The Nightmare Called Fear

I am scared to go to sleep.

My thoughts chase me, take me down, consume me. I run, but they catch up. They tear me down, rip me to shreds, leave me on a dark alleyway, lit only by a single streetlamp. Enveloped in fog, I lay on the pavement, in a puddle of blood, as I take labourious breaths.

My thoughts kill me.

I can only run so far, so fast before they catch up to me. And they jump on me, digging their claws into my flesh.

Tearing.

Is it the thoughts that I fear, or is it the fear that I am thinking? Am I really scared of my thoughts, or is my fear of something else what causes the thoughts in the first place? What came first, the fear or the thoughts?

Either way, I’m tired. I’m exhausted. But I’m scared to go to sleep. I’m scared that when I close my eyes, I will be chased again. I’m scared my thoughts will send me down the rabbit hole, spinning, falling, down and down.

My genes surround me in this hole.

The strands of DNA wrap themselves around me, tighter, tighter, until my fingertips turn blue. Breathing is difficult. The strand of genetic code surrounds me, tightly wrapped up by an enormous black widow spider. The DNA is her web, her silk, and I am now rendered immobile by the smooth strand of nucleotides.

My genes kill me.

The death is inevitable, for what else can follow life? But it’s caused by the mistakes in the blueprint, the accidental substitutions, deletions and additions that have added up to a broken building. There is no concrete that can fix it, no spackle can repair these walls. It is the house that I’m forced to live in, this broken building, with its crumbling foundation and shattered windows.

One day, this house will fall down.

Because exhaustion has taken over. I pray that my thoughts don’t chase me tonite.

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Something Close to Normal

So here I am, snuggled up in my bedroom at my mother-in-law’s house. Baby Imp is sleeping in her Pack-N-Play at the foot of the bed, and I am glancing over to my right to my copy of 1491: New Revelations of the Americas Before Columbus thinking that maybe I should get to reading since I have two quizzes and a writing assignment on the first five chapters due a week from Friday.

In reality, I’m hiding out from the daycare kids.

I’m really trying to continue living life as close to normal as I possibly can, but I can’t help but be just a little more worried about getting sick when I’m around kids. I’ve been around these kids quite frequently for years and I haven’t died yet (obviously), but there’s a part of me that wonders if the next time will be what does me in, if the next illness will land me in the hospital, hooked up to a dozen machines and clinging to life.

I’ve been told on several occasions that I shouldn’t even be alive, and that I’m incredibly lucky. How much longer before my luck runs out?

Despite this fear in the back of my mind over coming down with something that as of late has bordered somewhat on paranoia, I am bound and determined to live life as normally as possible. Which, for the most part, involves being around people, and involves being around kids. Now, I will readily admit that I’m not a huge fan of children who are not my own, and to be honest the PIDD makes for a convenient excuse to excuse myself to my bedroom to avoid the chaos.

Granted, so does the homework that I should be doing instead of blogging.

But despite my determination to continue with life as though nothing has happened, there is still this little voice in the back of my mind that occasionally whispers “this isn’t a good idea” like a seductive temptress looking to get me to agree to something that I shouldn’t be doing. She has Laura Bailey’s voice (Fullmetal Alchemist Laura Bailey, not Skyrim Laura Bailey) and finishes off with a gentle kiss to my earlobe. I know that I should proceed with caution, and yet I press on, barreling forward without a care for what may come, bound and determined to not find myself living in a bubble of fear. Laura Bailey’s sultry voice leads me on because that ethereal temptress knows that this is what I want, what I yearn for, what I fight for, this normalcy that evades those of us who are immunodeficient, the ability to simply go out and to live. And I let her lead me, not because she has presented me with an offer that is just too good to refuse, but because I know that by not living, I am giving in. Giving in to the stigma that surrounds these disorders, that we live in a bubble, that our lives are lived in nothing but fear.

I refuse to allow the fear to envelop me, but I will admit that there are times when I wonder if what I’m doing is the right idea, if walking around the grocery store has the potential to be lethal. In the end, I know that the benefits outweigh the potential risks, that almond milk and cheese just aren’t going to buy themselves. But as I am wiping down the handle of the shopping cart with those Purell wipes grocery stores are now offering with some level of ubiquity bordering on fanaticism, I wonder if it is all for naught. Why wipe down the cart handle when someone in the baking aisle could possibly cough in my general direction while I’m fuming over the fact that once again they’re out of coconut flour, possibly transmitting whatever microbe is residing in their air passages and making me sick as a result?

In the end though, I have to go out to the store and buy that coconut flour, partly because I need it, partly because Lord Imp looks at me funny when I bring it home, and partly because I just need to be normal. And as far as I’m concerned, wiping down grocery cart handles and running the risk of another case of pneumonia are perfectly normal.

Sidenote: I still haven’t downloaded Dawnguard to the computer ever since Lord Imp noticed that Serana was voiced by the same person who did Lust. I just can’t look at that character the same anymore, and I now avoid the quests on the Xbox as well *shudder*.