Fear has made itself at home in my heart as of late. Even with medication, therapy, being a participant in a study on anxiety management in CF, support from friends and family, I have lived in a state of perpetual, worsening anxiety over the last couple weeks or so. It seems to only be getting worse as time goes on, and I’m not sure what more to do to manage it.
The source of my anxiety is no mystery, as my life has once again been plunged into chaos. My first semester of college is coming to an end, which means semester project due dates and finals are on the near horizon (I’m fully caught up and ready to be graded on my work, but I’m still stressing out about it all). I will be flying out to Minnesota in a little over a week to say goodbye to my grandma Shirley. My fear of flying has only grown worse over the years, and flying in the middle of an ongoing pandemic (that I’m fully vaccinated against) has me nearly in a panic just thinking about it. I’ve also never knowingly said my final goodbyes to a living loved one before. I’m not sure what the emotions I’m feeling even are. I’ve never felt so simultaneously apprehensive and eager before, among many other mostly negative emotions. The newness of it all is almost too much for me to bear.
I’m intensely frustrated by the lack of communication I’ve received from my paternal relatives, even though I know it’s nothing unusual. When I’m trying to prepare myself for something as frightening and tragic as saying goodbye to a loved one who is riddled with cancer and declining faster than expected, I want as much information as possible. I want to be able to prepare myself for the absolute worst. I want to know, as best as possible, what to expect. But, my paternal side of the family is rarely very informative, and they tend to do things on a whim rather than come up with a plan of action. Also, they tend to downplay problems, and beat around the bush. In certain situations, none of these traits are bad. In fact, they can be helpful in some ways. But, none of it is helpful for me now. It’s quite the opposite, actually.
I’ve gone back to my old anxious ways, repeating patterns of emotion and behavior I had before I finally accepted medication for my anxiety. Mainly, I pace around my house like a pent up tiger, my mind reeling with endless “what ifs” and worst-case scenarios. Sometimes, I get out and go for a drive. But, Denver drivers are stressful to deal with as-is. Add in my anxiety and general aloofness, and it’s much harder to deal with the reckless, raging idiots on the road. So, besides a few laps around the quiet roads of Ken Caryl Valley, I rarely embark on joy rides anymore. That’s a pretty glaring sign of depression settling in, if you ask me.
Finding my creativity and my ability to learn are harder than ever, and they’re taking a toll on my college grades. Sleep is nearly impossible, along with eating and even drinking (food tastes like cardboard, water tastes bitter). Whatever I do manage to eat, almost always fails to be properly digested. In general, I’ve just felt like hell, almost like I’m fighting a lung infection, minus the coughing and snorting.
I’ve done everything I could think of, so far, to escape the stress and the despair. But hardly anything has really helped to get me out of my head and back to feeling refreshed. There are things I still do find joy in, such as venturing out into the valley and watching the bucks and does in rut, listening to music, visiting with close friends and family, and playing video games. But, even those things are beginning to lose their charm. Losing interest in even the most simple things only adds more fear on top of my fears regarding my grandma, flying, fucking up in college, and more. In short, I am deeply terrified all the time right now. I may not show it, but damn do I feel it!
Now, what am I afraid of? Well, I’m afraid of basically everything at the moment, including my own shadow. But, to be more specific, I know exactly what is scaring the ever-living shit out of me, besides what is going on with my grandma.
I'm not embarrassed to admit that I'm afraid of flying. Not only am I not thrilled about being trapped in a metal tube with a bunch of other people for over an hour, all during a pandemic, but I have a handful of mostly irrational fears regarding flying (such as getting sucked out of the airplane window after being hit by a piece of shrapnel from an exploded plane engine). At least, flying with my dad should make things easier for me to deal with. My mom is almost just as afraid of flying as I am, and we tend to feed each other's anxiety. My dad, on the other hand, flies nearly every week for work, and has never been one to show any signs of anxiety. If anything, he downplays everything and pokes fun at me for being a wuss, which is better than adding fuel to the fire that is my irrational fear of flying.
On top of that, I'm not looking forward to spending the frigid nights in Minnesota at my grandma's creepy haunted farmhouse that has no central heating. Unless sleeping plans change (and trust me, I'm trying to figure out how to avoid staying the long, winter nights at the farm), I'm gonna be staying the nights on the farm with only a few other people. Needless to say, I'll be sleeping there under a mountain of blankets with one eye open. And my dad will be the one to check the upstairs when we inevitably hear someone walking around up there in the middle of the night. I wish I was joking.
Most of all, I'm terrified of saying my final goodbyes to my beloved grandma. I've said my final goodbyes to loved ones in the past, but never have I knowingly said a final, living goodbye to a dying relative before. When I saw my paternal grandpa for the last time in 2017, I had no idea I would never see him alive again. When I saw my maternal great grandpa lying in his death bed in 2011, I had no idea he would be gone just an hour later. When I spent my 2019 Christmas with my maternal great grandma one last time, I had no idea I would never see her alive again. However, this time, I can be almost certain that when I leave the farm on that dreadful Sunday afternoon, I will never see my paternal grandma alive again. Words cannot describe how that currently makes me feel.
