This is a great challenge – check it out – click the icon.
by DiggieVitt on Flickr
“Tell me about it…” said Dr Wainman.
“I think it all started in childhood, well these things normally do, don’t they?” Eliza looked up half expecting a reaction. She would never get used to the silence he allowed her to fill with her own stories. He never said much and held a mask of an expression, lively enough to show he was listening and deadpan enough not to give away any hint of emotion. It drove her crazy if she was honest, but she still went to her weekly sessions, she knew the only way to get rid of the demon was to talk about it.
“I think it was a problem even before father left…” Eliza wasn’t aware of the tears streaming down her face as she twisted in her seat and tried to fill in the details of her memories as Dr Wainman asked carefully stitched questions, prompting recall from deep inside of her.
In the end she held onto his closing words. She always did. It was the only time he ever said anything. This week he told Eliza that fear didn’t exist.
This concept blew Eliza’s mind – it was like learning that we imagine colour as everything we see is only black or white or some shade of subtle grey. That was the day she wondered why we spent so much on interior design. Now Dr Wainman was telling her she could avoid all her dark feelings if she could let go of fear – which was a manifestation of what might happen and the irrational concerns she had were never likely to become reality. The probability was low, off the radar in fact.
Dr Wainman was trying to focus her mind on something she could accomplish, move her forward rather than allowing her to remain a tortured prisoner of her past.
The truth stunned her. She had created the monster. Her own mind had conjured up fear to protect her from the real harm that was happening to her mother. The fear in this case did not fulfil its role. She could not be kept safe by it. Her mother had nowhere else to go and neither did she. All these years since, reliving the nightmare… that was her hurting herself.
How could she move forward knowing her mind was this broken?
For the first time EVER in any of the writing challenges I participate in I have taken the essence of the image and used that in a non-literal way. (In case you’re still wondering where the birds are!) 😉