The Curtain

Avakiyan Anna, 60 y/o, is more persistent than most in her emotional and behavioral exaggerations. Histrionic is what doctors use, to give a clinical diagnosis or a “detached observation” to such behavior.

Anna’s issue is her son. He is mentally unstable. His instability causes her daily, moment-to-moment anxiety that leads to persistent angst which seems to be a source of her histrionics. Although, who knows what is at the core of her spirit, the past legacy she carries forward into her daily exaggerations. She needs help, he needs help. And there are limited, and questionable at that, mental health workers here in Abkhazia, none of which would want to engage this duo.

My initial reaction to Anna: whiny, immature - judgmental words, not clinical nor diagnostic not needed nor helpful. In that moment, those words made me feel superior, detached. I don’t know whether she could detect my feelings. Inga, I am sure, could. I was not compassionate, not curious, just eager to dispense her BP meds and leave. No matter in Denver or Sukhumi a person with histrionics is difficult for me to connect with for fear I will be saprophytically (hum, is this a word?) gobbled up. (Is this where “sap” comes from?) Those of you who know me well have seen it before, superior, detached, just like Inga likely saw in me today.
We listened to Anna for 20 minutes, Inga translated with neutrality and sympathy and patience, God bless her.
I was distracted during Anna’s rants, watching a shredded curtain. I could see the curtain from Anna’s kitchen window belonging to someone in the next building. The curtain was reaching out into the space between the buildings, trying to free itself, trying to escape into the breeze. It was a renegade curtain, not minding its proper duties, but instead trying to transform itself. It was ragged and tattered, that silly, brave curtain and I could feel it was trying to become a luxurious silk cloth. A coveted cloth that would be worn by a princess. It was a worthy effort on the curtains part. The curtain wanted to be something different, something appreciated, something lovely, and in that moment I too wanted to be somewhere and something that I wasn’t. I wanted to be in some lovely place, doing something lovely, actually anything other than listening to a histrionic woman. But the curtain and I could only pretend in that moment, we shared a space and a knowing.

Later I thought, sometimes sharing with an-other of same mind, of same spirit, is as good as being in another place or being something we are not.

After I examined Anna’s heart, lungs, she received her blood pressure medications, a multivitamin, a reassurance of a return next month. She pleaded that we stay longer.

I can’t change Anna nor can I really help her much. According to Inga she has been in this miserable state for years. The medicines we might choose for Anna in the US are forbidden in this country - anxiolytics and most antidepressants.

I can however, work on my feelings, I can try to be aware when the small voice within me is saying “listen, know your feelings, find compassion, find curiosity, find someone, something that teaches you a little bit more about joy in each moment.” And smile.
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