said is what she intended.

"The light only truly shines through people that have been broken."

"We are all broken. I mean, aren't we now? I am. The whole wide world is." Christopher tried to throw his responsibility in the palm of society.

Dahlia's laugh was brittle. "Christopher, we all have our own wounds. We're all broken in our own way. Mine might look different than yours, but they were deep enough to enlarge my heart. Your wounds are of a different magnitude. You're different."

"Different or crazy?" Christopher's voice soothed her heart that ached for him.

"You're not crazy." His eyes traveled down directly to hers, overcome with darkness and a grim cloud of gray.

"What if I am?"

~

I'm so excited for this project, I can see it being something beautiful. I would also like to use this to spread awareness to those who are dealing with mental illness. Whether it's depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, or if you just feel alone. Feel free to use me as an outlet, or a shoulder to lean on. This is a safe place. I love you all.

~ Maiya ❤️