Delusions of dismay

Today i watched a girl, distressed and bitterly crying.  Disheartened, she was cornered in her bed, reclining on a pillow. There were crumpled papers on her bed and her hand was feebly holding a pen to which i presumed she is a writer. I couldn't unravel the reason she was crying.  So, I picked up a crumbled paper and opened its creases. It was roughly scribbled with certain words that were written, stricken off, and then re-written, number of times. The girl looked at me quietly as if she was allowing me to read them. 

"I work. I work hard and while i work, i completely forget what my heart is carrying. I listen to music. I watch films.  I write.  I try to eat heartfully, not following the routines of morsel amount that i used to do.  I even gathered the strength to tidy up my room which was dishevelled for days.  I do every possible thing to keep me going.  Still,  there is something terrible that sleeps inside me which i cannot liberate from myself.  It's like a monster, that comes out only at night and haunts me in my darkness.  Every time the sun sets, my weary eyes, my drooped shoulders, my pounding heart, my trembling body and the incessant tears sets me into a path of twisted black and white loop, where i weep for reasons unknown."

Her eyes remain closed. It was truly agonizing to hear her piercing cry, for every tick of the clock, she kept on crying,  losing her sanity. 

I wished to tell her,

 "Dont cry. It's okay.  It will pass." 

But i didn't.

I didn't utter a word. 

I allowed her the silence she wanted because i know, letting it out is the only way to dismantle the heavy feeling.  

It is a battle that she has to fight, no matter how victorious the end could be. 

She is her only commander. 

She is her only Army. 

She. Has. To. Fight. 

 I sat beside her as she wallowed through these ineffable noxious feelings. I just watched her sob in silence.  In her artful room stood a full length mirror finished in rustic wood edges, staring at us. 

. 

. 

And when i looked back in the mirror, there was no other person but the image of "a girl",  profoundly expressing her sorrows and living in delusions of dismay. 

To my horror, that girl was me.

Pic~ The two Fridas by Frida Kahlo