Flutes are lonely

I haven't posted for awhile because I was busy all weekend at a seminar where I learned that I am not who I thought I was, and also that: I am a terrible listener, people can be other ways than I decide them to be, and all things are possible.
But that isn't what this post is about.

Earlier this morning I was drinking my tea and listening to NPR and there was a little music break and the music was flute music of some sort, and I was jolted back to a time when I used to work in a harm reduction program for people who are homeless and sick and suffer with mental health problems. The music had me go there because there was similar music that would play while the clients sat with their acupuncture. Flutes are lonely to me forever, because I would sit in that room with those people and feel the abyss they were inside of. One woman Kelly who was there was someone who had eating disorders, some kind of schizoid sickness, and she compulsively cut herself, in addition to substance abuse problems. She was a beautiful woman, and it was hard to imagine her doing those things. I remember looking into her eyes and seeing her as if there was a veil between her and the rest of the world, and behind that veil was the darkest place of pain and fear. The machine of the program had no hope for them, because it couldn't imagine these people being able to not cut themselves, or not disappear for weeks bingeing on speedballs and prostituting themselves for drugs and not getting hit by a lightrail train. I wonder what happened to Kelly. Or what keeps happening to Kelly. I hate flute music.