Matters Of The Heart

The phone rang at my extension around two thirty in the afternoon. It was Michelle on the line. I picked up the receiver and gave my usual greeting:

“Thank you for calling Rhema. This is Misty. How may I help you?”

“Hello Misty,” Michelle responded. Michelle was the Human Resources Manager at my work place. “Can you please come see me in my office for a moment?”

“Sure,” I responded and hung up the phone. I headed to her office, which was located across from the company’s break room. I pondered on the possible things she might want to talk to me about.

When I got to Michelle’s office, she invited me in and asked me to close the door. Once I took a seat, she stated,

“I was talking to Charles earlier.” All of a sudden, I knew where this conversation was headed. Or at least I thought I knew. Charlie was my co-worker who sat across from my cubicle and was the other administrative assistant in our office. Michelle relayed to me how Charlie had spoken to her about me and told her he was concerned about my well-being. I admitted to her that I was going through a little difficulty.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” she gently prodded for further details. Tears welled up in my eyes as I tried to fight them back. I replied,

“Recently, I’ve just been feeling like I don’t want to live anymore.” Michelle had already called The Counseling Group to schedule an appointment for me to see a therapist. Charlie must have given her enough information from our text messaging from the night before to cause her to be concerned. I was relieved to know that I was allowed to leave early for the day. It was Thursday afternoon and I was ready for the week-end. I went back to my desk to grab my belongings and clock out. Michelle was going to take me to the therapist’s office.

My appointment had been scheduled for four o’clock. The therapist’s office was located in the Roswell area, about a half-hour drive from our office. The therapist was a blonde lady with a short haircut. She had a bubbly personality and a friendly demeanor, and she appeared to be in her early fifties. I quickly became comfortable with her. This was not the first time my work place had sent me to The Counseling Group. I knew I needed help and that was all that mattered to me at this point.

The therapist asked me a series of questions related to my family life, relationships, and beliefs. I answered them all to the best of my ability. She asked me questions closely related to the suicidal thoughts I was having.

“It’s not that I’ve been thinking of ways to kill myself,” I explained. “It’s just that over the last several months, I’ve been having moments where I feel like I do not want to live anymore.”

“Have you informed your Primary Care Physician about these thoughts you’ve been having?” she continued to ask.

“No, I haven’t really thought about that,” I admitted. The therapist stated how important it was for me to make my doctor aware of this. We then talked about my social life as this was going to be an important part of my recovery. As we talked about my friends and the types of activities we enjoyed doing together, it dawned on me that I had virtually become withdrawn from all my friends, and I had no desire to reach out to them.

“How did I get to this place?” I asked myself as I pondered on the questions the therapist was asking me. I was in a black hole of depression and despair, and the last person I had reached out to was Charlie. I had woken up and felt as if the world had played a terrible trick on me. Everybody but me was having sex. Being here in the therapist’s office, I felt like I could finally tell someone and they would listen. I could open up to a total stranger and she would understand that I had outgrown the little girl who dreamed of getting married one day and having children. Everything about this little girl that I was had now become an illusion.

My visit to the therapist lasted for two sessions. By the end of my second visit to her office, we both felt that I had made a great deal of improvement. I started finding comfort in the little things, and I had begun to come out of my corner of despair. This was a place I did not care to revisit, but I knew how real it was. I made a conscious decision to do whatever it would take to ensure that I do not return to this place.

For a long time, I did not comprehend how weighty the matters of the heart could be. It had to take finding myself in a desperate situation in order for me to start thinking about taking care of my inner self. This inner part of me that was hidden behind this exterior profile carried all my feelings and emotions. Memories of my happiness, sadness, victories, and heartbreaks had molded the me I had become. Previously, I had been programmed to believe that anything to do with the “self” was a vice. Self-ishness, self love, self-centeredness, and self-consciousness were not words to be freely used in my everyday vocabulary because of my Christian upbringing.

The conversation between Charlie and I the night before my therapy session had been intense. I had opened up to him in a way that I had never opened up to a guy before. I confided in him that I was still a virgin and I was beginning to feel that I might be ready for intimacy.

“Hormones are normal,” was his nonchalant reply.

“No kidding!” I said, slightly relieved that he didn’t think I was a hussy. I was still getting over the embarrassment of him turning me down.

After the little incident with Charlie, I turned a leaf and began a new chapter in my life. This was a chapter where I chose to wrap my arms around myself when needed. Healing did not come overnight, but it’s slowly coming with the summer breeze. The most important thing was my awakening to the soul, to a need for love and affection; a need that had been locked away, hidden and unnoticed beneath the surface.