Theory 2

My bike was stolen. I don’t know when, but I know I discovered it was gone on Sunday. There was a moment when someone realized they could take it, and they did. I was left with nothing, where I once had something quite useful.

I don’t know when he died, but I know I found him on Monday morning. I know I spoke with him at 4:30 Sunday afternoon. Then there was this big, gaping, hideous silence. It rolled like a deep ocean wave and roared over me and sucked me down. What happens when it turns out all you’ve been anxious about is true? Your worst fear realized, discovered dead on your bedroom floor. The truth is, I don’t know what you do. I called my friends, and they were there to act as a buoy- they still do. But how do I deal with anxiety now? I don’t know what to do when I suddenly think- oh, my new bookshelf could fall on my cat and kill her, what if this phone call from my mom is about an illness, what if this train derails and we all die? Suddenly I am swimming in “what ifs” and feel the tug of fear on all sides. It’s exhausting.

It is exhausting to take laps from the edge of fear, to overwhelming and debilitating sadness, to rage so fierce all I can do is lay, silent and still, on my apartment floor. I let it engulf me- it must. Our lives are filled with “unfair-nesses” so strong we could boil our water for tea in our hearts. The same is true for me- knowing I am owed no fairness, I still need answers. Why was my home taken from me? Why was he given no better chance than he had? When will my next fear be proven justified?

My rage needs expression beyond the youtube kickboxing workouts I find so cleansing. So let me tell you this here: I am furious. My fury sits like a clamp inside my throat, it screws like a stripped bolt inside my temples, it boils over and out of my eyes with tears so angry they ought to be red. I am enraged that he took my home, I did nothing to deserve this exile. I am incensed that his 28 years were so, so much more bad than good and he was not given a fighting chance. I am enraged that ropes and wires cause me to become dizzy with fear and that what control I previously had over my anxiety has devolved into a whimpering suggestion of calmness.

I want back what was mine; if not my home, then my sense of self. It must not all be gone, because even when I go to raise my white flag and give in to the wasteland of depression, my body has instincts to fight back without me. He didn’t have that instinct, but I do. I’ll keep it watered and in the sunlight and it will keep blossoming, though it is dark.

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