Footsteps To Freedom

I work in a very volatile environment. I am used to it because I’ve been in my field for over ten years. I’ve met all walks of life and for the most part, it has been a pretty exciting adventure. I don’t mind the environment I am in because even in the most volatile environment, you can find unique people. The mind can be molded and shaped into many things given the person who is holding the mold. I’ve seen people come and go. Some have died. Some have succeeded. Some have given up. Some have simply existed in a space they are only comfortable with.

I walked to the lobby this morning and see this young man literally shaking. He is holding a cup of water but it is spilling all over the place because his hands are shaking. “I’m sorry”, he says. “I can get it up”. I stop him and ask him to sit and drink instead of trying to walk around and drink. “I suffer from anxiety and I feel like really shaky now and I am so sorry, I am trying to pull it back together, I’m sorry!”. I tell him there is nothing to apologize for. I ask if I can do an exercise with him. And he nods his head yes. I ask him if he’s ever heard about Grounding. He nods he has. We do the grounding exercise together. He calms down a little. “I do this a lot, sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t”. I ask if he needs to talk or does he want to be alone to calm down. “Can we talk in your office?”. I oblige him.

He sits down and tells me his name. I tell him mind. He says “Your office is nice, it’s really nice with the yellow lights.”. I ask if he wants to hear some music. He says yes. I ask him “What do you like?”. He nods, “I don’t care”. “I turn on Rihanna’s “Lift Me Up”. He sits in the chair and weeps like a small child. I slide the Kleenex towards him and allow him his moment.

The song ends. I ask if he wants to hear it again?”. He says “no”. Tears cascading down his cheeks, he says. “I haven’t cried in a while. I don’t mind crying”. He sits quiet for a minute. I offer him candy and he accepts. He stands up. “Can I close the door for a minute?”. I tell him yes.

“I want to tell you why I feel like I am going to have a panic attack. You see, I am a racist. I am not supposed to like people like you. I am supposed to believe that you’re are not smart and you are the N word. I am supposed to hate you”. The tear begins again. “My parents told me, raised me to believe that African Americans are bad people. But I don’t believe them, I can’t believe them because everybody in here has been so nice to me. They talk to me, they speak to me like I am a person and not a junkie. They give me food and drink and candy and a safe place to cry. I am conflicted because I love my parents and I know I am supposed to listen to him, but they are wrong and I try to tell them they are wrong about other people and all people are like not how they say but they get mad and want to throw me out the house. So I don’t fight no more, I listen to him and cry and shake and have panic attacks and then I use drugs to make me feel normal and it’s starts all over again. I’m sorry, I am supposed to hate you”.

I tell him not to be mad because he was raised to believe a lie. I further explained he may be upset that everything his parents told him about “people like us” is now skewed and looks wrong. I explained that we are supposed to listen to our parents when we are young, but when we become older, we must make decisions that are best for us. And one day, he may be strong enough dispel his parents rhetoric and learn to love a country full of people of different races, hues, and nationalities. He smiled. “I hope so”.