Living In Fear

I guess I pretty much live in some state of fear or anxiety most of the time. I suppose I always have. Some part of my brain is always on alert; listening, watching, trying to stay one step ahead of the world in an effort to see things coming, and plan a way to avoid or survive them.

It’s kind of exhausting, and occasionally somewhat crippling to boot.

As a kid, I would do routine inspections of the border of my bedroom to ensure nothing was close enough to the heaters to catch fire in the night. In the event of fire, I had an escape plan in place, and a mental list of the things I would try to take with me or toss out the window, along with saving the animals and family members in the house, too, of course. Somehow, in my head, that was all up to me. In the event of tornado, I also had survival plans in place. We didn’t have a basement, so I had to get creative. I wasn’t too worried about a tidal wave, being land-locked and all, though I did still have nightmares about them from time to time. But then again, zombies or alien invasions were also not out of the question, so I had to have plans for those, too.

As I got older, I started packing more on instead of less. Concerns about walking alone at night, having things stolen…I mean, stuff actually happens, and while there’s no way to be fully prepared, per se, it is possible to just be afraid and alert all the time as a way of lessening the chances it’ll happen to you.

Then I got Kate, and suddenly a whole other life depended solely on me. Keeping a roof over our heads and food in our bellies got added to the concerns, along with general financial worries that go along with unexpected expenses popping up suddenly. As unexpected things do.

It’s hard to expect everything, after all.

When we no longer had roommates and it was just the two of us, I started worrying that something would happen while I was at work; when I wasn’t home to take care of us. Every morning before I left the apartment, I would give the same little speech to her, and that became a superstitious kind of mantra. If anything bad had happened while I was out, a part of me would have blamed myself for not doing enough to prevent it, even if simple words do nothing specific at all.

As it turned out, what happened to Kate wasn’t while I was at work, but rather when I went away on vacation. I figured out pretty quickly after I got home that she was sick, and I hadn’t been around for her to let me know any earlier. She was euthanized within a few days of my return, and part of me will never forgive myself for giving up so many of those last precious days I could have spent with her, let alone the 5 months I’d left her in Colorado without me. Part of me will always believe it’s my fault she got sick to begin with, too, though.

Anyway, that’s how it was with one cat. Now I have three and a dog depending on me to take care of them. Depending on me and no one else, at least in day to day life. So now when I leave the apartment, the anxiety is the same, but multiplied by four. Some of them (I won’t name names because it’s not important) are less self-sufficient than Kate was, in that they need more care and attention from whoever is looking after them. So it’s harder for me to decide to leave, even when it’s just for the day. So many things can go wrong, even when I am there, but when I am not, the worry – the fear – is almost overwhelming sometimes. Usually before I leave and in the moments right before and after I get back home, but yeah. It’s always there, to some degree or other.

I guess it’s good we don’t really realize how out of control things are. We’d all go mad, I think. We’re on a rock, spinning in space, with plates shifting and mountains moving and the oxygen around us all we have to breathe with. At any time, another much smaller rock, hurtling through space, could slam into us and end it all in an instant (or in a slow, agonizing way, but I’ll be hoping for the instant, personally), yet here we are; all of us trying to bend, twist and force order into the chaos. Trying to assign it all meaning, and leave our mark to prove we were ever here at all.

Making plans can feel stifling sometimes, but not nearly so much as realizing that there can never be enough preparation. There will always be something we can’t predict; something we can’t avoid with forethought.

Sometimes we have to let go and see what happens. It’s really the start to living.

But it’s also really freaking hard.

I was watching an episode of a TV show wherein an artificial intelligence had taken on the voice of a human who had passed away. Hearing that voice again was hard for those humans left behind; those who mourned. And yet, at the same time, it’s a comfort. I thought of all the voices I’d give anything to hear again; voices from the past. Voices of those who helped shape who I am. A laugh, a curse, a playful tease, a story told just once more, even though it’s already been told a hundred times. What wouldn’t any of us give for the 101st?

A lot of a person is contained in their voice; certainly as much as in their appearance. That we communicate without voice so often now is a bit of a detriment – we text, we email, we comment on Facebook and Twitter. But it’s not really as much of a connection as when an individual’s voice is included. Even with Hudson the polar bear, the last time I saw him was also the first time I’d really heard his voice, and I was almost in tears when I made the realization. I know each of the cats voices; how they differ from one another and from other cats in the world.

Yet I really hate using the phone. Maybe it’s just easier to stay hidden behind a keyboard. As though taking our faces and bodies out of the mix isn’t quite enough most of the time, we also feel the need to remove our voices from the world at large. It just feels safer that way, somehow.

Safer, even as we cling to life and everything around us is shifting and spinning, spinning, spinning through space – until the day comes when we decide to sound our barbaric yawps over the rooftops of the world – and make our voices heard for all time.

What the hell am I even talking about? I think it’s time to eat lunch.

Brunch

So, I’m sitting here felting away like a good little crafter-attempter, and suddenly I realize I haven’t written a blog post yet today.  And now I’m hugely distracted yet again by a puppy dog who wants to play, and at least one kitty who ways to chill in my lap…it the way of my trying to write, naturally.  And my ever-behind PVR-watching, of course!

I think this one will be shorter than most, and that’s okay.  At least I’m writing, and I can always revisit it all in more depth another time.

I went for brunch today.  I think it’s probably my favourite meal ever.  I have a Brunch of Awesome that I make sometimes…usually on a long weekend like this.  I’m not doing it this weekend because a) I knew I was going out today, and b) I’m broke so my breakfast-y meals this weekend consist of toast with brown sugar and cinnamon spread, or blueberry waffles and 100% pure maple syrup.  And blueberries.  Because delicious.

Anyway, I was super late for brunch…again.  I think I’m late for everything but work (most of the time).  Even appointments with doctors and such.  If not late, then cut close.  And I hate it, always being late.  Like, just assume I won’t be on time.  It’s pathetic but true.  I am always late.

What I think I hate more than being late, though, is leaving my apartment.  It’s a constant daily struggle.  I don’t know how to describe it, really.  Part of it is all the preparation involved; trying to remember everything and make sure I’ve got everything.  My brain and I take it to extremes, though, because I try to plan for every possibility.  It’s…insane, really.  You should see all the stuff in my ever-present backpack.  It’s like either I don’t know how to carry only what I’ll need, or I’m too afraid to risk needing something that I left at home.

Or what if something happens at home while I’m out, and I lose something I end up wishing I’d taken with me, instead.

Though there is also the risk of having something with me and losing THAT while I’m out.

I mean, that’s a lot of stress.  Every time I try to leave my safe haven.  It takes a long time.

I think the only reason I can do it for work is because I’ve been doing it for over 15 years.  It’s a routine.  A habit.  I can do it with my eyes closed, kinda.  More or less.  I try to do everything the same each morning, all in the same order.  It’s crazy, but it helps me remember.  More than that, though, it contributes to my sense of safety and control.  It’s all connected.

Even taking Brody out is a thing.  I had to set myself up a routine surrounding that, too.  I even had mini anxiety attacks sometimes when we were out, and kept trying to go when there would be fewer people out.  That didn’t last long and I am more adept at navigating doggie culture than I was, but I think that’s all largely due to Brody himself.  He’s very chill, and some of that has rubbed off.  He teaches me patience, and to slow down, and to acknowledge people in front of me instead of just walking by.  I don’t wear headphones when I’m with him because I’m with him, and want to be in the moment, experience the world around us.  Enjoy our time together.

Plus, I get to pet WAY more doggies than I ever could when I didn’t have a dog with me!  Way less stalker weirdo now.  In appearance, at least.

If I could afford to work from home and just go out to walk Brody, I think I’d end up being a shut-in.  Not because I’m agoraphobic.  I don’t think.  I just don’t like people.

So naturally I live in a city.

It’s easier to be invisible here, though.  For the most part, no one looks at me, or sees me, and that’s how I like it.  I like to have alone time.  I need it.  Most people need social time or they start to get a little stir crazy, but I have always been the complete opposite.  I need time to quiet my mind or I can’t shut out the noise of the outside world vey well at all.  I get overwhelmed.

The thing is, I actually do like going out for brunch and things.  I like Friday Night Date Night.  I like being around people, one on one or in small groups.  Most of the time I still have trouble talking and being present, but I miss it when it’s not there, and look forward to it each and every time.

I just have so much trouble leaving my apartment.  And hate everything in between that and getting to where I want to be.

This wasn’t as short as I thought it would be, after all.