"Afraid. Afraid. Why Am I So Afraid?"

 

“Afraid.  Afraid.  Why Am I So Afraid?”

 

 

03/25/14

 

 

To my ever-dearest friends, and always kind and loyal readers,

 

 

Last June, Daisy (my beloved, canine companion of over fourteen years) died quietly in my arms after a prolonged illness.  And I felt lost, uncertain, not knowing how to react, to what to do.

I had saved a pretty, pink coverlet—done all over in hearts—and in this I gently wrapped her.  My wonderful neighbors came over when I telephoned them, and he carried Daisy out to be buried in the backyard, in front of the open shed where my Mom had first discovered her in mid-November, 1999.  It seemed somehow proper and right to do so.

 

For days I cried, and missed her, and thought that death—somehow—had been most unfair.

 

Death may come quickly, as the result of injury.  Or it may be expected, with advancing age, and physical failure.  Sometimes, it is even yearned-for, as a final end to unresolved and incurable horrible, and intractable pain.

 

Nevertheless, death comes as a surprise; we are caught off guard, and never know what to say, or do, or hardly, to feel.

 

What did hit me shortly after Daisy’s death, was that with the passing of my father, my mother, and—now—dear Daisy, that for the first time in twenty-eight years, I was completely alone in the house.

 

Where once there had been conversations, companionship, the various noises of three people going about their business, laughter, love, and…light, now the house seemed too large, too silent, and too full of shadowed memories.

The house took on an unnatural air, looking like a stage set, after the actors and the audience have gone.

 

If I looked just the right way, I could see my dad sitting in his recliner, reading science fiction…is favorite; or my mom, sitting on the sofa—armed crossed—watching television.

And, whenever I went into my bedroom, I looked for Daisy to be there, sleeping on the rug besides my bed.

 

I began to feel a little lost and afraid.  The Agoraphobia keeps me to my house, and room after room was devoid of life.

 

 

Then, in July (one day after I had had all my medications refilled, including my pain narcotics), sometime between about 11:30, and 4:30 am, someone broke into the house (while I was still sleeping!), and took almost ALL of my medications, leaving only the vitamins, and supplements.

They had even taken a bottle that contained Daisy’s breathing pills.

 

I woke up about 3:30 to come out to the kitchen to take a pain pill, and that’s when I discovered that almost all of them had been stolen.

They most have been in a hurry, as in their flight, they missed a little, 7-day pill box on another counter (and it was this I used, until I could get the rest refilled).

 

I went wild with anxiety and cold fear, tearing up the kitchen, looking in places that my meds had never been in in hopes of finding them.

 

 

Just before 6:00am, I—still in pajamas—out on my shoes, and grabbed my portable oxygen and my cane, and hobbled-over to my neighbors, waking them up; begging them for help of some kind…any kind.

They immediately came over—still in their nightclothes to access the situation.

 

 

It was then I found out that the sliding-glass door had been left unlocked the night before, and no light left on the back porch.

 

My friend found that my carpet was wet (as it had been raining), and a walk-around the house revealed a footprint and, that bottle of Daisy’s medication.

 

My nerves were so completely shot, as, not only had they broken into what I had hitherto thought of as my safe refuge, but, that they might have paused to listen to my snoring, or worse, looked in on me as I slept.  This last terrified me.

 

 

The police were called, and a report was made, and fingerprints were dusted for.

 

Even with a police report, my pain doctor refused to re-write my pain prescriptions, and it took a telephone call from my medical primary to get them filled again.

 

Of course, I had to pay cash for all my missing medications, and it took me three months of large payments to the pharmacy to pay them off.

I am just grateful that they would let me run up a tab with them, or I would be lost in unutterable pain, until I would no longer want to live.

 

 

My very dearest friends, while I have been anxious, panicky, and afraid before, now, I began to be afraid all the time.

As soon as I could, I arranged to have the doors marked with alarms, and stickers on the windows from a reputable company I make monthly payment to.

 

The days—now—are bad enough; sudden noises, or movements, or flashes of color cause me to startle, and to be afraid.

The evenings—while long—pass with only moderate to severe anxiety, especially as it nears bedtime.

 

It is the nights that are the worst.

 

Most evenings, around 8 or 9:00pm, my neighbor’s two dogs start barking.  And it is so completely dark outside.  I cannot tell ‘what’ they may be barking about; or, ‘who’.

 

My imagination plays all kind of cruel tricks on me.

 

For example, my bedroom is in the back of the house, far removed from the street.

 

And yet—several months ago—I thought I heard voices outside my window; unintelligible conversations with the odd cough thrown in.

I telephoned the police one time, and waited nervously while they sent a deputy out to walk around my place brandishing a flashlight.

Of course…nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary.

 

Sometime after that, I could swear I heard voices again.  And I lay in bed, afraid to try to go to sleep, for fear of someone else breaking in, or vandalizing the place.

 

I hesitated to mention it to my neighbor for fear of sounding crazy.  But it was then that I was told that it was a neighborhood, teenage boy, out on the streets—after midnight, until 1 or 2:00am-- talking to friends.

 

I felt so utterly stupid, as for months…I dreaded the night, and being too afraid to go to bed.

 

 

The policeman—and, several of my neighbors—had suggested that—probably—the thieves were known to me; that they knew me, my schedule, and where I kept my medications.

 

And while this will sound strange, my dearest friends, in a way, I hope that it was a friend, or someone who knew me. 

Of course, I will never know.

But….there’s this to consider: an acquaintance or friend would be very much less likely to harm me… and, in a way, to them, I owe my life.

Far too many of these narcotics robberies end in fatalities, usually that of the homeowner.

 

 

Presently, I am on a three-year waiting list for a German Shepard, service dog whose deep growl and barks will alert any potential thieves into going somewhere else.

But the waiting is long, and---frankly—nerve-wracking.

 

 

I usually wake with a severe panic attack, and now find myself afraid of any little, untoward thing.  And, often, these attacks leave me unsettled, questioning, and afraid.

 

 

My dearest, kindest friends, I look to you for suggestions and help.  The fear is beginning to take over my life.

 

What makes you afraid?  How do you possibly deal with it?  Do you find that medication helps?

I am already on a fixed dose of Ativan every day and evening, with a half-dose in the afternoon if I am very jittery, and cannot seem to calm down.

 

Oh, my precious friends, I wish for you no pain, or lessened pain.  I wish for you quiet and peaceful days, surrounded by those who truly love you, so that you may never be alone.

I wish for you quiet and contemplative evenings, and balmy, dreamy, comfortable nights free from distress, fear, or upset.

And I wish you a quiet and restorative night of pleasant sleep, as ever, watched over by gentle angels.

And I would most wish for you all the happiness that your kind hearts can hold!

 

Please, please know that I think of you so very, very often, and that I love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’

 

“Afraid.  Afraid.  Why Am I So Afraid?”

 

 

03/25/14

 

 

To my ever-dearest friends, and always kind and loyal readers,

 

 

Last June, Daisy (my beloved, canine companion of over fourteen years) died quietly in my arms after a prolonged illness.  And I felt lost, uncertain, not knowing how to react, to what to do.

I had saved a pretty, pink coverlet—done all over in hearts—and in this I gently wrapped her.  My wonderful neighbors came over when I telephoned them, and he carried Daisy out to be buried in the backyard, in front of the open shed where my Mom had first discovered her in mid-November, 1999.  It seemed somehow proper and right to do so.

 

For days I cried, and missed her, and thought that death—somehow—had been most unfair.

 

Death may come quickly, as the result of injury.  Or it may be expected, with advancing age, and physical failure.  Sometimes, it is even yearned-for, as a final end to unresolved and incurable horrible, and intractable pain.

 

Nevertheless, death comes as a surprise; we are caught off guard, and never know what to say, or do, or hardly, to feel.

 

What did hit me shortly after Daisy’s death, was that with the passing of my father, my mother, and—now—dear Daisy, that for the first time in twenty-eight years, I was completely alone in the house.

 

Where once there had been conversations, companionship, the various noises of three people going about their business, laughter, love, and…light, now the house seemed too large, too silent, and too full of shadowed memories.

The house took on an unnatural air, looking like a stage set, after the actors and the audience have gone.

 

If I looked just the right way, I could see my dad sitting in his recliner, reading science fiction…is favorite; or my mom, sitting on the sofa—armed crossed—watching television.

And, whenever I went into my bedroom, I looked for Daisy to be there, sleeping on the rug besides my bed.

 

I began to feel a little lost and afraid.  The Agoraphobia keeps me to my house, and room after room was devoid of life.

 

 

Then, in July (one day after I had had all my medications refilled, including my pain narcotics), sometime between about 11:30, and 4:30 am, someone broke into the house (while I was still sleeping!), and took almost ALL of my medications, leaving only the vitamins, and supplements.

They had even taken a bottle that contained Daisy’s breathing pills.

 

I woke up about 3:30 to come out to the kitchen to take a pain pill, and that’s when I discovered that almost all of them had been stolen.

They most have been in a hurry, as in their flight, they missed a little, 7-day pill box on another counter (and it was this I used, until I could get the rest refilled).

 

I went wild with anxiety and cold fear, tearing up the kitchen, looking in places that my meds had never been in in hopes of finding them.

 

 

Just before 6:00am, I—still in pajamas—out on my shoes, and grabbed my portable oxygen and my cane, and hobbled-over to my neighbors, waking them up; begging them for help of some kind…any kind.

They immediately came over—still in their nightclothes to access the situation.

 

 

It was then I found out that the sliding-glass door had been left unlocked the night before, and no light left on the back porch.

 

My friend found that my carpet was wet (as it had been raining), and a walk-around the house revealed a footprint and, that bottle of Daisy’s medication.

 

My nerves were so completely shot, as, not only had they broken into what I had hitherto thought of as my safe refuge, but, that they might have paused to listen to my snoring, or worse, looked in on me as I slept.  This last terrified me.

 

 

The police were called, and a report was made, and fingerprints were dusted for.

 

Even with a police report, my pain doctor refused to re-write my pain prescriptions, and it took a telephone call from my medical primary to get them filled again.

 

Of course, I had to pay cash for all my missing medications, and it took me three months of large payments to the pharmacy to pay them off.

I am just grateful that they would let me run up a tab with them, or I would be lost in unutterable pain, until I would no longer want to live.

 

 

My very dearest friends, while I have been anxious, panicky, and afraid before, now, I began to be afraid all the time.

As soon as I could, I arranged to have the doors marked with alarms, and stickers on the windows from a reputable company I make monthly payment to.

 

The days—now—are bad enough; sudden noises, or movements, or flashes of color cause me to startle, and to be afraid.

The evenings—while long—pass with only moderate to severe anxiety, especially as it nears bedtime.

 

It is the nights that are the worst.

 

Most evenings, around 8 or 9:00pm, my neighbor’s two dogs start barking.  And it is so completely dark outside.  I cannot tell ‘what’ they may be barking about; or, ‘who’.

 

My imagination plays all kind of cruel tricks on me.

 

For example, my bedroom is in the back of the house, far removed from the street.

 

And yet—several months ago—I thought I heard voices outside my window; unintelligible conversations with the odd cough thrown in.

I telephoned the police one time, and waited nervously while they sent a deputy out to walk around my place brandishing a flashlight.

Of course…nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary.

 

Sometime after that, I could swear I heard voices again.  And I lay in bed, afraid to try to go to sleep, for fear of someone else breaking in, or vandalizing the place.

 

I hesitated to mention it to my neighbor for fear of sounding crazy.  But it was then that I was told that it was a neighborhood, teenage boy, out on the streets—after midnight, until 1 or 2:00am-- talking to friends.

 

I felt so utterly stupid, as for months…I dreaded the night, and being too afraid to go to bed.

 

 

The policeman—and, several of my neighbors—had suggested that—probably—the thieves were known to me; that they knew me, my schedule, and where I kept my medications.

 

And while this will sound strange, my dearest friends, in a way, I hope that it was a friend, or someone who knew me. 

Of course, I will never know.

But….there’s this to consider: an acquaintance or friend would be very much less likely to harm me… and, in a way, to them, I owe my life.

Far too many of these narcotics robberies end in fatalities, usually that of the homeowner.

 

 

Presently, I am on a three-year waiting list for a German Shepard, service dog whose deep growl and barks will alert any potential thieves into going somewhere else.

But the waiting is long, and---frankly—nerve-wracking.

 

 

I usually wake with a severe panic attack, and now find myself afraid of any little, untoward thing.  And, often, these attacks leave me unsettled, questioning, and afraid.

 

 

My dearest, kindest friends, I look to you for suggestions and help.  The fear is beginning to take over my life.

 

What makes you afraid?  How do you possibly deal with it?  Do you find that medication helps?

I am already on a fixed dose of Ativan every day and evening, with a half-dose in the afternoon if I am very jittery, and cannot seem to calm down.

 

Oh, my precious friends, I wish for you no pain, or lessened pain.  I wish for you quiet and peaceful days, surrounded by those who truly love you, so that you may never be alone.

I wish for you quiet and contemplative evenings, and balmy, dreamy, comfortable nights free from distress, fear, or upset.

And I wish you a quiet and restorative night of pleasant sleep, as ever, watched over by gentle angels.

And I would most wish for you all the happiness that your kind hearts can hold!

 

Please, please know that I think of you so very, very often, and that I love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles