“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
