I am speaking to a woman whose head is dressed in a plastic bag.

Her mouth moves beneath the film, and only minor sounds come out.

Completely inaudible.

No one seems to notice. Everything is normal. No one sees the woman with the plastic bag around her head.

I move closer to understand her words, but she shifts backward instantly.

Her blurred vision makes out a human before her, but nothing more.

I try another step and again she shifts backward, but further.

I stay still. What do I do? I do not know. I contemplate for several minutes as her muffled voice continues. In my confusion I back away, and I see her body move towards me.

My head tilts. I inch back once more. She follows, and her breathing becomes quick.

I can see the plastic bag around her mouth moving faster and faster. She is going to suffocate.

I step forward. In sequence, she steps back. Her breathing was slightly slower.

I do not want to leave. I am the only one who sees her.

What do I do?

I have no power. Nothing.

So, I step back. She follows. I step back again. She continues as her breathing hastens. I resume to take several more steps, and I can see the bag begin to choke her. Slowly kill her.

Her neck begins to glisten with tears. She stops, crouches down, grabs her shins, and lowers her head to her knees.

She has given up. She will no longer follow me.

With her eyes blinded, I quietly move forward and sit in front of her.

I gently grab her hands and stroke the tops of them.

Her head lifts, and her voice becomes loud. Her breathing is labored, and she begins to choke. I still cannot understand her muffles as her volume begins to rise. She starts to jerk her hands away, but I hold tight. I am leaving prints along her skin.

I refuse to let go. I am not letting go.

I cannot understand her until the plastic bag is removed. I cannot remove it alone. If I let go she will turn and run away.

I call to the people around me not taking my eyes off her. No one.

I call again. No one.

This person needs help, and they all ignore me? I begin to cry along with her. Our faces were wet with sadness and frustration. My voice cracks as it screams for help.

A few figures appear and gently wrap their arms around her waist and shoulders. I do not dare to look up – my sole focus is on the woman in front of me.

She slumps. Her crying turns to soft sobs and her breathing softens to a slow and steady pace.

I remove my hands and take hold of the plastic bag. There is no fight left in this woman. She is weary and tired.

I gently lift the bag past her ears and over her head. Her hair falls on either side of her shoulders, and her tear-stained face looks up at me.

I stare at her with such familiarity. I know her, but she is so weak, tired, and worn.

It is me.

I look at the figures holding her, and I recognize them too.

It is my family. My friends.

In sequence, we take a deep breath, and we all stand together. I toss the bag behind me and smother it with my foot as she says “thank you for not giving up on me.”

I am found. I am safe. I am known. I am heard.

---

Authors Note:

I hope you found this story intriguing and relatable. This is my own interpretation of what it is like battling with mental health and seeking the strength to find “me” again alongside the friends and family who have stayed by my side.

If you struggle with mental health, then please be open with your closest friends and family who want to see you well and happy. And find the help that you need. I promise it will get better, but do not ever think that giving up is the answer! ❤

Love,

Jennie Laureen Robinson Hayes

 

Photo by Luke Braswell on Unsplash