You See All of Me

Part 2; To Think Is To Die

Some people say that the mind is the most incredible thing in the world. No two minds are the same. Some are wise, some are dumb. Some are smart, some are stupid. Some are quick and others are slow. Some of us have minds thst just don't work at the level they're meant to be.

The mind is complex, unknown in its entirety and confusing not to one but to man as a whole.

The mind is capable of many things. It is capable of love and hate, life and death, intelligence and stupidity, making decisions right and wrong; creativity and originality as well as plain and common. It is capable of simplicity and complexity, good and bad, heroism and terrorism, responsibility and irresponsibility; being an adult versus being childish, being full and empty, intelligence and unlearning, dreams and nightmares.

The mind has always been a source of fascination to those who are scientists and those are psychologists, those who are doctors and those who are curious. The mind has been studied for decades and still, to this day, it is not understood in its entirety.

The mind is capable of yet another thing--realism and the fictitious. It is responsible for how we respond to good or bad, safety or danger. It is responsible for whether or not we speak up or stay silent, whether we stand up or stay down. It is responsible for every word we think or say, every action we think of or do, every decision we make, everything we decide to act upon or ignore, accept or deny.

The mind is responsible for all the fairytales, the mermaids and the castles. But it also responsible for the demons and dragons, the fire from Hell.

The mind is capable of being both an angel or a devil. It whispers words in our ears thst no one else can hear or understand. It plays images through our minds like a television. It confuses all of those around us, but it can confuse ourselves, the holder of said mind, even more.

Over the years, medical research has diagnosed dozens of conditions and treated hundreds of cases, institutionalized innumerable people.

To think is to live, someone once said. I think they got it wrong--to think is to die.

Because as someone who has been on this Earth for twenty-one years, I still have not come to understand my mind. My brain. My words, my actions or thoughts.

I have been to two therapists, though at the current time I have not been in over a year. My doctor diagnosed me with OCD at fifteen--Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. At seventeen, I was diagnosed with mild depression--to me it felt real, severe, problematic. I felt problematic.

I'm sure you've heard my name from Laila Owens. It would surprise me if you hadn't. Yeah, that's me, Domanick Arnolds.

I thought I was coping for a long time. I've been on anxiety medication since I was ten years old. But the day I found Laila bleeding in her bathroom floor was the day all of my demons came running back.

I didn't know her then, and still I cared with all the passion and worry that a good husband should have felt. I remember even now that I prayed for her. I didn't know her name, her age, her stories. But she mattered to me, the same way that you matter to me. She didn't matter to me because she was pretty--hell, at the time, I was seeing a brunette named Ola. No, she mattered to me because she was a person. She was given this gift called life and she had so much ahead of her. I didn't know a single thing of her, and yet I cared with all the intensity of a lover.

I will never forget the moment she first opened her eyes to me. I didn't register then that they were beautiful. After she was released from the hospital, I continued to visit her every day, at her apartment. It was a nice place, obviously decorates with care and it had new paint. It was spotless, no signs of dust or dirt, no signs of blood or skin cells. She had a cat, and yet even still there was no sign of fur or pawprints. There were no footprints or tracked mud, not even a misplaced pillow or a jacket fallen on the floor. She even had an umbrella rack to keep her floors dry, and they were nice wooden floors stained to a cherry oak. The only sign that a person lived there was the overall cleanliness, the photos on the shelves and the smell of brownies in the air. And of course, the beautiful redhead holding a big gray cat.