We are not mad! We are just frank!

When it was the first day of my job at a psychotherapy center, the center referred to me one of the cases that many avoided dealing with. I read the file and entered the patient's room which was located at the end of the corridor. I looked for her throughout the room and found her sitting on a chair in the corner, with her body shaking intensely with the thoughts swirling around her mind. I placed my hand on her shoulder and let my eyes ask how she was.
Her tears were dripping without crying. By the way, we all are aware that it is very painful to weep without your facial features being influenced.
She reached out and showed me a bracelet-like object that was tied around her wrist. "They decided that I was a lunatic," she said.
I sat on the ground gently caressing her manacled wrist and said, "You are not mad, because a lunatic does not recognize that he is crazy."
She replied, "Simply because I protected my children from the city's epidemic. I hid them in a basement from their eyes. When the epidemic struck all their children, they took my children out of their hiding place to get infected."
"They judged me mad just because I made my children different than theirs," she added.
She left the room in silence, and I reached this diagnosis: infected with the "virus" of honesty and the "bacteria" of genuine motherhood.
I left the workplace before my official working hours were over.

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