fear

April 30, 2024

Your Husband is on the Dresser

I never expected to learn things about myself in the absence of my husband. I thought I had a basic grasp of my idiosyncrasies and character flaws. As I have since discovered, I do not. Turns out that I am still very much afraid of the dark and what lurks within it’s depths. It is either the thought, or the truth, that entities lay just beyond my field of vision that causes me immense amounts of fear. I’m kept up late wondering what the energy I am feeling could be. And it’s always things just out of sight.

When my husband was around I never thought of them. They rarely crossed my mind, unless I had some sort of dream or had thought it was a good idea to watch a scary movie before bed. (Y’know the only time it’s appropriate to do so?) If I had had any fear drifting to sleep or waking with panic, he was always there to calm me. Every time. I always felt safe with him there. His presence made me stronger, even when ALS had made him completely immobile. I don’t know why.

There were times, when he had a job out of town, that I got a glimpse of this “Josh.” I would wake up and look right at the open door. (Yeah, I sleep with the door open by the way.) I could sense or feel something watching me. Panic would grip my body as I tried to tell myself that I was alright, there was nothing there. I’d reach out to my husband and text him, even though I knew he was asleep. Just knowing he was there, somewhere, made me braver.

Now, I have nothing. Well… Almost nothing. Yesterday I retrieved his remains from the funeral home and placed them in the bedroom. His ashes now rest on the dresser across from where I sleep. Oh, and a portion in the living room with full view of the TV, just in case.

Tony darkly joked on who had what part of him. I said, he probably had a leg and the blue, tropical themed shorts he was wearing. Maybe an eye too. A finger. God, we’re fucked up.

We are people who find humor in grief. It’s our way of processing all of the ache that comes with loss. We fill it with a mutated sense of “joy.” For us it’s also a way to honor Charlie. He had a darker sense of humor than all of us. He had to, to process all of what had been given to him.

It’s nice “having him home.” Also a little weird, knowing that my husband’s charred remains are just on the opposite side of the room in a rough wood box. As he would have said “it’s creepy.” Partially, but I’m in that weird grief state of mind where I will take anything I can get to be a band-aid for the emotional ache. In grief we do the weirdest things to process it. I’ve been wearing his deodorant, clothes, and sleeping where he passed. That last one would have given him the biggest “ick.” For someone who was so comfortable with his own condition he was sure hung-up on the small details.

“Why are you sleeping there? That is where someone died? That’s creepy,” he would have said.

“It’s not like you’re still there, Charlie,” I would have responded.

I wonder if having his ashes made it even more real… He is really gone.

May 11, 2020

Fear and Loathing

In usual “look at me, look at me” form I recorded a video to post to Twitter, discussing the “realization” I had had over the people who are reluctantant or refuse to follow any of the COVID-19 rules and restrictions. However, the lighting was bad and I ended up sounding like a loon, so instead I thought I would return to good-ol’ long form. (Plus I need the practice if I intend to use this ample amount of free time to polish up that manuscript.)

Much like everyone in the fucking world, I am grappling with accepting the new reality in which we reside. Coming to terms with this new existence is hard and it’s stressful, but it is necessary. Embracing the present is the only way we can successfully move forward. And regardless of where we are emotionally, life will continue to keep going.

One of the steps I had to take for myself was to try and understand why some people REFUSE to do anything that is required of them. Why these “inconveniences” are seen as taking away their “freedom.”

Setting aside the PLETHORA of misinformation that is infecting websites across the internet, I wanted to know what other factor could be at play. It couldn’t be JUST misinformation. Because for them to seek out these “answers” there had to be some sort of catalyst.

When I examined my own behavior of discomfort and random outbursts of rage the answer came to me. The common factor fueling every one right now is fear. The fear of the unknown, the fear of the virus, the fear of watching your entire reality turn on a dime. It is truly terrifying. Human nature wants stability, but external factors refuse that need. That’s why people keep looking for the “light at the end of the tunnel” or this “return to the old way.” But all of that is bullshit. When we go through a journey we are never the same people at the end. It’s true with every step we take. Even if we just walk down a hallway, our heart-rate rises, body temperature changes, we experience new scenery from where we once were. All of these compound in our minds to form a new existence, because at the end of the hallway we have gained even more than what we had at the beginning.

But, walking down the hall isn’t scary for most (taking into consideration fears and life experiences). This is more like we’ve been placed into an unfamiliar hallway, blindfolded, and we’re told that there may be obstacles, but we don’t know what kind or how many.

So, as I begin to seethe with rage at these people breaking stay at home orders, or protesting local governments about restrictions, I have to remind myself that these people are reacting from fear. And that gives me SOME relief. It doesn’t change anything outwardly, but at least it helps minimize the terror I feel in myself.

January 5, 2015

Get in, Sit Down, and Shut Up

Here is day 4 and I am still doing it. Surprising to say the least. But I do feel myself pulling away. Although, why I don’t know. Is it because of the pressure I am putting on myself to perform? Or that there is a quasi audience reading what I write, judging me. Or is it because I’m just a lazy fuck? The world may never know.

In all honesty I should have done this earlier in the day. I’ve been bored watching television and stuffing my face with the holiday cookies my husband made last night. He’s been really busy the past few days, which left me alone to my own devices.

I had attempted to continue reading about druidism but it was throwing so much information at me that I thought I was going to die. Eesh. But once the husband goes back to work and thus leaving me all alone, I’ll pick it back up. Plus I need to read a book a month, per my year long goals.

Year of Writing Prompts by Brian A. Klems & Zachary Petit
January 4 365
“Days Something life-altering happened. As a result, you’ve decided to give something up for an entire year. Write a scene detailing the cataclysmic event, or the struggle to keep the vow you made.”

I stood staring at my car parked in the driveway. It was covered in a thick layer of dust, that some punk from the neighborhood had decided to scrawl obscene words in, along with the images of dicks and even a pair of boobs. Any other time I would have been furious. I had loved my car. It was the lover and friend I had always wanted. Loyal. No one drove her but me. Now, I couldn’t care less what happened to her.

Ever since the accident I can’t bring myself to sit behind the wheel once again. My girlfriend says that I’ll get over it, in time, but I’m not so sure. It’s been a year since the incident and I still don’t even feel comfortable in a car, let alone drive one myself.

Angela walks up behind me and drapes and arm around my neck.

“What’re you doing, honey,” she says.

I lower my head. For some reason I can’t bring myself to tell her that I had gotten the urge to try and drive down the street. Maybe it’s because it would give her hope that I didn’t feel ready to give.

I look into her sapphire eyes.

“Just wanted to get some air.”

She hugs me tighter. With a peck on the cheek, she feels satisfied and turns to go back into the house.

I slowly walk around the front to gaze at her other side.

The body shop did an amazing job. No one would ever know that a Ford Bronco had t-boned me in the intersection.

A faint memory flashes through my mind of he headlights getting brighter and the deafening crunch of our cars colliding.

I stumble back out of breath. I double over and try to catch the air that has left me.

I still don’t know how I survived. By all accounts I should have been crushed. When I replay it I just hear sounds. No other details come to mind. It was like my brain had put me into suspencion to protect myself from the crash.

The next thing after the lights, that I remember, is waking up in the hospital days later. The doctors were afraid I’d never wake up.

The doctors released me into my own care, but what they failed to realize is that I would be consumed with fear whenever in a vehicle. I close my eyes and tense my body every time I go through an intersection. Every car that waits until the last minute to stop will surely collide into me. I just know it.

My heart begins to race. I was stupid to even try. I turn and head back into the house.

Halfway up the walk I hear Angela’s scream. I rush up the rest of the way, throw oopen the door and find my girlfriend sitting on the kitchen floor, blood all over the white linoleum.

“What happened?” I say.

“I’m such an idiot. I dropped the knife and it went right through my foot.”

She’s clutching her bare foot, the bloody knife only a few feet away. I rush to the drawer with the tea towels and grab everyone of the neatly folded cloths. I drop to my knees and begin wrapping them around her foot.

“You need to take me to the emergency room.” She says.

I look up at her. My eyes are wide and my mouth is open. Very slowly, I shake my head no.

“I’ll call an ambulance.”

I stand up, but she grabs me around my arm and stops me.

“Are you insane? We don’t have that kind of money. This isn’t that bad.” She says. “You can do it.”

I look at her. I want to tell her know. But her eyes plead with me and I can only agree.

I scoop her up into my arms and take her outside. I don’t even bother to lock the door behind me.

I gently lay her in the passenger seat and rush around the nose of the car to the driver’s side. I stop only inches from the repaired handle.

“Hurry, Jon,” she says, “I’m getting blood everywhere.”

I scream from the deepest part of my chest and pull open the door and toss myself inside. She starts up instantly, like she was waiting for me. Carefully, so carefully, I back out the driveway and head for the emergency room.

“You’re amazing.” She says.

My hearts pounding in my ears. I can barely focus on the road and all I can think about is she did this on purpose.