From the outside, Cassandra’s life seemed exciting and adventurous. She had an interesting career; she traveled frequently, and it was no secret that she was having a lot of fun looking for “HIM”. She was as happy as she knew how to be. But on the inside, something was wrong. She was losing her poker face, and her balls. Her throat seized, and her heart misbehaved. She knew that life was whispering to her, but she couldn’t hear the message over the noise of her short-circuiting, internal alarm. Cassandra believed that her body was well conditioned to experiencing fear. In many ways, it felt familiar to her. She was the trained observer, who analysed and then specialized in predicting the dangerousness of violent men. As a child, she had studied her alcoholic father. As a wife she had studied her husband. And inside the cement fortress that they called a hospital for the criminally insane, she had studied her patients. She didn’t want pills; she wanted to get better. She surrenders and accepts that she is exactly where she needs to be; and that her mess is the message. The time had come for the healer to heal herself.