The story of the man who lost control of his mind

Crisp autumn leaves swept across the parking lot of the old clinic, no one seemed to know how to do their jobs around here, Dalton thought to himself. He scrunched up the paper bag that held his prescription, put it in his coat pocket and fumbled for keys in the other. His hands were so shaky today, he dropped the keys as he pulled them out. He saw a penny beside the keys on the ground, picked it up, put it in his pocket and presumed that today might not be so bad after all. He was unlocking his car when a crow went by overhead, let out a loud caw and startled Dalton. The keys fell from his hand once again. He bent to pick them up, seen another penny. Two in one day. Strange, Dalton thought but he picked it up anyway. Double the luck, he hoped.

After all, today was going to be a tough day to say the least of it, he could use it. Usually his medication was enough to settle his nerves and give him control, but today they failed to do what he needed, even slightly. His head was a mess. He got some xanax from the clinic hoping that would do the trick. He had a 2 and a half hour drive ahead of him, lots of time for the xanax to kick in and to close the compartments in his mind he couldn’t stand having open. Usually with the help of his meds he was in control of which compartments were open and at which time. Today, he woke up with certain doors open that he hasn’t looked upon in years. And it seems although more are slowly opening as the day unravels.

He pops two xanax in his mouth, washes them down with an old bottle of mountain dew and hits the road. One hour passes, then two, the compartments were still opening insidiously. He had to pull over.
He pulled off to the side of a long country road that seemed to stretch on forever. He rested his arms on the steering wheel and leant his head down to rest on them, closed his eyes and entered his mind room. The hall was darker today compared to most. Too many doors open, most of them with no illumination. The ones that had light seemed to all be closed..

He walked along the hall and stopped at the first door that was closed that he knew had a lot of light. It said compassion on the door in brass lettering. Dalton tried to open the door but it wouldnt budge. All of the sudden there were locks on the door that have never been there before. A classic deadbolt lock and a chain lock. Dalton looked under his feet expecting to see a mat, that hopefully had a key under it. He chuckled to himself. A key? When have I ever needed a key? I’m losing my mind, he thought to himself.

He continued down the hall and stopped at the first door that was open. Dalton felt a cold shiver race down his spine, the room gave him the creeps. He couldnt read what it said on the door because it was swaying back and forth in what looked like a treacherous wind and rain storm. Coming from the room were screeching and hissing noises and whispers carried in the wind in all directions. Dalton perched his feet at the edge of the doorway, held himself solid by gripping the door frame with one hand and reached in with the other to grab the handle to pull the the door closed. Swung even further from him at first–creeeek—and then swung back with force, threatening to knock him off his feet and into the dark abyss of that room. He pulled himself back quick enough and stumbled backwards, almost falling into the open door behind him. Another one? He questioned. This one wasnt open when he got here.

He wasnt able to get the first door closed but he was close enough to read insecurities on the door. No wonder he didnt wake up feeling like the poised, confident man he always was, Dalton thought. This door hadn’t been open since he was just a boy. The door behind him that he almost fell into, seemed easier to close. There was no windstorm on the inside, just what looked like smoke, a lot of it. He could hardly make out the door handle but reached in and felt around for it, and tried to pull the door towards him. It felt as if it weighed a hundred tons. Dalton pulled with all his might, the door let up a little and he got it closed. He read the brass lettering before continuing on to the next door: malious. Two steps away from the door, he heard it creek back open. He turned back and closed it again. It opened. He tried three more times before growing increasingly frustrated. Another thing he hasn’t felt in years.

Dalton was unsure of what he was supposed to do from here exactly. He couldn’t possibly go to sentence hearing of the man who killed his son without his compartments in check. The only other time he felt he was about to lose control of them is the day he got the call about his son being found stabbed to death in Briorton Park. A park he would never see again because he moved 2 hours away for a reason. The man who did it was just a kid himself, at 21 allegedly he stabbed the boy to death to be initiated into a gang. Said the members would kill him if he didn’t show his worth. Dalton’s eighteen year old son, Timothy was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

That day that Dalton got the call, he felt his rage and revenge compartments fighting to open. He entered his mind and put them in check. Today he is failing miserably to do so. He was worried.

He continued down the hall in his mind, reading the doors as he went, attempting to open or close a few until he gave up, knowing there was no point.

Love, patience, interest, serenity, mercy, delight, sympathy and forgiveness, all closed doors. Fear, anger, regret, disgust, rage, loneliness, all open doors. Dalton tried one more time to try to pry open the forgiveness door to no avail. So much for the lucky pennies. He left his mind room, popped two more xanax, laid back and rested his head for a minute. He couldnt possibly go to the hearing like this. He lost control of all his emotions. He couldn’t tame his frazzled mind and felt he soon, might go mad.

There are certain things we as individuals like to keep compartmentalized from the world. We hide certain parts of ourselves because feelings are disturbing and pain is dangerous right? Too afraid to feel and to express our trueselves. Really, all at war with ourselves. Pain is meant to wake us up, we feel strength in the experience. There are certain things not meant to be suppressed. Dalton never realized that there should be a balance. Because if he suppresses it all for so long, eventually it will come to the surface and he will be ill-equipped to handle it.

If he only learnt that his thoughts are not him, and he has the power to be in control without hiding parts of himself. “It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.” Artistole.

Dalton must pave a mental path in his mind, imagine over and over again the thoughts he wants to dominate his life. Until he learns that hiding from the self is detrimental in the progression of ourselves, he will never be granted entire freedom.

Dalton couldnt contain himself anymore. The feelings flooded in and he felt them all. He felt more than he ever had in his forty six years. He started the car and sped off recklessly to the court where the sentence hearing of the man who killed his son will take place. He felt everything now and he was ready to show everyone else how he felt as well. For the first time ever. He smirked, lit a cigarette up and sped even faster.

If you are interested in reading more short stories please check out the short stories category on my site.

If you are interested in reading about a variety of different subjects such as mental health, inside the minds of disturbed artists, the importance of being an introvert, importance of body language and non-verbal communication, the importance of mental rehearsal and imagery, the power of our minds, mindfulness, metaphysics and the cosmic world and how all the great genius’ of the past have tapped into this power to achieve seeming miracles, addiction, abuse, the effects loneliness and so much more, please check out some of my other posts: