Prisoners Of The Mind

15 Nov

​Difficulty in falling asleep. A plummeting drop in self esteem. Anxiety and panic attacks. Bouts of weeping. Reduction in socialisation. And the devil in a saviour’s disguise in the form of anti-anxiety medicines, and dependence on cigarettes and alcohol. 

The clinical psychologist trainee sat across the visibly distraught client, who mumbled the above mentioned symptoms with downcast eyes, and the psychologist immediately knew that she had to help the person out. Empathy, they say, is an important quality to possess in this profession. Never had she felt the pain of any other case as her own, as she did for this one. Pored over books for hours and designed a therapy plan, only to have it prove completely ineffective. The client returns with the thought  diary as empty as her insides. Maybe the client needs another therapist? On began the search for an experienced and qualified therapist, but as luck would have it, financial and geographical constraints were already conspiring against the client. The client visited her everyday, her blank eyes asking for help, since social stigma had sealed her lips shut.

 Sometimes she would seem like she was improving, and even managed to look up and smile, but only to return a day or two later, her heart bleeding through her eyes. The psychologist would just sit there, feeling more helpless than the client. The client was gradually wilting away, like a beautiful flower that someone had once planted in his garden, only to soon forget to tend to it, while it faced the cruelties of nature, all alone everyday. 

The analogy brought tears to the psychologist’s eyes. She stood up, took one last look at the weeping client, and turned away from the mirror.

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2 Responses to “Prisoners Of The Mind”

  1. Carla November 17, 2016 at 3:48 am #

    Beautifully written Manisha! 🙂

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