"Hey, hey you! What do you think? Let me ask you? Do you think it is reasonable for someone to take anti-anxiety meds when you can't even function and you were molested when you were younger?" A young man in his 20's is in my face as I turn the corner towards home. I pull my headphones from my ears.
I had seen the intensity in his eyes, and prior to him asking, I could overhear him speaking to another older gentlemen with a wide-brim hat who seemed to be some sort of mentor, may be a sponsor. As I approached them, through my music, I had heard the young man shouting with potency and pain, "Ohh really! Oh really! You know what, let me ask her!" He was sort of shouting at the man, he held a vaporizer in his right hand behind his back and his hair was kinked and messy. He could have looked homeless, but definitely strung out on something but mostly strung out in pain.
"Hey, hey you! What do you think? Let me ask you? Do you think it is reasonable for someone to take anti-anxiety meds when you can't even function and you were molested when you were younger?"
I gave myself a moment. His eyes were focused on mine. They were really stunning eyes. They held a lot of hurt and the color of hazel amplified his question. He wanted me to blow him off, that's what he wanted. He had probably been blown off his entire life. He wanted to be validated that he was no good and a bit frightening and like many of us, he would have expected me to walk away and feel a little bad but mostly relieved that that was not me.
But I didn't walk away. I saw myself in him. I saw his pain and his struggle to cope, to live after much loss of innocence.
After about 15 seconds holding his gaze, I spoke as kindly and as gently as I could, "I don't know the answer to that question because I don't know what that feels like. But it sounds awful and very hurtful. I am really really sorry you have to deal with that and feel so much pain. That must be so hard."
His defenses came down, and if he wasn't holding back, he looked as though he could have cried right there. I wanted to cry too.
We just stared at each other for a bit, then slowly his shoulders relaxed, we both forgot about the man standing next to him.
He nodded. "It does suck."
"I know," I replied.
"Thank you." he shyly gave me. The man next to him also thanked me.
I began to turn and walk away, I was about 15 feet in front of them when something pulled me to tell him more and give him more.
My walk was with purpose and I was not really in control of my body. I stood right in front of them both.
"You know, I feel like I need to tell you this one more thing. You see, in August of this past year, I lost my twin sons. They both died." He looked at me with the most empathetic heart I have seen. He gets it.
"I held them both. I have felt the depths of despair. I have felt like I didn't want to live. It sucks to feel the pain we feel, but you know what, I got myself through it. I needed lots of help and support and so do you. I meditate every day to calm my mind and sit with my emotions. I was on anxiety meds and trust me they only help for so long. Wine and alcohol, it does no good for too long. I drank a bottle a night for a bit. Didn't help. I had to do it, for me and my boys and for you. I had to get better. We have to do it for ourselves. You are a good person. You can heal, but no one can do it for you. Ask for help and trust that you have everything inside of you that you need. Ok?"
He's a stranger who needs a bath, but I gave him a hug, "Ok?" I say again with intensity. I looked at him as if he were my own son that needed comfort and reassurance and love. He was just a boy who was really hurt.
"Ok." he slowly confirms.
I turn to walk away, "Thank you," but I don't need it, I should be thanking him. He allowed me to be vulnerable and connect and heal myself just that much more. I am so appreciative for moments like these. I was so happy to have the strength to stay and be in the present with him. We both needed it.
This is an image of my first born son, right after I delivered him. That is the love I hold in my heart for all my boys and that they gave me to pass on wherever I can; their legacy lives on.
