My anxiety is an unchangeable condition of my brain. It doesn’t take much to add another condition. Lately, when I’m lying in bed, and I hear all the sounds a house makes when everyone is asleep or quiet or gone, I think that any second something terrible is going to happen. Something that will shatter the tranquility of a lazy and peaceful morning. I fear that the bumps and creaks of the house warming or cooling is someone coming down the hall, and they will open my door and tell me something terrible. Someone is dead or dying. That’s the worst thing.
This condition came from the morning Evelyn died. I was lying in bed, awake, but still lying there, completing the process of fully waking up before I got out of bed to get ready for my brother’s graduation ceremony. I heard the floors creaking as someone came down the hall towards my room. My old, worn out door creaked open, very loudly, louder than usual. And my dad was there, a silhouette with the light from the living room coming in behind him. “Evelyn just died.” And it all combined to make that condition. So now when I hear those same familiar sounds I associate them with something horrible happening. I can’t just lie so peacefully anymore. Always, in the back of my brain, it thinks that something is coming. Someone will open my door and things will change.